Page 172 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“Rue Bellamy, will you do me the honor of killing bad guys with me for the rest of our lives?”

“Absolutely yes.” She grins back, then drops her forehead to my chest with a groan. “But let’s not do it on hard mode next time.”

“Deal.” I reluctantly roll to my feet and reach down to help her up.

“Here’s hoping they took your advice about the music,” she says once we’re cleaning up for real this time. I shout a laugh, kiss the fuck out of her, then quickly massage shampoo through her hair before anybody downstairs sends out a search party.

Twenty minutes later, we walk into the living room hand in hand, and Felicity and Pell break into a polite golf clap. Even Quinn looks mildly impressed.

Blushes to her hairline, Rue curtsies and gestures theatrically at me.

“Cardigans and bare-handed kills,” she declares. “Getcha a man who can do both.”

When she nudges me in the ribs, I make an awkward bow, my cheeks undoubtedly as red as hers. Then she flounces to the couch and sits down to examine the spread of food that’s appeared on the coffee table, another of her possessions that’s become a seamless part of this new us.

“What’ve we got?” I ask as I walk over to join her on slightly shaky knees.

“We raided your kitchen,” Felicity says. “Too busy to go grocery shopping these days, huh?”

“Yep.” Rue leans forward to examine the spread. “Good thing nothing says Christmas like… deli chicken salad, Ritz crackers, Spanish olives, and animal cookies.”

“And Reese cups,” Pell says, his drawl thicker than ever as he points at the family-size bag that definitely didn’t come from our pantry.

“Reese’s, you bumpkin,” Quinn mutters.

He shrugs. “I say it like Mama Pell taught me.”

“They’ve been like this all night,” Felicity tells us in an undertone.

“What, glaring at each other from opposite ends of the room?” Rue asks.

“That’s just my face,” Quinn grumbles, sliding what’s definitely a glare at Pell. “Why are you even still here?”

He squints in thought. “Moral support.”

“For whom?” she grinds out.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

He’s moved from perching on a stool at the edge of the room to straddling a backward kitchen chair next to Quinn’s ottoman, and she’s holding a half-full bottle of the Cheerwine that he showed up with earlier tonight. I chalk it up to a Christmas miracle.

“I can’t help but notice,” Rue says, “that it’s three a.m. and you’re all still here. Don’t any of you sleep?”

Felicity hands Rue a can of sparkling water. “You know this is my witching hour, babe.”

“Insomnia,” Quinn says. “So, no.”

Pell shrugs and adjusts his ball cap. “If they’re up, I’m up.”

I look at them. The woman who’s becoming my sister, nibbling on a cracker and laughing as the man who’s been quietly orchestrating our lives describes a childhood growing up all over the South. My oldest friend, who showed up tonight to help with Timms and never actually left. She even took her boots off. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Quinn without her Doc Martens. I bet she’s three inches shorter than I realize.

And then there’s Rue. Shoveling chocolate-covered peanut butter cups into her mouth. Demanding Pell provide proof that he was the face of the Gerber baby for a few years. Insisting I grab the TV from her garage so we can watch The Muppet Christmas Carol on something other than my laptop since I’m a “weirdo hermit who eschews creature comforts like big screens and surround-sound speakers.”

“I love you,” I whisper into her hair after we’re all snacked out and dozing in front of Kermit and company.

She burrows sleepily into my chest, pressing a kiss over my heart. “Hugo.” She exhales my name on a long, happy sigh. Then she drops a second kiss on Cosmo, who’s sprawled in my lap. “Love you both.”

The call comes in just after seven a.m.