Page 33 of Eight Days of Christmas
“I guess someone still likes to sleep in,” Finn teased.
“It’s barely eight o’clock. I’d hardly call that sleeping in.” Isabella leaned against the wall.
“Try being an on-call doctor. You’d never survive.” Finn flashed her a smug closed mouth smile.
She rolled her eyes. Finn couldn’t help himself. He would find any way possible to squeeze his profession into any conversation. Yeah, we get it—you’re a doctor. What did he want? A medal?
“Oh, you remember—Izzy was never much of a morning person.” Mom scooped a hot cinnamon roll from a pan, the gooeyness dripping off the spatula. She set it on a plate imprinted with a holly border and slid the sweet pastry in front of Isabella.
“Oh, I remember,” Leo taunted, pushing his chair out and standing.
She gasped. “I’m a morning person.” She didn’t have a choice. Not when Harrison woke her up blending his smoothies after his run. And especially not now, with Margo’s cat using her as a scratching post at five o’clock.
The room erupted in laughter.
“What? I am.” Her cheeks burned.
Patting her arm, Norah said, “We know you are, Izz. We’re just teasing.”
Leo carried his dirty dishes to the sink. “Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. W.” He pressed a kiss to Mom’s cheek.
“Anytime, sweetie.”
Isabella narrowed her eyes into slits, watching the exchange. Leo ignored her, leaving the kitchen and strutting down the hall. He was definitely strutting, the way his hips shimmied causing his backside to shift flawlessly in those tight jeans was distracting, she’d give him that.
But not enough to keep her from losing focus on the pastry perfection in front of her. She glanced at the gooeyness. The frosting dripped down the flaky sides, causing Isabella’s mouth to water. She hadn’t craved Mom’s cinnamon rolls in years. In fact, she’d nearly forgotten about them altogether.
That last thought sent a pang of guilt straight through her chest. She kept reminding everyone that ten years really wasn’t all that long. But if she’d forgotten about Mom’s cinnamon rolls, ten years was scary long.
“Thanks, Mom.” She took her fork and pushed it into the flaky goodness. Before taking a bite, she glanced at the plate next to hers—Norah’s plate. Piled with fresh fruit, it clearly lacked a giant sugar bomb. She nodded her chin toward Norah’s plate. “What’s with the fruit?”
“The wedding is in seven days. I can’t eat Mom’s cinnamon rolls and risk not fitting into my dress.”
“What?” Isabella’s voice went up an octave. “That’s crazy. A cinnamon roll isn’t gonna put on the pounds just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
Landon leaned forward, talking around Norah. “It’s no use, I’ve tried to tell her.” He shrugged and took a sip of coffee.
He was using her favorite holiday mug. The one with the Santa upside down in the Chimney. She rubbed her hand against her heart.
“You’d be surprised. I swear I gain at least ten pounds every December,” Norah said, popping a grape into her mouth.
“You? Oh please,” Isabella scoffed, her vision roaming over her little sister’s body dressed in a Christmas print long underwear set. It clung to her, hugging her curves. Which, if she was being honest, there weren’t many. Norah looked like she stepped out of the Victoria’s Secret catalog. Tall, long legs, and narrow everything. A cinnamon roll would do her some good.
“I don’t expect you to understand. You haven’t been home for Christmas since I was a kid. But just you wait. After a week of eating Mom’s cooking, you’ll see.” She pointed at her with her fork.
Ignoring the pang that came with realizing that Norah was only twelve during Isabella’s last Christmas at home, she turned her attention back to the pastry. It screamed for her to devour it. It wanted to be eaten, enjoyed. Maybe Norah was right, but Isabella didn’t care. Who was she going home to anyway? Todd and Margo and their cat?
She looked defiantly at Norah, stabbed her fork into the pastry, and took a bite. The combination of cinnamon and cream cheese frosting exploded in her mouth.
“Mmm,” Isabella said aloud, more dramatically than necessary. “This is so good.”
Better than sex. Well, at least any sex she’d had in a long while.
Norah smirked, bumping a shoulder into Isabella.
It wasn’t fair for Isabella to be the only one of them enjoying their breakfast.
She dragged the fork down the middle of the cinnamon roll and plopped half of it onto Norah’s plate. “It’s gonna be a long day, I think you’ll need this as much as I will.” She winked at her sister.
