Page 27 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

“Itold you, get your own!” He shoves back.

Okay, that’s it. He asked for it. Time to pull out the big guns.

“Baaaaaz!” I whine.

And what does Baaaaaz do? My best friend in the whole wide world? The only man I have ever, or likely will ever, love?

Nothing.

He does nothing.

Zilch. Nada.

Lessthan nothing, even. He doesn’t acknowledge the fight, Archie – me.

His feet keep on moving forward, carrying him to the parking garage. His arms swing steadily, bags of presents swinging with them. His face – his beautiful, gorgeous face – stays pointed ahead, singularly focused on the doors fifty feet in front of us.

“Baz!” I all but shriek. He still doesn’t pause, but he does utter three words so filled with malice that I nearly take a step – or several – back. The only thing stopping me is that this is Basil.MyBasil.

“Give. It. Back.”

Archie’s head snaps toward the larger man, and I watchwith satisfaction as his face goes through all the stages of grief, one after another – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance – before he finally hands me the now half-eaten pretzel. I clasp it to my chest and move so that Baz is between us, only taking a bite once I’m firmly in the safe zone.

Archie’s eyes narrow, and his thumb runs across his throat in what I suppose he means to be a threat. I grin at him, pretzel salt sticking to my teeth, then take another bite. He glares.

Yeah. Take that, sucker.

As we reach the doors to the parking garage, I take my final bite, humming merrily along to the Christmas tunes blasting through the mall’s speaker system.

Once out of the building, I skip to Baz’s Jeep, waiting for the beep that tells me I can hop in. It comes quickly, followed by the sound of bags being loaded into the back – man stuff. Not my problem.

I focus instead on the music situation, loading up my favorite wintertime playlist to be ready to go the minute Baz starts the car.

I don’t have to wait too long. Soon enough, Baz is jumping into the driver’s seat as if the mall is on fire, barely waiting for Archie to hop in before he reverses out of our spot and speeding away. I turn around to Archie, raising my eyebrows. He shrugs.

“You okay there, honey?” I ask Baz, facing the front and hooking my phone up to the car’s radio. His hand darts out, grabbing my own in a firm grip.

“If you turn on a single Christmas song, I will throw your phone out the window,” he growls.

I bite my lip to hold in a laugh. Oh, my poor, sweet Bazzy.

“Okay, Baz,” I answer him softly after I’ve conquered the urge to cackle. “No Christmas music. Are you okay with CubeCraft music instead?”

He grunts hisI don’t caregrunt, so I switch to Archie’splaylist of collected CubeCraft songs, and Archie and I jam out the entire ride home, scream-singing every song at the top of our lungs. Baz grimaces a few times but doesn’t stop us. I make a mental note to make him some hot chocolate later. The man is in desperate need of a treat.

We make one stop at some sort of construction supply store, where Archie runs in and back out quickly, carrying several bags with wires sticking out of them upon his return. They go in the back with the gifts, and then we start our journey home, CubeCraft music fueling us.

We arrive at our house a little after lunchtime, and I walk over to Rosie’s to pick up our company-provided meal while the guys take all of the bags inside. A pink square breaks up the purple of her front door.

I grab the sticky note and scan it.

Not home. Lunch in your fridge. Love you, dears. -Mum

I smile. What an absolute angel.

I do a one-eighty and head back to my house, excited to see what delicious yummies Rosie has left for us. I beeline to the kitchen once I’m inside, not taking my warm outdoor gear off in the below-freezing temperatures of the house.

I pass boxes and bags and totes full of Christmas clutter, Archie and Baz standing amongst them, on my way.

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