Page 24 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

I flounce out of the room, smiling over my shoulder at Baz, who follows me out. His lips tilt, and my heart takes flight.

Man, IloveChristmas.

Chapter Eight

Baz sets up a fire for me in the sunroom, then leaves the house to search out Archie and retrieve our tree from whatever shed he’s stored it in. He isn’t gone long when I get a text telling me that he’ll “be a while,” which I take to mean that Archie is being contrary.

I consider venturing out to check on them, but ultimately decide that anything requiring a trek through the snow that doesn’t end in a fun, pre-planned Christmas activity is just not my problem. The boys can work themselves out. I will stay home in the cozy warmth and prepare for their eventual arrival.

I busy myself emptying a corner of the living room, making sure that the tree has somewhere to live when it finds its way here. I alternate between clearing space and warming myself by the fire in the sunroom as necessary.

Stupid power.

Stupid Archie.

It takes me a while because of the cold, but I manage to move a bookshelf, several potted plants, and a sorely unused fold-up treadmill to my room. After a bit of finagling, I get the treadmill under my bed and the shelf in front of my closet. Sure, I’ll have to slide the bookshelf out of the way every time I want to access my closet for the next several weeks, but that’s fine. It’ll be worth it.

Christmas is always worth it.

I haul the holiday decorations out from under the stairs, pausing when I find the plastic tub labeled “sunroom.” I grasp the excuse to spend some extended time by the fire and lug the box through the kitchen and out the door. I set it on the swinging couch, then pop the lid off.

The first thing I see, nestled safely on a green and red striped throw blanket, is a ceramic family of four little sheep. I smile.

“Well, hello there, sweet babies. Here, allow me to put you in a place of great honor! I know you have all that fleece to keep you warm, but the fireplace is just so lonely without you, you know?”

I gather them up, then set them neatly one by one on top of the fireplace. They stare back at me, and I interpret the “thank yous” in their shiny black eyes.

“You aresowelcome! Let me know if you need anything. A blanket, some water – whatever. I am at your command!”

I bow to them, eyes catching on the fire as I bend down. Yikes. Need more wood.

I scurry to the pile by the door and grab two decently sized logs, adding them to the fading flames and crisping the hairs off my fingers for my trouble.

I curse, jerking my hands away from the heat and waving them around in the frigid air. When that doesn’t help, I make my way to the outside door, opening it just enough to reach my hands out and shove them into the snow coating the tall stack of logs Bazzy chopped up a couple of days ago. The relief is instant, but short-lived.

“Oh, gross, Heidi. You’re so dumb,” I mutter to myself. “Theinfectionyou’re going to get from this!” I pull my hands out of the delightfully chilled fluff and run inside, cleaning the burns in the sink. The water is almost as cold as the snow without electricity running to the water heater, and I thank Christmas magic that we have running water at all. Well water, my great love – always there when I need her.

I let my hands sit under the flow long after the suds have been rinsed away, reveling in the touch of cold on my singed skin. It smarts so badly, I’m surprised to find that once I do finally dry them off, the burns aren’t that bad at all.

“They didn’t even blister, you big baby,” I mumble, returningto the sunroom. “They’re barely even red.” My eyes roll, then I scoff. “Drama queen.”

I shake the final droplets of water off my fingers as I approach the box of decorations on the swinging couch.

“Now, where was I?”

Ignoring the sting on my hands, I set aside the striped throw blanket to get to the goodies beneath.

“Aha!” I yell as I unearth lights, candles, garlands, and more – each new discovery more sparkly than the last. I squeal, hopping up and down at the sight of all the pretty decorations, then I get to work.

By the time Baz returns – with Archie in tow – I’ve turned the sunroom into a winter wonderland of jolly and joy. Multicolor lights twisted into green garlands crisscross over the ceiling. Cedar and spice scented candles clutter every available surface, including the floor. Red, green, and gold bows are hooked into the screened windows. Golden cherubs fly through the bows, dodging reindeer and snowflakes like old pros, which they should be, considering they’ve had years of practice.

I’m snuggled up under a blanket on the couch making progress in my book when they walk in – the female main characterstilldoesn’t know they’re married. She’s so silly.

“Heidi,” Archie starts, interrupting a rather adorable scene with the main male character’s daughter. I scowl at him.

He adopts a sheepish expression that does not fool me for one second, particularly as he’s wearing his idiotic maintenance man onesie, meaning that instead of coming to fix our electricity, he spent his morning perfecting his fancy dress. My scowl deepens.

He keeps talking.

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