Page 43 of The Holiday Makeover

Veronica, who seemed very aware of the incoming flood, pulled out her figurative umbrella.

“So, tell us all the plans you have for the house, and don’t leave out any details. We definitely want to help. I have some great ideas I want to share with you for the Christmas party.” The hint of desperation in her voice was so apparent that I felt sorry for her.

Dominic held out a chair for Veronica, an uneasy smile plastered on his face as if he’d painted it on and it was starting to crack. Apparently, he didn’t like this charade either, but he loved Veronica enough to play along.

I just feared what Dominic was holding back. Knowing him, he already knew Tate’s show was in trouble. Dominic had contacts in the industry. And he liked to keep tabs on Tate. Which obviously made Tate feel on edge. Always.

Part of me wanted to yell, Enough already! Say what you want to say. But it wasn’t my place. This was Tate’s show.

I was just there as his emotional-support ex-girlfriend. If there were an award for Best Ex-Girlfriend Ever, I’d have it in the bag.

“So spill,” Veronica said brightly as soon as she was seated. She was determined for this not to go off the rails. Though I think it was decades too late for that. What they really needed was to get back on track and move forward.

Tate cleared his throat and squeezed my hand as if he were trying to juice a lemon. “The main project is the kitchen. We’re going to update it but make sure it still has all the warmth of Coco—” he choked on her name, and the sound of it made me want to love him all the more.

Ugh.

Where was Lily when I needed her to keep me grounded and remind me to take this slow? I had to remember that Tate’s texts were ridiculous and riddled with indecipherable abbreviations, and that he would secretly use my good lotion and never owned up to it.

Admittedly, I missed not having to buy extra lotion after he left.

“That sounds so lovely,” Veronica sighed before nudging her husband. “Doesn’t that sound nice, Dom?”

Dominic strangled out a gruff “Yes.”

“Didn’t you say you’d love to help Tate?” Veronica prompted again, as if he were incapable of having his own thoughts. I knew that wasn’t true—I’d had plenty of real conversations with him over the years. Just last week he’d come over and used his snowblower to clear the walkways for me, and afterward we talked about how everyone grieves in their own way. So I knew Dominic could be tender.

I just wished he would show that side to his son more often. Or at all.

“Yeah, of course,” Dominic said offhandedly. But then he straightened and eyed Tate more carefully.

I watched, and I could physically see something in him pivot. It was like the costume Veronica had made him wear was being unzipped and peeled off one layer at a time.

Veronica noticed too; she blushed and hastily said, “Everyone, help yourselves. We don’t want dinner to get cold.”

No one reached for the food.

I watched the water balloon pop as if in slow motion.

“While I help you work on the house, we can talk about what to do about getting the ratings up on your show.” Dominic shoved the proverbial pin into the balloon with gusto. “My contacts at the studio—”

Veronica jumped up. “Look how rude I am. I should play hostess. Turkey, everyone?”

The poor woman. I wanted to hug her. And Tate.

Tate’s taut jaw pulsed, and his cheeks burned crimson.

But Dominic plowed right through his wife’s attempts to stall the inevitable. “There is still time to turn this around. Everyone thinks you have promise. Your show just needs to step it up.” Then he turned his attention toward me with a Cheshire grin. “You know, you could take it to number one. The network execs are clamoring for you.”

I blinked. Stunned. I had no idea I was still being talked about. Sure, old fans of our show still sometimes wrote to tell me Tate’s new show would be better with me in it, but I just thought they were trying to be nice. Like a sisterhood loyalty thing.

Before I could say that wasn’t an option, Tate shook his head. “Rory is off-limits. I won’t use her for ratings. I already told the producers that.”

“You did?” I whispered, surprised. Maybe even a little touched. Maybe he did care more about me than ratings. Maybe he really meant it about not blurring the lines this time. Huh.

Tate didn’t get to acknowledge me. Dominic wouldn’t let it go. “You’re not thinking strategically, then. What have I taught you?”

“Apricot wild rice stuffing, anyone? Or sweet potato soufflé?” Veronica sang in a wobbly voice, clearly trying to hold it together and failing miserably. If it weren’t so sad, it would have been comical.