Page 105 of The Holiday Makeover

“It did feel pretty good,” I admitted. “But there are consequences.”

Darian chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re one of the best I’ve ever worked with. On camera and off. The sponsors know it. The vendors know it.” He glanced over at me. “You’ll land somewhere. And they’ll be lucky to have you.”

Childishly, I wanted to ask, Do you really think so? Why was it so hard for me to believe him? But I appreciated it all the same. More than he would ever know.

“That means a lot, man. But right now, it’s all about the girl.”

Darian grinned. “Rory? She’s a good one. That woman has mucho fuego.”

I tilted my head.

“A lot of fire,” he translated.

“You have no idea.”

I hoped that one day she would allow me to be consumed by that fire again. For now, she was acting warm but cautious.

And I was allowing her the space she needed until she came to her own conclusions about me.

The waiting and not knowing where this all might lead was its own brand of torture, but there was something meaningful in working to win her heart this time around. She had loved me far too easily the first time.

And I had made her wait far too long for my love in return.

As corny as it sounded, it felt like the universe was trying to rewrite this story itself. Like maybe we were getting the chance to tell the story we should have written in the first place.

I only hoped it ended the way it was supposed to.

With her.

“Mano, I have known women like her in my day.” Darian pointed a cabinet pull at me. “My advice? Move heaven and earth for her if you have to.”

Then he gestured around the kitchen.

“And I hope you realize she’s making this place her own. Her home.” His gaze returned to mine. “I hope you’re smart enough to make it yours too.”

And that was when it hit me.

The reason Coco wanted us to renovate her house before the Christmas Eve party had nothing to do with the state of the place. She wanted us to make it our own.

Our home.

Well played, Coco, I thought.

“Tate,” Rory called. “Can you please come here? I need your opinion on where the mirror should go in the entryway.”

Darian gave me a knowing grin.

“Please tell me you aren’t using adhesive strips,” I called back.

Her laugh told me everything I needed to know.

I dropped what I was doing and headed for the entryway before she could damage her newly painted walls. Or worse, hang a mirror without finding a stud first.

Rory and adhesive strips were a dangerous combination.

There she stood in the entryway, wearing an impish grin and her signature overalls that fit her in a way that did me in.

In the last twenty-four hours, she’d transformed the room into something warm and inviting. The freshly painted walls made the old wood floors look richer, a cream vintage runner with hints of gold stretched down the center of the entry as if it had been made for the space. A thick bench sat beneath a row of brass hooks, with woven baskets tucked underneath for shoes, scarves, and Rory’s collection of crossbody bags.