She thrust Leo’s T-shirt and flannel at the exposed chest she wished she was still kissing.
“You’re gonna have to go out the window,” she whispered. Isabella shoved him forward, reaching around him to pry open the nearly frozen shut window, and tossed his boots outside. “It’s nothing,” she called. “I just slept in. I’ll be right down.”
Leo stared at her, incredulous. “But it’s like ten degrees out there!”
“I’m sorry! I’m panicking!”
Leo grabbed her and kissed her. Hard. It was so good it made her toes curl.
“You are the only woman on the planet that I would do this for, Isabella Whitley.” Just like when they were kids, he crawled out the window.
She tightened the blanket around her shoulders, her cheeks burning.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I nearly froze to death climbing out of your window.”
Isabella giggled and threw on an Ithaca College sweatshirt, leggings, and a pair of slippers, then padded down the creaky, wooden steps, heart hammering in her chest. She just hoped she overslept so long that everyone had already finished breakfast.
No such luck. She turned the corner into the kitchen and was greeted with several pairs of eyes trained solely on her.
Perfect. Gang’s all here.
“There she is,” Dad said, practically in singsong.
Dad’s morning-person vibe was usually a real nails-on-the-chalkboard irritant until Isabella had some caffeine pumping through her veins.
But today, she welcomed it. Nothing was going to bring her down. She was light as air, floating from a night of earth-shattering sex. She felt invincible, even with the moment of tension they’d shared over Harrison’s texts. Leo wanted her. And he wanted to fight for her.
Not that he even had to.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Norah crooned from her spot on a stool at the kitchen counter next to Landon.
“We thought we were gonna have to blow a foghorn to wake you up today,” Finn said.
Norah eyed her suspiciously. “Rough night?”
Isabella ran her hand over her tattered hair, her face warming. “Just didn’t sleep good.”
“Don’t worry, Auntie Izzy. I wake up with messy hair every day,” Ava said, a hot cocoa mustache coating her upper lip. “Just don’t let Daddy brush it out for you. Mommy is better.”
Isabella smiled at her niece. “Thanks for the tip.”
As she poured a mug of coffee, the back door swung open, a gust of cold whooshing in with a frazzled Leo, like the outdoors themselves were delivering him at her doorstep.
He paused just inside, his eyes like a deer in headlights. “Oh, hey, everybody.” He looked frantically at Isabella, and she winced. He cleared his throat. “Am I too late for breakfast?”
“Absolutely not, hon.” Mom abandoned her spot at the table. “Let’s fix you a plate.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, following her into the kitchen. “Thanks, Mrs. W.”
Leo passed Isabella as she made her way into the dining room. Her eyes fluttered up from her mug to meet his. He gave her a conspiratorial smile and her body flooded with warmth. She sat in her spot on the stool next to Norah.
“Okay, after everyone’s done eating, I think we have a movie planned, followed by the notorious gingerbread house competition,” Dad said. “I just love day five.” He rubbed his hands together.
Isabella took a sip of her coffee, trying hard to not watch Leo as he leaned on the other side of the island, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“With all of these traditions, I feel like I’m stuck in the same repeating day,” Isabella muttered over the brim of her mug.
“That’s just the charm of Eight Days of Christmas,” Dad said wistfully. “They’re like magic.”
