Page 86 of The Holiday Makeover

Man, we could use the help.

But . . .

“Quinton, I swore to Rory I wouldn’t blur any lines with her. I wouldn’t use her.” My voice dropped. “I can’t lose her. Do you understand?” I sounded more desperate than I wanted to, but damn it, he had no idea what he was asking of me. Of her.

“Of course I do.” Quinton’s calculating smile made an appearance. “But what lines would you be blurring? We’d simply be interviewing the most important person in your life. The reason you came home.”

He made it sound so reasonable.

I hated him for it.

“Think about it.” Quinton squeezed my shoulder.

Yeah.

Like I was going to be able to think about anything else.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rory

Exhausted, I sat on the stairs and watched Tate finish installing the front door well after midnight. At least my teeth were freshly brushed and I was wearing a clean hoodie and sweats.

I couldn’t believe he was still going. Especially after helping Darian hang most of the upper kitchen cabinets and set the bases. Which was no small task.

He was like a man possessed.

He’d hardly spoken since he’d returned home earlier that evening. Most of our communication had been of the nonverbal variety. As in hard, passionate kisses that seemed to say so much, except I couldn’t quite translate them. And I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt them with questions.

But something was definitely off.

My proof—besides the brooding and the kind of kisses that left me breathless but full of questions—was the Led Zeppelin blaring through the house.

Tate only brought out Led when the world was coming to an end. And he only played “All My Love” when we were arguing.

The song was currently on repeat.

But we weren’t in an argument. Not even the playful kind we were known for.

Which left me more than a little unsettled, leaning my head against the railing with George by my side and his head in my lap.

I hadn’t even had the time—or maybe the courage—to tell him about the conversation I’d had with his mom earlier that day.

But I wondered if Tate already knew.

Did he agree with his dad? Was the song choice predicting our near future?

I glanced over at the Christmas tree in the parlor, twinkling as if trying to remind me it was the holidays. Unfortunately, my life currently felt less merry and bright and more Stranger Things, minus the Demogorgons, Demodogs, and children who could snap your neck with a flick of their heads.

This holiday season felt off.

And not only because I was missing Coco like crazy or living in the middle of a massive renovation.

Tate and I had renovated a house during the holidays before, and somehow it had ended up being cozy and cutesy and only mildly hazardous to our sanity. I’d honestly thought doing Coco’s house together would be adorable in some ways. Hard, yes. Exhausting, absolutely. But meaningful too.

Something we’d look back on one day and say, That nearly killed us, but it brought us closer together.

Closer to each other.