It was still autumn according to the calendar, but nothing said could have convinced her it wasn't winter. Snowfall was periodic, but the stinging chill of the wind against her skin was constant. With every passing December day, her sleeves grew longer, and her petticoats multiplied; her bed, covered in a mountain of blankets and quilt, could attest to her dislike of the cold, but less so than the permanent tight-lipped frown she wore.

Staying at Jamie's was not even an option some nights; with a masculine pride like his, it was not uncommon for him to be wandering around with a weightless shirt on in his igloo of a house. Getting him to admit he was cold was even more difficult, though she'd seen him with goosebumps—(even his body was crying out for warmth!)—during meals.

He'd not spoken once of Christmas since December began, leaving Bella in a precarious situation. She could assume it was on his mind, or she could assume it wasn't. Bella decided she'd be spending Christmas Day with him either way; they'd either be at the MacFusty mansion with the others, or she'd be nagging him here about blowing off yet another family gathering.

"I heard Immie's getting her children a pig for Christmas," she offered, a gateway into the subject. Straightforward may have been Jamie's way, but Bella preferred to skirt around issues until someone called her bluff. "I told her I never might be able to read Izzy the story of the Three Little Pigs in the same way, not with us having wolf pups here." The two pups, who spent most chilly afternoons seeking the warmest spot in the house, were now under her feet—and much larger than they'd been when she and Jamie had first picked them up.

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