Page 26 of The Holiday Makeover

As much as I loved Tate—and heaven knows I did—I not only needed to come home, but I needed someone who wanted to be my home . . . and who could actually be at home with me.

And honestly, someone I could be at home with. Truly. I always felt like I wasn’t enough for Tate. I mean, it wasn’t until we became semi-famous together that he wanted me. And even then, that wasn’t enough for him.

Suddenly, it was all as clear as day.

It was time to move on. For good.

Chapter Nine

Tate

Iwalked into the dining room the next morning after barely sleeping. I had been up most of the night thinking about how to save my show and, more importantly, how to fix things with Rory. And I’d gotten no closer to a solution to either.

It was rare for Rory to wake up before me. The woman loved her sleep. But there she was—wrapped in a fuzzy peach blanket, perched on a chair like she’d been there since dawn.

George was curled up at her feet, half asleep. He offered me what looked like a lazy nod of his head.

The table in front of her was a mess only she could make look intentional. Paint chips, fabric swatches, her laptop humming with one of her design programs, a mug of hot chocolate sending up steady curls of steam. To anyone else, it might look chaotic. But to me, it looked like her—creative and focused. Perfect.

But none of it held her attention.

She was staring at the wall. At Coco’s message. And now it sat inside an actual frame—a simple cream one, hung with clean, deliberate precision. It somehow made the words look alive. Like something you’d see in a museum.

I stopped in the doorway, watching her. She wasn’t just looking at the message. She was letting it sink into her. Letting it tell her something. Those damn words that felt like they were handing me a guilty verdict. They were another reason for her to doubt me. Or worse—to stop caring enough to bother doubting me.

What scared me was the calm in her eyes. I knew that calm. I’d seen it twice before. Once it had worked in my favor—the time she decided to leave her teaching job and start Hammer and Hue with me. The second time it ruined me—the day she told me she was staying in Nashville.

I knew this time it didn’t bode well for me.

My palms became clammy.

Damn.

She’d already made up her mind. It was written all over her gorgeous face. She’d written me off. Written us off.

So what did I do?

I played my part—the resident idiot.

“Don’t tell me you used those adhesive strips you love to hang the frame.”

I stepped into the room all cool and casual, while inside feeling like a world-class jackhole. I should have been begging her to take me back instead of teasing her about how she hung picture frames. Granted, there were better ways to hang a frame. More permanent ways.

But how could I beg her to give me another shot when I knew I couldn’t give her exactly what she wanted? She’d seen how my mom behaved yesterday. There was no way I could make Aspen Lake my home. And I had no right to ask her to meet me halfway. At least not yet. I had to prove to her that she was my home. The best place I’d ever lived.

How?

I had no idea. I probably should have started with something other than adhesive strips, though.

She tore her gaze away from Coco’s words and offered me a hint of a smile. “I couldn’t find any nails, and I didn’t want to wake you by hammering the wall at six in the morning.”

I took the seat closest to her and ran a hand through my hair, which had yet to be combed. I had to fight the urge to pull her onto my lap for what she used to call our morning snuggles. She had no idea how much I missed the way she would tuck into me and trace circles on my chest with her finger while she told me about her dreams the night before.

Some of them were silly, like her being trapped in famous paintings and trying to escape them. Sometimes they would be about us. Those were my favorites. Her dreams of us growing old together and having babies.

Why hadn’t I made those come true?

“I would have hung the frame for you,” I offered, and it sounded as pathetic as it felt. But home improvement projects were easier than the unspoken truths simmering between us.