Page 19 of Eight Days of Christmas
About an hour and a half later,Leo pulled up in front of Isabella’s childhood split-level home where her parents still lived. He realized only now, the differences in contrast to the Whitley’s home versus Dad’s dated one next door. For years Dad had been too busy with the business—Hoffman and Son’s Electric—to maintain it. Lately though, he’d been allowing Leo to help him with smaller renovations on the house, like new windows.
But there were other differences too, like Christmas lights on the Whitley’s home. Garlands draped across the front, hiding the gutters. A full set of reindeer stood in the thick snow in the yard. Mr. W. even had one of those blow-up Santas. In contrast, the Hoffman home was bare, not looking like it was Christmas at all. Mom had always been the one to rally Dad into decorating the home. She’d put up both the menorah and a Christmas tree to honor hers and Dad’s traditions.
“It’s showtime,” Isabella said through sing-song sarcasm.
“Good luck,” he muttered. It was the first exchange they’d had since the coffee truce.
She pursed her lips and glared at him before climbing out of the car.
He waited for a moment and peered out the windshield, watching as Mr. and Mrs. Whitley stepped out of the house and onto the porch. Mr. W. still wore his flannel pajama pants and slippers, his short, light brown hair sticking up, and Mrs. W. donned an apron tied at her waist, her makeup and hair impeccable as always.
Norah barreled out and pushed past them both, clomping down the paved walkway dressed in a pair of oversized snow boots. Leo hesitantly climbed out of the car in time to watch Norah tackle Isabella in a hug, nearly landing both of them in the snowdrift next to the driveway.
“Izzy, you’re finally here!” Norah squealed.
“I know, right.Finally.”
Norah released Isabella and ran toward Leo, flinging her gangly arms around his waist. “Thank you,” she muttered against his chest. “So glad you’re back.”
“Yeah, me too.” He patted Norah’s shoulder before she released him, then he reached into the back seat for the luggage.
“Well, aren’t you two chummy?” Isabella mumbled.
He wasn’t sure if the snippy comment was intended for his ears or Norah’s.
Norah rushed at Isabella, taking her by the hands and dragging her toward the house. “C’mon, Izzy, there’s so much we need to do before Finn and Nina get here and little Ava wants to steal all of your attention. Starting with you trying on your maid of honor dress.”
“No problem,” he called to absolutely no one. “I got the luggage.” He shook his head and grumbled under his breath as Norah pulled Isabella up the front steps and he tried not to be obvious about lurking.
Isabella stopped on the porch and hugged Mr. Whitley.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi, Dad. The house looks great.” She gestured at the lights.
“Thanks. But I can’t take all the credit. Leo and Landon helped.”
“Oh yeah?” Isabella glanced over her shoulder to where Leo now stood at the bottom of the porch steps, luggage in tow—her luggage.
He gave her a tight smile. He’d play nice. Especially when the parentals were around. But she ignored him and moved onto greeting her mother. He felt like chucking her suitcase straight into the snowdrift. If Mr. and Mrs. W. weren’t standing right there, he would’ve done just that.
“Hey, Mom, you’re looking as beautiful as ever.”
“Oh, stop it, always bringing the compliments. But never bringing herself for a visit.” Mrs. Whitley hugged her.
Isabella jerked back and set a hand on Mrs. Whitley’s shoulder. “Mom, I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Well yeah, because of Norah’s wedding.” She untied her apron, showing off a classic Mrs. W. Christmas sweater—a snowman with embellished button eyes. “If it wasn’t for Norah getting married on Christmas Day, would you have made it home this year?”
It was awkward being present for their reunion. He shouldn’t care what words they exchanged. But a small part of him felt defensive for Isabella. But why? For years, he’d looked forward to this moment—when her family would finally accuse her of abandoning them. Because he wasn’t the only one she’d ran out on.
Isabella cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, taking on the resemblance of the woman he first encountered at the airport yesterday. “Why don’t we just focus on the traditions and Norah’s wedding.”
Mrs. Whitley’s expression remained tight, and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Leo suspected she wanted to have it out with her daughter right then, right there. But instead, she pressed her lips together and gave a curt nod.
“Izzy is right,” Mr. Whitley said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “She’s home now, and that’s all that matters.” He finally took the suitcases. “Thanks, Leo.”
Leo nodded. “Not a problem.” A small lie. Isabella herself was an enormous problem. A growth attaching to his body. A huge pain in his ass. Getting her here was only half of the issue. Putting up with her for the next week would be even bigger. Did she even know he’d been invited to join the festivities of Eight Days of Christmas?
