Page 47 of The Holiday Makeover

His brow quirked like he was about to tell me I’d lost my mind, but then he grinned. “Are you asking me out on a date, Rory Winters?”

“You and me, on a date?” I pointed between us. “That sounds dangerous.” Dangerous to my let’s-take-it-slow plan.

But maybe dating is what the situation called for. We probably should have dated before. Last time it was like we just fell into a full-blown relationship. We went from zero to sixty without even thinking about it. One minute we were friends, the next we were lovers. We didn’t even talk about it. It was as if we’d both just assumed we would be a forever kind of thing.

“It sounds perfect to me,” he said, low and thoughtful.

Me too. But I didn’t say that. That was too much. Too fast. “Okay, fine. Pick me up in the entryway in half an hour. I’ll be the one with hot cocoa and a picnic basket.”

Tate chuckled. “Have I ever told you that you are the most adorably beautiful creature I’ve ever met? And that I’m the biggest idiot for letting you go?”

“Yes to the first part, no to the second.” Though I didn’t always believe I was beautiful to him, especially after seeing some of his other girlfriends. They were all stunning. I’d always felt plain in comparison.

Tate brushed a loose strand of my hair back. “I am an idiot.”

“Agreed.” I smirked. “But,” I whispered, “I am sorry you’re hurting and that you don’t feel like you’re enough. I wish I could make you see that you’re wrong. But I know I can’t do that for you. You’re going to have to find your way there on your own. But just so you know, you were always enough for me.”

I slipped out of his arms before the moment swallowed us whole. It would be so easy to get lost in him. And while part of me ached for that closeness, I knew it would only complicate an already complicated situation.

“Rory.” He caught my hand before I could step away. His grip was gentle, almost tentative. “I want you to be my home. And I want to be home for you. Just . . . please give me some time.”

Why did being someone’s home sound even better than I love you?

I gave his hand a squeeze. “Let’s go on a few dates and see how it goes.”

“We’re going to make this work,” he pleaded with me to believe him.

And I wanted to. I really did.

Chapter Sixteen

Tate

“Happy Thanksgiving.” Rory handed me a mug of hot chocolate.

Steam rose into the frigid night air, mingling with her breath until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The ceramic warmed my palms instantly, a small mercy against the bite of the cold. The blanket beneath us was thin, and the frozen ground seemed determined to seep through it in slow, steady waves, numbing my legs.

But the heat from the mug—and from Rory sitting close enough that our shoulders brushed—made it all worth it.

Only Rory would think to have a picnic in the middle of winter. She’d spread a checkered blanket across our favorite sledding hill above Aspen Lake, where the snow was easily four feet deep by then. It glittered under the starlight, making it look like we were floating on a sea of ice.

The night was so still it felt frozen. The only sounds were the faint groan of the lake ice shifting below, the occasional creak of pine branches weighed down with snow, and our breaths, which somehow seemed louder out here in the cold.

Above us, the sky stretched wide and impossibly clear, full of a million stars that shone sharp and bright. I hadn’t seen stars like this in a long time. Not in LA, where the sky was a permanent haze of light and noise. Out there, even at midnight, the world buzzed. Here, the quiet was piercing, peaceful.

It felt a lot like Rory.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I whispered, actually feeling the sentiment. After leaving my parents’ place, I wasn’t sure the holiday could be salvaged, but I should have known Rory would work her magic.

She didn’t know how thankful I was that she’d agreed to go on a date with me. Even if I had to freeze my backside off for it.

“I brought sandwiches, cookies, apples, and a questionable fruitcake from the fridge that may have been there since 2015. But I’m not sure,” Rory laughed. “I never understood Coco’s love of fruitcake.” Her voice hitched.

I dared to put an arm around her, and thankfully she didn’t resist. Earlier in the kitchen, I’d taken note of how tentative she’d been about my touch. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable. “I know you miss her. I miss her too.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. Her head fell on my shoulder. Her beanie brushed against my cheek.

This was good. Very good.