Page 106 of The Holiday Makeover

All in all, it had a Pottery Barn vibe, but with a bit more pulse.

Case in point: There was a floral umbrella stand that had no business working with the rug but somehow did, and one small framed print that read, Welcome-ish.

I smiled despite myself.

The entryway looked like Rory.

Beautiful, practical, and a little unexpected.

The large circular mirror in question leaned against the wall near the vintage console table she’d acquired.

“I’m trying to decide if the mirror should be centered above the table,” she said, studying the wall, “or if I should go off-center and add a plant. Maybe a kitschy vase. I think the space needs something green and alive.”

There was no way not to be enamored by her.

“I think whatever you choose will be perfect,” I offered.

“You’re not helping,” she sang.

“You know this part was never my forte.” I pointed at the mirror. “But please, for the love of my sanity, let me hang that the proper way.”

“If you must,” she giggled. “Also, I think I’m going to look for a vase and get some plants.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I agreed, though admittedly, I would have told her that no matter what she chose.

She was a house whisperer, after all.

And Darian was right. She was making this place hers. She wanted this to be home.

And not just her childhood home.

If this was where she wanted to be, I wanted to be here too.

“You know,” I said, glancing at the console table, “I think that needs a place for keys and a wallet. Maybe something leather or metal. Something masculine.”

Rory considered that for a moment, her brows drawing together. Then her eyes lit when she realized what I was really saying.

“Oh.” Her voice pitched higher. “I mean, something like that could look good there. But if I bought a piece like that, I’d want to know it would get a lot of use.”

I held her gaze.

“Daily,” I said.

“Wow. Daily, huh?” she said, as if trying to catch her breath. “That’s definitely a big commitment. You know, leaving your keys and wallet on the same console table every day.”

“It is,” I agreed, stepping closer to her. “Not something a man should take lightly.”

“Definitely not. Especially in a town this man might not exactly love.”

“But what if he loves a woman who lives here?” I asked carefully. “What if he’s starting to think her grandmother knew exactly what she was doing when she asked them to make this house their own?”

I stepped a little closer.

Rory rubbed her lips together. It was a nervous tic of hers. “What if her grandmother was just crazy?”

“Do you really believe that?” I asked.

Rory opened her mouth to answer, but with the worst timing ever, my mom appeared in the doorway. I silently swore.