Page 71 of The Holiday Makeover

How did she do that? I needed to know her secret.

“Rory,” she called, waving me over.

I headed in her direction. She’d sent me the menu she was planning for the Christmas Eve party a couple of days ago, and it was going to be amazing. Coco would have been tickled pink over the retro-chic vibe of it all, especially the spiced eggnog and Eden’s modern take on fruitcake.

“Hi, Eden,” I said brightly, my gaze landing on her beautiful mini-me standing next to her. I assumed it was her daughter, Sophie, whom she’d mentioned. She looked to be in that awkward preteen stage, but somehow she’d skipped the awkward part entirely and gone straight to polished.

When I was in that phase, I was all gangly limbs and questionable fashion choices. Not to mention my let’s wear a different pair of nonprescription glasses every day phase. The amount of money my grandparents must have wasted on that weird obsession of mine was probably ridiculous. But they never once complained. They just let me be me. And really, that’s all I ever wanted to be.

Okay, sometimes I wanted to look more like a supermodel—like all of Tate’s ex-girlfriends. But I digress.

“It’s so nice to see you,” Eden said, pulling me into a warm hug. “This is my daughter, Sophie,” she said proudly, and then motioned to the gorgeous couple beside her. “And this is my brother, Logan, and his wife—and my dearest friend—Brooke.”

Logan stood behind Brooke, holding her in that tender, absentminded way that told me whatever was beneath his hands was precious to him. If I had to guess, Brooke was pregnant. And, wow, the love between them practically had its own solar system.

“Hello,” they both said warmly.

“Hello, it’s so nice to meet you all.”

“I was just telling Logan and Brooke that you and the guest of honor are well acquainted.” She winked.

“Oh, you could say that,” I tittered.

Brooke and Logan gave me knowing smiles, as if they knew exactly how well-acquainted Tate and I were.

Oddly enough, though, it felt like most people in town had either forgotten or moved on from the fact that Tate and I had done Hammer and Hue together. Honestly, I’d thought more people back home would recognize me from it. But I guess in Aspen Lake I was still just his plucky sidekick. Not popular, just popular-adjacent.

Part of me took comfort in that. But, if I was being honest, there was a little twinge of disappointment buried underneath the introvert in me.

“Thanks again for sending the menu over,” I said, redirecting the conversation. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m so glad you think so.”

“Well, I should probably get going. I, uh, promised the guest of honor I’d find a spot where he could see me.”

That had been Tate’s only request. He wanted to look out into the crowd and see my face. The face, he said, he always searched for first.

I took an embarrassing amount of comfort in that.

“Those charming exes,” Eden said, her tone full of commiseration.

“Yeah,” I breathed out, giving them a little wave. “See you soon. It was so nice to meet you all. And please feel free to come to the Christmas Eve party. The more, the merrier.” Well, as merry as it gets celebrating the passing of a loved one.

With that, I was on my way again, heading toward what felt less like the Christmas tree lighting and more like the great unknown.

It was an event I’d looked forward to every year for as long as I could remember. But this one felt different. Like I was standing between two doors—one leading to the past, the other to the future.

And what unsettled me most was that I had no idea what waited behind that second one.

Not that anyone ever really did. But it felt scarier now.

Maybe it was because Coco was no longer there to help guide me. Or maybe it was because Tate and I were sailing into uncharted waters.

Most likely, it was a whole lot of both.

I found what I deemed a prime viewing spot near the fountain in the town square. It put me maybe thirty feet from the stage and the enormous seventy-foot tree, still dark for the moment but dripping in giant glass ball ornaments that caught every stray strand of light from the square and threw it back like little holiday fireworks.

The fountain itself had been winterized and dressed up for Christmas, with thick garlands and red velvet bows wrapped around the base. I climbed onto the stone rim for a little extra height and a much better view, hot chocolate in hand, the cup warming my fingers while the cold crept through the soles of my boots.