Page 23 of The Holiday Makeover

Wow was one word for it.

“Um . . .” She pointed toward the dining room. “I’m going to go finish stripping the wallpaper.”

“Wait. Please,” I said, the words coming out more like a plea than I’d intended.

She paused mid-turn but didn’t face me.

“Thank you for coming to my defense. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know you feel like you’ve never measured up to their expectations, and how much that hurts you. The last thing I’ve ever wanted is for you to feel less than, when you’ve clearly been so much more. I just hope someday you’ll see that.”

She rushed off, leaving me alone with her words. Words I wanted to believe. But I didn’t know how.

Especially when it felt like I was losing the best part of myself—Rory.

Chapter Eight

Rory

“Would you like a shovel instead of a fork?” Lily giggled, looking perfectly stylish in a designer black turtleneck, her hair in a chignon.

Meanwhile, I was still in paint-splattered overalls, with a ponytail that had given up hours ago, swallowing down what was probably my tenth bite of cinnamon pie in less than twenty seconds.

A sheepish grin formed as I leaned back in the corner booth at the Moon Café—one of our old high school haunts, now decked out in its usual holiday cheer. Twinkle lights framed the windows, hand-painted wooden snowmen guarded the pastry case, and Mariah Carey was belting from the speakers like she was personally begging me to get into the holiday spirit.

Eating cinnamon pie was as holly and jolly as I was currently getting.

Coco always used to say pumpkin pie got too much attention and cinnamon pie was the underrated middle child of holiday desserts. Then she’d order a slice, take one bite, and announce, “See? This is why I advocate for the overlooked.”

The memory made me smile. It also made my throat do that horrible pinchy thing grief kept doing without asking permission.

So, yes, sugar was becoming my new emotional support system now that George and avoidance were no longer options. I still couldn’t believe George’s betrayal. After all we’d been through.

Men. Ugh.

“At this rate, maybe a bulldozer would be better,” I deadpanned.

Lily gave me an uneasy smile. “It’s that bad, huh? I feel like it’s kind of my fault. But in my defense, I had to abide by the law, and Coco meant business. I’ve never seen her so . . . well . . . scary. And I didn’t think Tate would actually stay.”

“You and me both.” I shoveled another bite of pie into my mouth. Well into my second slice. Yes, you heard me correctly: two slices of pie. At this rate, a third might be in order.

“So how is it going with him?” Lily hesitated. “I mean, besides you trying to lull yourself into a sugar coma.”

I swallowed the pie and, for good measure, washed it down with the café’s famous cider. I wasn’t messing around here. The more sugar, the better. Well . . . probably not, but I’d worry about that later, once I was coming down from the glucose high.

“He says he’s staying until he gives me a reason to believe he loves me. So I guess he’s staying until hell freezes over, because we both know that will never happen. He loves the spotlight more than anything. At least . . . I think so.”

“What do you mean, you think so? Are you falling for him again? Because I thought we hated him.” She pointed between us. “As in, we made a sacred pact to hate him. You’re not going back on that, are you?”

“Nooo,” I stuttered out. I mean, probably not, I thought to myself. Tate was too charming for my own good.

Lily tilted her head, eyes locked and loaded, ready to list all of Tate’s crimes.

“He brought out the abs, didn’t he?” she guessed.

“He tried, but I put a stop to it before I could fall victim to them.”

“Good,” she breathed, relieved. “Because even I enjoy them. But don’t tell Shay that.”