isabella [h.s.]

forty two

**on this night, and in this light
i think i'm falling,
falling for you**

ISABELLA

"Oh my God," I breathe as the three of us roam around the Christmas tree farm, having to stop myself from clapping my hands together with glee like an overexcited kid. Gemma is already a few feet ahead of us, alternating between peering at the trees and texting someone on her phone, while Harry leisurely strolls along with me, his arm thrown across my shoulders while I glance around in awe. "I feel like I'm in a Christmas film or something."

Harry just laughs, leaning down to plant a small kiss on the crown of my head. "You're so cute," he says with a fond smile on his lips, shaking his head slightly. "I can't believe you're getting so excited about a Christmas tree farm."

"I told you I've never been to one before," I remind him, gently nudging him with my hip. "When you grow up with a drug-addict mother, you don't go to many Christmas tree farms. Or have many Christmas trees, really."

Harry doesn't reply straight away, squeezing his arm tighter around my shoulders in a gesture of comfort. "What did you used to do for Christmas?" he asks gently after a while.

"When I was younger, I went to my aunt Rosie's a lot of the time, my mum's sister," I tell him. Even as the words leave my lips, I'm surprised that I'm even saying them because I never talk about my family, not to anyone. Tina is probably the only person who knows the most about it, and it took years into our friendship for me to finally open up about everything. But with Harry, I just know that I could bear my soul to him and the thought of judging me wouldn't even cross his mind. Knowing that brings me more comfort than he could ever imagine. "My mum didn't like her because she lived in the nice part of town and my mum always said she thought she was better than us because of it. But Rosie was always so lovely to me, when I was actually allowed to see her. But on Christmas, my mum was usually so blacked out that she didn't know or care where I was. One time I stayed at Rosie's from Christmas Eve all the way until New Years Day, and when I got dropped home, my mum hadn't even noticed I'd been gone."

Harry's arm tightens around me even more, which brings a smile to my face despite the somber conversation topic. "How old were you that time?"

I nibble my lip, thinking. "About nine or ten?"

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head as if he's outraged for me. "I just wish I could.....I don't know, go back in time and protect you."

I laugh softly. "What would you have been then, like thirteen or fourteen? What could you have done?"

Harry pauses and then smiles, clearly agreeing. "Yeah, you're right. I was a bit of a shit when I was that age. I was going through my rebel phase," he says, and I laugh again just at the thought of it. "What happened when you got a little older?"