Page 26 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

I sniff and do not mention that I agree. The throne scene was indeed hotness of the highest order. I mean, a man on his knees at the foot of your throne, ready and willing to worship you? Who wouldn’t think that’s call-the-fire-department levels of hot? An idiot, that’s who. But hot is not spicy, which even an idiot should know.

I turn on my heel, calling behind me, “I’m ready to go now.”

They follow me, good little ducks all lined up in a row.

We pause in the entryway to grab hats – cute red Santa ones with crisp white fur trim. I put mine on, then begrudgingly offer one to Archie, who shoves it on his head with a quickness that suggests he believes I might try to take it back.

He is not wrong.

Baz is significantly less thrilled about the opportunity for holiday whimsy. He crosses his arms and frowns, looking past the ring in his nose all the way down to me. I give him my best cajoling smile.

See my smile, Bazzy? Doesn’t it make you want to put on this hat? You want me to be happy, don’t you, my sweet Basil?

I open my eyes as wide as I can get them and flutter my lashes. Slowly, carefully, with my puppy eyes full of hope and wonder, I reach up to place the soft red hat on his head.

He does not stop me.

I beam.

His frown stays in place even as his eyes soften.

I love you.

I drop my hands from where they’ve been adjusting the hat – it must be perfectly crooked, of course – and grab his own. Three squeezes.

I love you, too.

His frown disappears.

“Enough of that!” Archie squawks beside us. Bazzy’s head whips toward him, thunderous.

“Go. Away.”

I snort.

“No, he’s right,” I intervene. Baz’s incredulous eyes meet mine. “We need to go, otherwise we won’t have time for tree decorating tonight. I want tree decorating, Bazzy. I need it. It has been promised to me, and so I shall have it. Yes?”

I put my hand on my hip, going for sassy attitude you’re-gonna-give-me-what-I-want energy. I fear I only succeed in giving pastel marshmallow kitten-without-claws energy.

Bother.

Baz concedes, though, despite my marshmallow vibes, so I count it as a win.

“Yay!” I yell, clapping my hands. “Time for Christmas! Merry and bright, people! Merry! And! Bright!”

Chapter Nine

“Give me that!”

“Get your own!”

“Thatismy own, you donkey!”

“Stop pushing me!”

“I’m going to do more than push you if you don’t give me that pretzel! I’ll push you in front of the Polar Express over there.”

I shove Archie a second time, making a grab formymall pretzel.

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