Page 77 of The Holiday Makeover

Tate pulled me as close as was socially acceptable, his hand settling on my waist. My head rested on his chest. I could hear the heavy pounding of his heart. It spoke of him being just as relieved as I was. He kissed my head several times, almost as if he had to remind himself I was still there.

So there, in the velvet seats that could definitely use an update, the buttery air, and the flicker of Technicolor light, it felt for several blissful moments like Tate and I were in our own little world.

It felt like Christmas and home and maybe even an old dream finally coming true.

Growing up, I’d imagined Tate taking me on dates to this very theater more times than I could count. For years, it had seemed impossible. But there we were. Together.

For the rest of the movie, Tate held me tightly. No kissing, which was odd for him. But I got the feeling he simply needed to hold me. And that made me wonder if something had happened with Quinton. I didn’t trust that guy. Even though so far he’d left me alone, I kept expecting him to try to talk me into at least an interview.

Everyone in the theater clapped at the end when it started to snow and the entire cast sang “White Christmas.” And no matter how many times I’d seen the movie, I still got butterflies when Bing and Rosemary made up and she figuratively put him back on his white horse.

Tate and I let everyone file out around us.

A few people smiled and waved at him. There were even some who recognized both of us and acknowledged me with a smile and a wave too.

When we were almost the last people in the theater, in the glow of the credits rolling on the screen, Tate lifted my chin with the crook of his finger and barely grazed my lips, but it was enough to make me catch my breath.

“Hi,” he crooned better than even Bing could. “I apologize again for being late.”

“Everything okay?”

“It is now that I’m with you.”

“Did something happen?”

He shook his head. “The meet and greet of sorts just never seemed to end. And I have to be careful not to come off as rude. It’s just a lot sometimes, that’s all. But there’s no need for concern.”

How odd. I’d thought Tate would be happier about being everyone’s favorite hometown hero again.

Maybe this was progress. Maybe.

“All we need to worry about now is whether there’s a corner booth available at Moon Café and if we should order one or two slices of pie to eat.”

“Uh, one or two? You severely underestimate my pie-eating abilities,” I said, faux offended.

Granted, my stomach was pretty full from inhaling popcorn and Junior Mints through the first half of the movie while envisioning myself as a full-fledged Ex-Filer. But it was a scientific fact that you always had room for dessert. Something about sugar and stomach acid. I didn’t know the specifics, but I knew it was true from empirical evidence. Meaning, I’d tested the theory probably more than was necessary—or healthy.

Tate grinned and ran a finger down my cheek. “I have never underestimated you. Ever.”

I tilted my head. There was a melancholy edge to him. “Are you sure you’re okay? I thought you’d be on cloud nine after today’s festivities. The Crown Prince of Aspen Lake,” I sang.

“It was amazing. Just a long day, and . . .” He hesitated.

“And what?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. It just felt like something was missing. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I’m sorry they didn’t bring out fireworks in your honor,” I teased. “Or was it that they forgot to hand over the key to the city?”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned. “No. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know that you have some big fans in this town.”

“Me?” I pointed at my chest.

“Yes, you. You should have heard a group of women after the tree lighting going on and on about you.”