Page 38 of The Holiday Makeover

Holy crap.

I should probably call Lily and confer with her about my feelings.

But . . . I knew how I’d felt when he walked back in the door. Relieved. Maybe even a little happy.

Dang it.

This couldn’t be happening. We wanted different things in life and—

“I know what you’re thinking.” Tate cut into my internal spiral like he’d been eavesdropping on my brain. “And you’re right. Things are complicated as hell. And honestly, I don’t know how it will all work out, but I can’t let us go.”

Yeah . . . it was complicated. Very.

But the thing was, I wasn’t sure I could let us go either.

“Please give me the chance to prove to you what you mean to me.” As he spoke, his hand brushed the protrusion in his pocket, almost absentmindedly.

Again, mind out of the gutter, people.

Curiosity got the better of me, even though I was in the middle of an epic DEFCON 1–level emotional battle.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

He covered it with his hand. “A regret.”

“That clears it up nicely, thank you,” I deadpanned.

His regret, or whatever it was, wasn’t exactly my primary concern here, though I was admittedly interested. It did, however, buy me a few precious seconds to think. I felt like I was being asked to make a life-or-death decision on the spot. A decision I wasn’t sure I was ready for. I was in frog pajamas, for crying out loud. I needed more serious attire for this task.

“I’ll tell you about it someday after you give me another chance,” he said, far too contritely and far too charmingly for my current emotional state.

“Tate,” I groaned, rubbing my hands over my face. My red, puffy face, mind you.

“I know, Rory. Believe me, I know.”

“Do you? Do you really know?”

“Yeah, I think I do. I think I finally get it. We blurred the lines when we mixed our personal and professional relationships. That’s not going to happen this time.”

Huh. Maybe he did get it. Something in his voice made me want to believe him. Or maybe I was just trying to avoid Coco sending any Christmas ghosts my way. But he was willing to go to his parents’ house. That was a monumental thing for him. And the fact that he even recognized that the lines had blurred was a big deal.

“I’ll go to dinner with you.” I held up my hand before he could get too excited. “But . . . don’t think of this as a second chance. Think of tonight as a try-before-you-buy sort of thing. Not that people should ever be for sale, but you know what I mean.”

“I’ll take it,” he was quick to say.

“Okay. Fine.” It was not fine. This was a five-alarm crisis of the heart. I needed a moment to process, and . . . “I’m probably going to need some chocolate chip pancakes.” I smirked.

Tate grinned. “You got it.”

Yeah, I was pretty sure I so did not have it.

Chapter Thirteen

Tate

“Wow. You look amazing.”

I shamelessly stared as Rory walked down the stairs, dressed for Thanksgiving dinner in a denim jumpsuit that showed off every curve I’d memorized by heart. Her hair was down in soft curls, brushing her shoulders like she’d stepped out of one of my daydreams.