Deep down, she knew she’d always love Leo.
But those feelings for him weren’t so deep down any longer.
“You okay?” Leo pressed, eyes scanning her downcast face.
She took off a glove and swiped her fingers over her wet cheeks. “I’m fine.” She pulled on the truck handle. “Thank you.” She braved a smile and climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her before her heart visually cracked in front of everyone.
Chapter Eleven
Leo
The Whitley’sEight Days of Christmas tradition had been something Leo joined on occasion growing up. The few years he dated Isabella, the traditions had been mandatory. After his mom died, they offered for the Hoffman men to join them, but it didn’t feel right without Isabella there. Then when Landon and Norah got together, the Whitley’s insisted, not taking no for an answer.
Leo found he didn’t mind joining in, it was good for Landon to be part of a big family, and it was even nice for his dad. But some of the Whitley traditions lasted hours, if not all day. Like today—day two. The tradition didn’t stop with simply driving up to the mountain, picking out a tree, and cutting it down. Nope. It also involved setting up the tree, decorating it, and stringing popcorn with cranberries.
While Mr. Whitley and Landon stood back admiring the tree inside its old, rickety stand, all Leo could do was think about the earlier conversation with Isabella. She’d come back? When? And how had he not known? He wanted to grab her by the arm and drag her into the other room and drill her with questions—demand answers. But did it honestly matter now? Would it change anything? What happened between them was water under the bridge. But if that were true, why couldn’t he stop obsessing over it?
“It looks good to me,” Mr. Whitley said.
“Sure does,” Landon agreed. “Isabella picked out a perfect tree this year.”
“She always picks out the perfect tree. She has an eye for it or something. Mom and I could never quite figure it out.” Mr. Whitley studied the tree, tilting his head, lips curved into a pleasant smile. “Our trees were terrible the last ten years without her guidance.”
“Pft,” Leo huffed out loud without intention.
Isabella narrowed her eyes at him, and he narrowed his right back. Two could play this game.
It was unsettling the way her dad worshipped her. So what if she had a knack for picking out a decent Christmas tree. She’d been gone for ten years, and Leo had been the one here, witnessing the sadness conveyed in Mr. Whitley’s eyes as he studied every tree—every imperfect, not-passing-Isabella’s-inspection tree.
Yep. Water under the bridge he decided. He didn’t care that Isabella had come back or her reason for not telling him.
His skin itched with a pressing desire to get out of there. His vision slid to the plastic bins packed full of ornaments scattered around the living room. This always took hours. Between the unwrapping of each ornament, followed by Mrs. W. telling the story behind it, and then hanging them all on the tree, it was an excruciatingly tedious process. One Mrs. Whitley didn’t take lightly. And then there was the stringing of popcorn and cranberries. That was its own process.
He pushed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes, contemplating how he could get the hell out of there.
“C’mon, Mom,” Isabella hollered over her shoulder into the kitchen. “Let’s get this thing going.”
Leo looked at her, unsure if he should thank her for hurrying this along, or if he should remind her how selfish she was acting. Mrs. Whitley had been waiting for years to share each of these traditions with her daughter. So he did neither.
“Here, let me help you with that, Mrs. W.,” Leo offered, jumping off the sofa and taking the giant bowls full of popcorn from her arms.
“Thank you, honey,” Mrs. Whitley patted his arm.
Isabella blinked at their exchange. Her unease by his natural interaction with her mom did something inside his chest. It wasn’t awkwardness or anxiousness, it was more of a satisfactory expansion of warmth. It was obvious their relationship unsettled her. Maybe spending the rest of the day here would be more fun than he’d originally thought.
Mrs. W. knelt on the living room floor next to a large plastic bin and opened it. She meticulously unwrapped a fragile ornament with careful fingers and gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Leo slid the stainless-steel bowls full of popcorn onto the coffee table before dropping himself onto the sofa. And so it began. The stories of first Christmases, baptisms, and graduations. He shifted, getting comfortable for the long afternoon ahead.
Ava hopped up from her seat on the floor when Mrs. W. unwrapped Finn’s Baby’s First Christmas ornament. Ava had been hanging it on the tree for the last three years Leo had been spending Christmas with the Whitley’s. Her own Baby’s First Christmas ornament was unwrapped next.
Ava snatched the ornament from Mrs. W. and ran over to Isabella, dangling it in front of her eyes. “Look! It’s my own ornament. It even has my name on it. See.” She spun it around so Izzy could read her name engraved on the underside.
“I do see,” Isabella said. “That’s pretty special. I love it.”
She smiled brightly, genuinely, and Leo nearly flinched. It had been a long time since he saw that smile. And what it did to him, he didn’t much like. It hit him in the center of his chest, digging underneath his ribs and aching deep.
“Grandpa and Grandma gave it to me when I was a baby.”
“You better hang it where everyone can see it.”
