Page 33 of The Holiday Makeover

I quirked a brow. “All my Tate-ness?”

She dropped her fork and slapped her hand on the table. “You know what I mean. The amazing meals, your consideration, your freaking forehead kisses. All the wonderful things that make you you and made me fall in love with you. Things that make it hard to hate you properly, like I should. Or at least mildly detest you. I can’t even manage that.”

I placed my hand over hers, encompassing it in my own, silently begging her not to pull away. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Aghhh,” she groaned, throwing her head back in frustration. “You are so ridiculous.”

“You just said I was wonderful. Amazing, even,” I said, pretending to be offended.

She rolled her eyes. “And that’s what makes you so ridiculous. Tate,” she added, exasperated yet clinging to my hand like it was the only steady thing in the room, “I honestly don’t understand why you’re trying so hard.”

I thought that was obvious. “Because I love you.”

“Debatable.” She held up her free hand to stop me before I could argue. “I know what you’re going to say. And maybe you really do love me. But, Tate, we have to be honest here—with ourselves and with each other.”

I shifted in my chair. Not because I didn’t want to be honest. I did. I wanted to lay everything out there: every truth, every regret, every reason I’d made the choices I had. But some of those truths were uncomfortable. Some of them I still didn’t have answers for. And some of the solutions I’d come up with . . . she wasn’t going to like.

When I said nothing, she squeezed my hand, sighed, and stood. “That’s what I thought.”

I reached for her. “Wait. Please.”

She lowered herself back into her chair, folded her arms, and gave me a look that said, This better be good.

I swallowed hard, the weight of everything on the line pressing down on me.

“First of all, I do love you. And I’m trying to show you that. Food is one of your love languages, as is thoughtfulness. How would I know that if I didn’t love you?”

“Because I told you that when I was, like, twenty.”

I tapped my head like I was some kind of genius. “But I remembered.”

Her lips twitched, as if she wanted to smile but refused to give me the satisfaction. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves I paid attention,” I mumbled. “It proves you mattered. Still matter.”

“Okay, so I still matter to you. But your career and your image will always matter more.”

There it was. The uncomfortable part. The part I’d been avoiding because I hated how it made me look. I should have taken a step back two years ago and realized that just because she didn’t want to take the deal, it didn’t have to be the end of our relationship. But emotions were running high, and I felt like her rejecting the show was her rejecting me.

I cleared my throat. “I understand why you feel that way, but you should know that . . .”

The words stuck. I didn’t want to admit out loud that my show was in trouble. Not to anyone, especially not to Rory. It was like telling her I’d left her for no reason. But she deserved honesty.

“What should I know?” she asked gently, like she could sense she needed to coax it out of me.

I looked up at the ancient ceiling lights, coated in dust. “Things aren’t going as well as I hoped, and my being here isn’t helping the situation, but I—”

Rory shot to her feet. “You need to leave. Now. Like, right now. Just go.”

Startled, I shook my head. “What? I just told you I was choosing you over my job.” I thought that would mean something to her.

She paced, hands in her hair. “Oh, no, you are not. That does not end well. We know that. I will not be the reason this doesn’t work out. You left me because you were upset I didn’t choose your dream. So this is a big nope. Go back to LA and fix it.”

I stood, not sure what to do. Did I grab her and pull her into my arms? Get down on my knees and beg? I didn’t know. I’d expected her to see this as some kind of grand gesture. Looking back, it wasn’t exactly a brilliant plan.

“Rory, I’m not leaving.” I felt like I had to keep saying it, as if repetition might make her believe me.

She stopped abruptly, tears welling in her eyes. “You have to. This is bad. So bad.”