Page 55 of The Holiday Makeover

Tate kissed the side of my head, sending a rush of warmth through me. “I wish I could have met your parents.”

We’d shared that sentiment for years. When we were growing up, Tate would come to the cemetery with me, and we’d sit on a blanket in front of their graves. He’d hold my hand while I cried and sometimes laughed as I told him everything I remembered about them.

Things like how my dad always made big Saturday breakfasts and could make pancakes into any shape or character—even a princess. And how my mom would take me to work sometimes and let me explore the cockpit. I think she hoped I’d be a pilot like her. Instead, I became an artist like my dad.

“Me too,” I whispered as I carefully set the ornament on the tissue paper. It was for sure going on the tree.

I unwrapped several more ornaments, all with my mother’s name on them, each one marking a year of her life until she was eighteen. Silver bells, gold stars, tiny Christmas trees, Santa’s sleigh. Each one was just as emotional as the last, but I was holding it together until I reached the next treasure.

Coco was good. Very good. How she’d managed this one I had no idea, but it hit with a TKO to the soul.

Inside the tissue paper was an ornament I’d never seen before. It looked like an open storybook. But instead of pages, there were photographs—one on each side, both of Tate and me.

These weren’t just any photos either. They were from the two Christmases Tate and I were a couple. We’d put them in the cutesy Christmas cards we’d sent out together.

In one I was sitting on his lap kissing his cheek; we were both wearing Santa hats. The second was a perfect moment the photographer had caught between takes—us looking at each other in front of the Christmas tree, completely unaware of the camera. No one had scripted it. It was just . . . us. And it captured exactly how I thought we felt about each other. A look that said, You’re my everything.

Tate couldn’t have faked that look. Yet, I’d let my insecurities tell me otherwise.

If that wasn’t damaging enough, the words at the bottom of the ornament took the cake—A Love Story.

I had no words. But there were feelings. So many feelings. I wanted more chapters in our story, but at the same time wondered if we were wise to reopen the book at all. Could we have a different ending this time? Look how happy we were in those photos. How had we let it go so wrong?

Tate took the ornament from me and held it tenderly, his gaze fixed on it. Then, without warning, he stood and crossed to the tree. He hung the ornament on a bare branch with a kind of reverence that stole my breath. When he turned back to me, there was a fire in his eyes the likes of which I’d never seen before.

“Our love story isn’t over. We’re going to figure this out, and every year from here on out, we’re going to add another ornament of us—and another and another—until we’re at least ninety-five. And we’re going to get our kids their own ornaments every year. And we’re going to have our own boxes filled with Christmas treasures.”

I sat so stunned I couldn’t even blink. I wanted the future he’d just painted. So much.

While I stayed silent, trying to process the avalanche of it all, Tate slipped back to my side. He took my hand and pulled me closer, his lips brushing my forehead with a tenderness that undid me.

In my head, I could hear Coco saying, Game, set, match.

She wasn’t wrong.

I was pretty sure we had just moved past the try-before-you-buy stage.

Fine, Coco, you win. I’ll give Tate Ryder a second chance.

Besides, I think the return policy had expired a long time ago anyway. The moment he’d first said, Hi, I’m Tate.

Chapter Nineteen

Tate

“Are you ready for this?” I opened the truck door for Rory.

Cold air whipped around us, threatening snow again. She tugged her beanie down over her ears and bit her lip, cheeks pink from the wind.

We needed supplies, which meant a trip to the hardware store in town—probably the most boutique hardware store in the country. Aspen Lake didn’t do anything halfway, not even nails and lumber. But it was the perfect place to get what we needed to pull off Rory’s vision for Coco’s house and the party.

It also meant stepping out into the open. Into a place I’d done my best to avoid. The one trip I’d made to The Market during my stay had given me enough pause to last a while. But I knew I had to make peace with Aspen Lake somehow. More importantly, I had to come to terms with people seeing me as imperfect. Easier said than done.

But then I looked at Rory—bundled up in her puffer jacket, beanie on her head, big blue eyes staring back at me full of trepidation, being her beautiful self—and I had to try.

I thought about the day before, when we’d decorated the tree. And then later, after it was all done and lit up, we’d sat in front of it in the dark, admiring the twinkle lights. Her in my arms, cinnamon pie on our plates, her head resting on my chest like it belonged there.

In those moments, I knew. I knew she’d opened the door to me even without her saying the words. It was just something in the way she settled against me. It was in the way she hardly said a word but let the emotions play between us. We’d had the same kind of moment after our first kiss.