Page 4 of The Holiday Makeover

My lungs forgot how to function. Seriously, I couldn’t breathe.

“‘I think more than the house needs a makeover. Don’t you?’” she added, channeling my deceased, meddling Coco—the reigning queen of guilt trips.

Oh, I should’ve known Coco would try to fix us from the grave. She thought our breakup was a travesty. And . . . it was. Or at least I used to think so. But for the last two years, I’d wondered. I couldn’t forget when I asked Tate if he ever really loved me or if it was just about giving our fans what they wanted and getting more clicks and sponsors. He just stared at me blankly for several seconds, not saying a word.

Then he walked away.

It was the last time I saw him. Until now.

So making over the house was one thing. But . . . making over us?

I wasn’t sure if it was possible.

Fixing houses was a lot easier than fixing broken hearts.

Chapter Two

Tate

Ithrew my truck into park in front of the old football stadium. The place was deserted except for me, the falling snow, and a slew of memories I wasn’t sure I wanted.

The snow was coming down so hard that the stadium lights were barely visible, even with my wipers going at full speed.

I didn’t know where else to go. The stadium and Rory’s house were the only places in Aspen Lake where I’d ever felt important. Rory’s was an obvious no-go. And I wasn’t ready to stroll into my parents’ place next door and announce I was back in town. Mostly because I didn’t know if I was staying.

Hell, I didn’t even know why I’d come.

That wasn’t true. It was for Rory.

I knew losing Coco would destroy her. It wrecked me. Coco and Sam—her grandparents—were like my own. Sam was the one who taught me everything I knew about carpentry and renovating houses. The guy was a legend around here. The premier home builder in Aspen Lake back in his day. He’d built houses for tech giants, movie stars, senators—even a former US president.

And now he and Coco were both gone.

And Rory still hated me.

She wouldn’t even look at me.

The only words she’d managed were, “You can go back to LA and Designed by Tate. I’ll hire someone to take your place.”

She didn’t bother hiding the hurt behind it.

I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. She could’ve come with me. The network wanted both of us. They wanted Hammer and Hue.

Damn it, why couldn’t she have just come with me?

I knew why. But I’d been too stubborn to admit it. I thought I was in the right. But every night when I stared at the empty pillow next to me, I would give almost anything to go back and be wrong.

And maybe I was wrong.

After two long years of running her last words on repeat—her accusations that I never really loved her and that it was all for show, that all she ever wanted was me, but she was never enough—I could see why she might feel that way. But . . . I loved no one like I loved her. Ever.

Yes, it took me a long time to see what had been in front of my face for years. And I was more than cautious once I realized Rory was the one for me. It probably took longer than it should have for me to act on my feelings. But I was afraid of the exact situation we found ourselves in—being apart and her hating me.

It probably didn’t help that the first time I kissed her, it was during a live stream. Our fans were egging me on. For months, people had been posting that we were so cute together and had amazing chemistry. No one believed we were just friends.

And no one wanted to believe that we’d broken up.

Especially me.