Page 37 of Wrapped Up in Christmas Love
Zach pointed toa photo of Isabelle wearing her mother’s high heels and a pink feather boa. “I see you’ve always had a great sense of fashion.”
“Sophie and I were playing dress-up in Mom’s things.” She smiled at the memory. “You don’t have to look at every photo. The purpose of this is to figure out where my father is, not to gawk at my childhood.”
“Ah, now, Blondie. Nothing wrong with proving that you’re a natural blond.”
“I wish I weren’t.” How many times had she considered coloring her hair to erase the reminder? Hundreds? Thousands?
Zach’s gaze shifted to her. “Why is that?”
“The women in my family resemble my Grandma Belle. Sophie is a younger version of her with her dark eyes and hair.” A resigned expression came over her face. “Then you have me.”
“You look like your father?” he guessed.
She nodded.
“He must have been a handsome man.”
Isabelle shrugged. “My mother must have thought so.”
“There aren’t any photos of him hanging on the walls.”
“Of course not.” Had he thought there would be?
His expression unreadable, he studied her. “But there are photos of him in these albums?”
“We just haven’t gotten to them.” Years ago, she’d wanted to toss every photo of Cliff Davis, but Sophie had made her promise she’d leave them alone. As it had been years since she’d looked at the albums, that they were still there hadn’t mattered.
“You chose an album full of fun photos of you and yet you complain that I’m looking at every photo?” He shook his head and flipped to the next page. “It’s never dull with you around, Blondie.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just a barrel of monkeys.” Biting her lip, she eyed the stack of photo albums, her gaze lingering on a faded burgundy one in the middle. Her stomach felt as if it were a barrel full of caffeinated monkeys.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
His gentle offer had her turning, surprised at how much empathy shined in his gaze.
Not liking his pity, she straightened her shoulders. “If we didn’t have to do this, you wouldn’t be here.” Reaching for the album, she pulled it free and handed it to him. “Here, you look at this. I’m going to get a drink. Do you want something?”
“Me, a drink, and photo albums?” He shook his head. “Nope. Thanks, though.”
He made a good point. As shaky as she felt, she shouldn’t have liquids anywhere near the photos. Then again, if she damaged certain ones, maybe she’d never have to see them again.
Because deep in her gut, she dreaded what opening that binder was going to reveal.
Outside of her mind, she’d not seen Cliff Davis in years. Not in person or in photographs. She’d purposely kept it that way.
In the kitchen, she poured a glass of water, planned to stall for several minutes, but cringed when she heard the front door. What were her sister, mother, and Cole doing back so soon?
Isabelle rubbed her temple, wondering how best to explain that they’d walked in with Zach looking through the family albums. Or maybe she wasn’t going to have to, she thought moments later as Sophie’s exclamation sounded loud from the living room.
“Oh, look at this one of Izzy winning her fourth-grade spelling bee!” No doubt her sister had cozied up on the sofa next to Zach. “She’s always been so smart. She was valedictorian of her senior class and had a full scholarship to an Ivy League school in Nashville.”
“I’ve always been so proud of her,” her mom added. “She’s my rock.”
Heat flooded Isabelle’s face. Guilt plagued her for eavesdropping, but she couldn’t bring herself to return to the living room quite yet, either.
“Mine, too,” Sophie assured. “No one has a better sister, or best friend, because she’s that, as well. My sister, best friend, business partner.” Emotion cracked Sophie’s voice. “She’s the most selfless person I know.”
Her guilt blossomed. She and Sophie had never kept secrets from each other. Would her sister understand that Isabelle hadn’t told her about looking for their father for her own good? That pretending to like Zach had been a necessary evil to give her the wedding she dreamed of?
