Page 66 of The Holiday Makeover

That maybe Coco really knew what she was doing after all.

That maybe this could be the makeover we all needed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tate

“Ilove watching you haul in lumber.” Rory grinned and wagged her brows at me from her makeshift sewing table in the living room. “But are you sure you have time to do the built-ins before Christmas Eve?”

I carefully lowered the stack of three-quarter-inch walnut onto the tarp. The wood needed to acclimate to the room’s temperature before I could start working on the built-in shelves. Shelves I was mostly sure I had time for. That was if there were no more surprise electrical or plumbing issues in the kitchen that needed to be addressed. And assuming the counters, cupboards, and new appliances all went in without a hitch.

But I didn’t mention any of that because I wanted to make this happen for Rory. There was something about watching her eyes light up when I brought her designs to life. That was a vision in and of itself. Not to mention the affection she always rewarded me with. Honestly, though, I just wanted to make her happy.

“I got it,” I assured her. Come hell or high water, I’d get it done.

“All right.” She held up some of the throw pillow covers she’d been working on for the parlor.

They were classic Rory—clean lines, soft textures. The fabric had a subtle herringbone pattern in cream and gold. They were the kind of pillow you’d find in a high-end furniture boutique, yet the effect still managed to be homey.

She beamed, proud of herself. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect. Like you.”

She blushed. “I’m only seventy-five percent perfect. I would be boring if I were one hundred percent.”

Rory was anything but boring.

I stepped closer to her, hoping to get a taste of all hundred percent of her, but my phone buzzed in my pocket. “I’m coming for your lips—just give me a second.” I fished my phone out. It was an Aspen Lake number I wasn’t familiar with, but I was curious enough to answer.

“This is Tate.”

“Hello,” a cool female voice said. “This is Justine Gable from Mayor Gwen Steele’s office.”

Interesting.

“I apologize for calling your personal number, but your parents are close friends with the mayor and your father said you wouldn’t mind.”

Of course he had. He had a lot of nerve, considering he hadn’t spoken to me since Thanksgiving. Not that I expected an apology from him. That would be too much to ask.

“It’s all right, Justine.” It wasn’t her fault my dad had taken it upon himself to hand out my personal number. Honestly, I was surprised he had it, considering how rarely he used it.

“The reason I’m calling,” she said with more intention, “is that our guest of honor for the tree-lighting ceremony this Friday night in town square, author Josie Cavanaugh, has come down with an awful case of the flu and can’t make it.”

The name Josie Cavanaugh sounded familiar. Where did I know it from? I glanced at Rory—who was obviously curious about who I was talking to—and then it hit me. Rory read her rogue pirate books. More importantly, Rory was always extra affectionate after reading said books. I owed this woman my deepest gratitude. Maybe I’d encourage Rory to take a reading break later on.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, wondering why she was telling me this. That was quickly answered.

“Yes, well, it’s terrible and we wish her well,” she said matter-of-factly. “But it leaves us short our guest of honor, and we were wondering—since you’re in town—if you’d be willing to take her place. The mayor knows it’s short notice, but it would be greatly appreciated.”

This was unexpected. I lowered myself onto the couch covered in Rory’s fabric. This was not the welcome I’d envisioned when I came back to town. I hadn’t expected to be welcome at all.

No doubt my father had something to do with it, which made me want to decline on the spot, but I knew I had to be careful. I had my show’s and the network’s images to protect.

Rory, concerned, rushed over and sat next to me after carefully moving her fabric to the side.

I took her hand, contemplating the request, wondering how she’d feel about it. She wasn’t the only thing I had to consider.

“Mr. Ryder, is this something you can do?” Justine asked when I said nothing, lost in my thoughts about this unexpected turn of events.