Page 13 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

Maybe Archie isn’t so stupid, after all.

Chapter Four

Archie is definitely stupid.

It took us an hour to get back to the cabins.An hour. With no snacks! No water!

“You have to let me kill him now,” I grumble to Baz, eying Archie’s house as we pass it. “He deserves it, and you know it! Your legs must be killing you, not to mention your arms. And your back! Your poor, wonderful back. There’s no way it’s doing well after carrying me all the way here. You should have let me just walk, you silly man. You’re going to be sore for a week.” I throw my arms up in the air, tipping backward in Baz’s arms – arms that havestillnot let me down.

They hold steady beneath me as he tips his head down to raise one sass-filled eyebrow at me.

“Okay, maybe not, you humongous hunk of muscle, but that’s not really thepoint, is it?”

He doesn’t respond, verbally or otherwise, and I scowl when Archie’s house disappears from view as we reach our porch.

Bazzy drops the sled I made him rescue from a fate of earth-killing sadness, leaving it outside our floral-painted front door before taking me inside.

He walks the few feet to the stairs and sets me carefully on them before getting to work taking my boots off of me. All right. If he wants to take my boots off, I’ll let him. Far be it from me to keep a man from whatever makes him happy.

I watch him, enraptured by the way he sets my foot down after he’s got one lavender boot off. I’d say he’s almost reverent, if I didn’t know any better. The truth is, though, that he’s just Basil – sweet, caring, wonderful Basil.

He finishes with my boots and stands, holding out his hand to me. I take it, and he pulls me up but doesn’t step back to make room for me, so I end up practically on top of him, our coats squishing against each other. He doesn’t seem to mind, chocolate eyes gazing down at me, sparkling with the same predatory light that they had before the ten percent mouth kiss.

He’s making me nervous, and when I get nervous…

“Thank you!” I yell, directly into his face. “You didn’t have to do that! Any of it – the carrying or the shoes or the, um, everything, really. You’re just so– well,you know, obviously.” Word vomit. Perfect. Just so freaking perfect. “You’re the most perfect man to have ever existed. I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you. You’re so kind and thoughtful and intelligent, and you look– uh, that is to say, you’re very– well, I think we both know how you look, yeah?” I laugh, a terrible honking noise that is almost more embarrassing than the words spewing out of my mouth unbidden. “Of cour–”

“Heidi,” he interrupts, and I could very gladly kiss him more than ten percent. Yes, please, stop this train wreck, you beautiful, perfect man.

My mouth snaps shut, and I just barely manage not to give him any percent of my lips on his.

Respectful. I amrespectful.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug where he gives me three quick squeezes before holding steady. I return the squeezes, using all of my might so he knows I really mean them. He grunts, and I pull away, letting him go.

Time for a hasty retreat.

“I’m going to go up to my room now! Bye!”

I don’t wait to see his response. I turn and book it to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me once I’m safely inside. I lock it too, just for good measure. Then I walk to my bed, grab a pillow, put it to my face, and scream.

Bazkissedme and he called mebabyand he kepttalkingand Archie is aninfuriatinglittlebratandBazzy kissed me.

I scream some more.

It’s too much. Everybody is acting very strangely, and it seems the only goal among them is to find out who can make me lose my mind first.

One more good shriek into the pillow, then I throw it back on the bed and get to work tearing off my snowsuit, which is becoming uncomfortably hot in the warmth of the house.

“I mean,whatare they doing?” I mutter, yanking the zipper down. “Archie is being Archie. I’ll handle him. But Baz?Baz?” I grunt when the zip gets stuck halfway down, and I have to shimmy to get the suit off over my hips. “Maybe that tree fell on him when he was chopping it down, and now he’s suffering from a traumatic brain injury, and I’m actually a terrible friend for not checking on him the moment I noticed something was up. What are the signs of brain injury anyway?”

I curse as I have to rip the snowsuit off my feet where it’s tangled itself into a giant, puffy violet knot, then plop onto my bed. I roll to grab my laptop off of my nightstand. I open it and head to my favorite search engine.

“Symptoms of… head… hmm… headaches, dizziness, confusion, fatigue.” Those don’t sound right… “Irritability?”

My brows furrow. Baz isn’t any of these things! Except maybe confused. Definitely a confused man would give his best friend a ten percent kiss.

The rest of them though…

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