Page 114 of The Holiday Makeover

His fingers traced slow, soothing lines up and down my back, as if he was waiting for me to say something.

I knew what it was.

As I tried to gather the courage to say what my heart already knew, I listened to the storm raging outside. The wind howled and pushed hard against the trees and the old house. Somewhere beyond the window, Christmas lights rattled against a porch railing, and if I listened closely, I could have sworn I heard the faint sound of bells.

Christmas bells.

I smiled to myself, thinking maybe if I said what I wanted to say, Coco would get her wings.

A silly thought, really. But a beautiful one. And somehow, it calmed the storm that had been brewing inside me ever since Tate and I broke up.

That was when I knew what I needed to say.

“Tate?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you leave your wallet and keys here?”

He went completely still. Then he eased back just enough to look at me. With one crooked finger, he tilted my chin until our eyes met.

If I wasn’t mistaken, his eyes glistened.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Then his mouth found mine.

Softly at first.

So softly it made my chest ache.

His lips moved over mine with a tenderness that felt like a promise. Like an apology. Like coming home.

I curled my fingers against his chest, holding on as the kiss deepened, slow and warm and careful, until the cold, the dark, and the storm outside all faded away.

There was only Tate.

Only us.

And the quiet, beautiful possibility of forever.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Tate

When my eyes blinked open in the early gray light, my first thought was that last night had to have been a dream.

But then I felt the weight of Rory’s head on my chest.

Her warm breath tickled my skin, and one of those tiny little sighs she made in her sleep slipped out of her.

Last night had been a dream.

A dream come true.

I stilled, not wanting to wake her. Not wanting to lose this moment. Her tucked against me. Her hand resting over my heart.

I knew I should probably get up to let George out and see if I could fix the generator. The storm was still battering the windows. The power was obviously still out, judging by the dead electric clock on the nightstand and the silence of the furnace. And the room was cold enough that I could feel it everywhere Rory wasn’t touching me.