Chapter Ten
Baz releases his hold on me and pulls back. I resist for a moment, then remember that I am an adult woman who can look her best friend in the eye when he rejects her. It’s the respectful thing to do.
Ignoring the tears threatening to fall, I turn my eyes to meet warm, molten chocolate. A callused finger drags beneath my eyelashes to steal away the wetness gathered there.
“I don’t hate Christmas,” he says, eyes roving over my face. “Why would you think a silly thing like that?”
I blink. Why would I…
“Because of the… because you… You hate sledding! And gift shopping. And the Santa hats. And, like, everything else?”
What is he even talking about?
“Baby, I don’t like sledding because the way you like to sled would terrify an adrenaline junkie. The mall at Christmastime is objectively the worst place on earth. Everyone knows that. And the Santa hats make my hair staticky and gross. I don’t know what else it is you think I hate, but I can assure you that I don’t hate anything. Do I dislike some aspects of the season? Yeah, sure. Hate, though? No.”
“But you ate the elf’s head!” I protest. Not that I want him to hate Christmas, but there’s no way have I been making this up all these years. A man who likes Christmas doesn’t just gnaw off an elf’s noggin like it’s nothing.
His head shakes, mouth puckering in a clear effort to fend off a smile. My eyes narrow.
“I’ve seen those same elves every year for the last thirty-six years. I am immune to the cuteness of the elves when I know very well what lies beneath those adorable little faces.”
I open my mouth, then close it. I guess he has a point. Except…
“Has Rosie been giving you those elves since I’ve been here?” I ask. “I’ve never had them before! Is she holding out on me?” Why would she do that? I thought she loved me!
Basil loses his fight with mirth, deep laughter bursting free. I forget my pique immediately. I forget everything I’ve ever felt or known.
Baz is laughing.
He’s laughing .
Be respectful, Heidi.
Do not jump the large, beautiful man, Heidi.
Be respectful .
And I am respectful, all the way up until the point when he grabs me, squishing me to him while his laughter fizzles out. The echoes of it vibrate through me, setting my insides on fire and making me squirm.
This is so not good.
He looks down at me and smiles, big and bright.
Yeah.
This is so not good.
“She hasn’t made them for you yet because every other year you’ve abandoned me to visit family. You leave me here, sad and alone, and Mum makes the elves to cheer me up. It doesn’t work, but the effort is always sweet. Pure mum.”
Abandon…
“I don’t abandon you!” I protest. His eyes roll.
“The only reason you’re here right now is because your parents went on a cruise this year. Otherwise you’d be gone half of December – like you are every year – leaving me to suffer without you.”
I frown.
“Your mom lives across the street. It’s not like you’re alone. I would never just abandon you to solitude. That’s ridiculous.”
He sighs.
“We’re losing the plot,” he informs me.
Are we?
“What was the plot again?” I ask.
“Christmas, and how you seem to think I hate it.”
Ah, right.
“You don’t hate it?”
“Of course not. It’s your favorite time of year. I could never hate anything that makes you so happy.”
“But… but you always seem so grouchy?”
“Baby, think about it. Am I any less grouchy any other time of the year?”
My brows furrow.
I suppose he has a point. The wetness in the spring makes him cranky, and the summer heat turns him into a sweating, cursing puddle of angry. He seems to like autumn, but then, who doesn’t?
Huh.
Have I been reading this wrong? For years ?
“You like Christmas?” I ask to confirm.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he answers. “I like what Christmas gives to you. I like the traditions you’ve made for us. I like watching you open gifts and seeing the thought and care you put into the gifts you give to everyone else. I like your cute Christmas outfits, and I like listening to you sing about reindeer and snow and colorful lights while you go about your day. Christmas itself means nothing to me without the addition of you, but the addition of you means absolutely everything.”
I melt straight into his arms.
“You silly girl,” he murmurs, holding me close. “You’ve been holding this in? Worried?”
I sniff, nodding my head against his chest.
“I’m sorry.” I mumble, feeling awkward. I wish I could say that I can’t believe I’ve made such a big deal about this, but I really can.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he says, his accent thick. “I’m glad you said something. I can’t believe you’ve been forcing us into a miscommunication trope all these years. How very vexing.”
I blush.
Respectful , Heidi.
Sure, he just implied we are the leads in a romance book, but I am not reading into that, am I? Of course not. I am especially not reading into anything when I am emotional because I just found out the love of my life does not, in fact, hate my very favorite thing in the world – besides him, of course.
I am being respectful. I am being friendly.
I am being lifted up into the air.
I grab for purchase, wrapping my arms and legs around Baz’s thick torso.
“Basil!” I yell. “What are you doing?”
He bends his head to land a kiss on my temple, then drags his lips down further to my cheek, pressing in there as well. My eyes widen and my limbs go slack. I drop several inches before his arms are there, under me, lifting and supporting.
“Sleepover,” he grumbles, taking us up the stairs two at a time. I gasp.
“Another sleepover?”
He grunts.
Yes, obviously, you big giant moron.
I am, perhaps, taking liberties in my interpretation of that one.
Within five minutes, I find myself once again in Baz’s bed, clothed in one of his t-shirts, wrapped in his arms, and listening to the gruff tones of his accent say the sweetest, most wonderful things to me.
It’s the best night of my life, and the hardest, too, as I remind myself over and over that any amount of love from Basil Cole is a gift, and I should not waste my time with him letting my greedy heart pine for more than he is able to give. I should be grateful he’s heaping any amount of love on me at all. I should take the bittersweet feeling erupting in my chest and welcome it for what it is – a reminder that even though I will never have everything I want, what I do have is pretty dang good.