Page 10 of The Holiday Makeover

But what I found in the entryway was the scariest ghost of all.

The ghost of my past.

Tate’s head was clearly visible through the door’s small window.

I stopped dead. Heart pounding. Knees wobbling. Breath gone.

He stared straight at me, a look of pure determination on his beautiful, infuriating face, cheeks red from the cold. Hair flecked with snow.

“Coco was right,” he yelled, just loud enough for me to hear.

Uh . . . Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

Did he think we deserved a makeover too?

Chapter Four

Rory

Istood there staring blankly at him through the small window. I was so not prepared for this.

George, meanwhile, was losing his ever-loving mind—spinning in circles, barking like Tate had returned from war instead of, you know, abandoning us. Where was the loyalty? Tate had broken both our hearts and walked away. He never even checked on George.

I was the one who fed him, walked him, and comforted him. I was the one who let him sleep in my bed—something I’d once sworn I’d never allow.

But apparently all it took was one glimpse of Tate and I was old news.

“Rory,” Tate called. “I know you don’t want to let me in, but I’m staying, and I do have a key.”

Dang it. I’d forgotten about that. Darn Coco. Thwarting me from beyond the grave.

Well, fine. He could let himself in. I needed to go hyperventilate.

I walked numbly back to the living room. As I did, I heard the door open and shut, followed by Tate’s warm, familiar voice.

“Hey, boy, I missed you.”

Liar.

He was so not staying.

I didn’t understand why he was here. Surely he wasn’t looking for a second chance. I’d seen all the Hollywood actresses he’d been dating plastered across social media. Not going to lie—every time one of them popped up, a tiny piece of my soul shriveled. He obviously hadn’t missed me. Or even thought about me. And those gorgeous, leggy babes with the long, flowing tresses and perfect cheekbones and wardrobes were just a reminder that I wasn’t what he really wanted. I was just the girl next door.

He didn’t get to just show up here. I didn’t care if Coco invited him. Or if he was the perfect person to help me make over the house.

I had no idea how we were even supposed to come back from a breakup like ours. We wanted completely different things. He wanted fame and glory. I just wanted to make people happy with my designs. I didn’t need—or even want—a TV show or YouTube channel to do that.

I only did the YouTube thing because of Tate.

And even that had been a fluke. Tate had already had his own channel. It was doing well. He worked shirtless sometimes, so even people who didn’t know a stud finder from a spatula were tuning in for that.

But Tate had a client who wanted a hand-drawn, hand-painted floral mural for her master bedroom.

At the time, I was on summer break from my teaching job in Idaho, and Tate asked if I would help him. We hadn’t seen each other in months, and I missed him. I was already stupidly in love with him then, even though he’d never given me any real hope we’d be anything but friends.

So I packed my bags and headed to Tennessee, where Tate had landed after college and not making the NFL draft. Who knew how it would change my life?

Those episodes with me in them ended up being his highest rated. Not only did viewers love my design work, but they loved our chemistry. Everyone thought we were adorable. Tate got flooded with requests for more custom artwork because of it. So he asked if I wanted to do it full-time with him.