Page 1 of Eight Days of Christmas
Chapter One
Isabella
Isabella Whitley grippedboth armrests and prayed she wouldn’t die in a fiery plummet to the earth. Only clouds filled the view out the plane’s window, but the aircraft jolted sideways and up and down, so vigorously that she closed her eyes and did the most ridiculous thing given her situation.
Shelaughed.
The irony of the moment was almost as painful as it was comical. Because wasn’t this what her life had become now? A life in complete disarray and full of turbulence?
Bob—the complete stranger in the seat next to Isabella who’d talked non-stop since the wheels lifted from the JFK runway—cleared his throat. “I-it’s going to be okay. We-we’re going to be fine. Promise.”
Isabella rolled her eyes and glanced down at his fisted hands in his lap, his knuckles white. What did Bob know? How did he know everything would be okay? And why was he so positive anyway? He’d already confessed that his girlfriend had dumped him, moved out and taken their cat with her, and his father died after choking on a shrimp—all in the last few weeks.
The plane rocked angrily, and Isabella inhaled a sharp breath. Sure, her life currently sucked, maybe not as bad as Bob’s, but she definitely didn’t want to die by way of a plane crash.
“H-hey, you’ve been letting me talk your ear off,” Bob mumbled. “Besides your name, I don’t know anything about you. How ‘bout you tell me about yourself?”
Isabella didn’t open up to just anyone. And on an airplane headed back home for the first time in ten years definitely wouldn’t be one of those times. People often mistook this as a sign that she was a good listener—people other than her ex-boyfriend, Harrison Blake, anyway.
Harrison used this as one of the reasons to end their relationship. His exact words had been:It’s like you’ve built a wall around your heart, and after four years, it’s still impossible to get in. Someone broke your heart. Broke you. And I can’t help you. If you ever want me to commit, you gotta figure this out.
Technically, their relationship hadn’t ended. Harrison asked her to move out of his modern apartment and suggested theytake a break. But who really knew what that meant? Was this a Ross and Rachel break? Or were they free to see other people?
As the floor beneath her feet continued to rumble, Isabella found herself asking, “What do you wanna know, Bob?” If she did die today, she refused to prove Harrison right.
“So, you live in New York?”
She nodded, picturing Central Park, and took a calming breath.
“And w-what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a journalist. AtThe New Yorker.”
Bob exhaled a low whistle. “Impressive.”
Gah, had she said too much? She tried not to be paranoid, but with her career, she’d met an unsuspecting creep or two in her day. The few things Bob knew about her could be enough for him to locate any of her social media profiles or find her bio onThe New Yorker’s website for that matter. From there it would only be a matter of time before he had her address.
Except as of now, she technically didn’t have a home address. The thought of Bob showing up at Harrison’s apartment provoked the bubble of a laugh in her throat.Joke's on you Bob. She didn’t live there anymore.
Something inside her withered. Not having an address linked to her name was the opposite of funny—it was disturbing and downright pathetic. She’d worked tirelessly to reach her current position atThe New Yorkerand what did she have to show for it? A new popcorn maker she’d left at Harrison’s apartment and a strict wardrobe of blazers and designer boots.
Since living in Manhattan for the past ten years, she’d relied on city transit and subways, so she didn’t even have a car. She didn’t own a single thing with her name attached to it. Currently, Isabella was crashing on Margo and Todd’s old, lumpy couch. Her friends from college had a two-bedroom apartment with each of them occupying a room.
She wasn’t complaining. She was grateful for a place to stay, even if it was a slightly dilapidated apartment building just outside of the city, while Harrison’s modern and recently renovated building was in the heart of NYC.
Isabella couldn’t dwell on the issue of technically being homeless, which was how she knew Dad would label it.
Dad. She probably missed him the most. He’d been so supportive and encouraged her to follow her dreams and attend Ithaca College. But when fate threw a wrench into Isabella’s plans and she never returned after graduation, he’d been the most resentful toward her.
Scratch that—second most resentful. She’d have to wait to figure out a more permanent living situation after she returned to New York. Right now, her only focus was surviving the next eight days.
The aircraft rattled and Isabella clutched the armrests again. A baby cried somewhere toward the back of the plane.
Bob patted her shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be alright.” His stale coffee breath emitted across the small space between them. “Tell me why you’re headed to Colorado?”
The plane leveled and Isabella exhaled a breath through her nose. She wasn’t typically a nervous flyer. She flew often for work. But a lot was riding on this trip to Colorado. Her family was counting on her—Norah was counting on her.
Maybe by her opening up to Bob, she’d be on her way to proving Harrison wrong. She didn’talwaysneed to be one of those tough nuts to crack; she could be chatty and charismatic like Norah.
