Page 27 of The Holiday Makeover

“I know.” She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, shrinking in a way that made something in my chest twist. “It just felt right for me to do it.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about Coco. I don’t think I’ve properly offered my condolences. Even though condolences seem inadequate. I know what she meant to you.”

A single tear slipped down Rory’s smooth cheek.

I braved reaching out and wiping it away with the pad of my thumb, wishing I could take a fraction of her pain away with it.

She froze as if my touch had stunned her.

I wanted her to lean into me, to let me be there for her. Comfort her.

Instead, she leaned back against the chair, putting an invisible wall between us.

Message received. My touch was unwelcome.

I curled my hand into a fist and let it drop. But I refused to give up on us. I’d done that once before, and it was the worst mistake of my life. One I would always regret.

“Rory, what can I do for you today?”

“You can start by not being your old self.” She stood, letting the blanket fall away—and dang. The tiny nightshirt she wore showed off her toned legs and the curve of her waist. She was a vision. A punch-to-the-gut kind of beautiful.

Even though if I told her that, she wouldn’t believe me. She never did.

For a second, I let my eyes linger, trying not to make it obvious. “What does that mean?”

George stood at attention now that Rory was up. He seemed to give me a look that said, Aren’t you sorry now that you left us?

Sorrier than he would ever know.

“I just think it’s best if that man doesn’t show up. We don’t have time for distractions. Christmas Eve is a month away, and we have a lot of work to do.”

I couldn’t help it—a grin tugged at my mouth.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s the smile for?”

Hope. That was what. Her insistence that I not be my old self felt like she’d left the door cracked open—even if she didn’t realize it. If she truly wanted nothing to do with me, she wouldn’t bother drawing lines. She wouldn’t bother warning me off. She’d just shut me out.

Maybe she wasn’t as dead set against us as she thought. Maybe the calm she’d worn earlier was just her defense mechanism.

But I couldn’t say any of that. Not yet. Not until I gave her reasons to trust me again. Or maybe for the first time. She’d never trusted my feelings. Hell, she thought my brain had just assimilated to her. But I wanted to be the man she’d let make her day better when he asked how.

“You’re right. No distractions. So what’s the game plan?”

She eyed me suspiciously, clearly not buying what I was selling, but I knew I had to tread carefully here.

“Um . . . well . . . we don’t have much time, so I was thinking you could just focus on the kitchen, because that’ll be the biggest and most complex project. Even though I do think some built-ins would be nice for the living room, I just don’t think we’ll have time.”

“I’ll make it happen,” I cut in. “All of it. Just tell me your vision.”

I knew she had one. She always had one. And it was always better than anything I’d ever come up with. That was half the reason I was in the mess I was in with my show. I had talent. I had carpentry skills. But I didn’t have her magic—the way she could walk into a room and see what it wanted to be. She was like a house whisperer.

I shoved that particular problem aside and focused on the one sitting right in front of me. Rory was my priority. Even if I had no idea how we were supposed to make this work.

She wasn’t wrong—we were heading in different directions. But there had to be a bridge between the two roads we were on.

There had to be.

She cleared her throat, and her gaze landed back on Coco’s words as if they were giving her the courage she needed to say the following: “There will be plenty of time for my full vision. After talking to Lily last night, I decided to move back home.” That was her hammering what she assumed was the final nail in the coffin of our relationship.