Page 53 of The Holiday Makeover

I dropped the takeout bag on the table as we passed. “Also, why do you smell like you bathed in pine?”

“You’ll see.” His smile widened. “By the way, I called to have a construction dumpster dropped off and a salvage-and-restore crew come in to deal with the mess. They’ll haul out anything they can’t repurpose.”

“Thank you for thinking of that.” I hadn’t wrapped my mind around all the logistics. It had been a while since I’d done a full renovation. My job now was just to make things look pretty—order the furniture, textiles, paint, wallpaper, all the fun stuff.

Tate squeezed my hand. “Of course. I’ll handle anything you need me to.”

I knew he meant that. Once upon a time, we were a great team. I actually missed working with him. Just not the cameras or my life being on display. Or the constant wondering if Tate loved me or his business partner me more.

I naturally leaned into him. “I really appreciate it.” And I did. As much as I was afraid to admit it, I was glad he was here. I needed his steady presence, even if it was upending my life. “So tell me what you’re up to.”

We stopped just outside the parlor, but his tall frame purposely obscured my view. I tried to sneak a peek around him, but he anticipated my pivot to the right and blocked me.

“What are you hiding? Please tell me you didn’t dress poor George up as a reindeer again. He hates those costumes you used to get him. Our dog is not a Barbie doll,” I teasingly scolded.

I had been wondering why George hadn’t greeted me when I walked in. He was probably trying to chew his antlers off.

Tate chuckled. “I didn’t dress our dog up, but come to think of it, I saw this awesome Grinch costume we should get him.”

I rolled my eyes. Even though I missed these silly conversations. And, yes, I missed him. Don’t tell Lily.

“So what’s in the parlor?”

Tate’s expression turned tender. “Tradition.”

“What do you mean?”

He stepped closer and gently brushed the hair off my shoulder. “It’s the day after Thanksgiving. And I’m pretty sure you once told me that if you didn’t put up your Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving, no angels would get their wings that holiday season.”

I giggled. “It’s true, but I was hoping this year the angels would get an exemption under the circumstances.”

With everything going on, putting up the Christmas tree today was the last thing on my mind. Especially considering it would probably get in the way of all the redecorating and renovating.

“Well,” Tate said, self-satisfied, “the angels are safe this year.” He stepped aside, and there it was—the most perfect Fraser fir in front of the picture window, practically begging to be decorated. Boxes of Coco’s decorations surrounded it, calling to me.

George had perched himself in front of the tree, watching it carefully as if a squirrel might jump out of it.

“Tate,” I choked out. “How? When?” I wanted to add: I love you so much. Seriously, he was the best ex ever.

Instead of blurting out my declaration of love, I threw my arms around his middle, my head landing on his chest. I snuggled right in and breathed in the pine mixed with his warm, familiar cologne. Vanilla and cardamom were a dangerous combination. Mix that with his thoughtfulness and I was a goner.

Tate didn’t hesitate to draw me in. His hand drifted down my back and settled at the small of it, steady and sure.

I gripped the back of his shirt, twisting the fabric, silently begging him not to let me go. Not now or ever again. So much for my let’s take this slow. Who was I kidding? Tate owned my heart. And I had to know if I owned his. All of it.

For this small moment, I didn’t think about the logistics of how we would make it work. It was just him and me in this little pocket of space. And for the first time that year, it felt like the holidays. Like the warm hug of Christmas.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I had Olson’s Tree Farm deliver the tree, and I’ve helped Coco and Sam haul decorations down from the attic before, so I figured that’s where they still were. I didn’t go through any of the boxes, just in case you didn’t want me to.”

I wouldn’t have cared if he’d gone through the boxes. Coco would have loved if he had. “Tate,” I whispered. “Thank you.” It felt wholly inadequate for what he’d done, but it was all I had to offer. Well, that or kiss him senseless, but I hadn’t completely lost my head.

I was sure that was coming. But I was clinging to my delusions for now that I wasn’t going to rush back into his arms. You know, figuratively, since I was literally already in them.

“You don’t have to thank me. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. And I’m sure I’m not helping the situation any.”

Oh, but he was. He was complicating it too, but that tree and his thoughtfulness were like medicine to my soul.

“I just want you to know,” he continued, “that I’m here for you. And I’ve missed all our traditions. I’ve missed you.”