Page 96 of The Holiday Makeover

“Can we talk later?” I asked. “I need to get back to Rory. I, uh . . .” I blew out a breath. “I screwed up. Epically.”

Mom leaned away, her brow knit together. “Don’t lose her, Tate.”

“I won’t,” I promised. But even as the words left my mouth, fear cut through me.

Because this time, I might have crossed a line Rory wouldn’t let me come back from.

I walked back into an eerily quiet house. Not even George came down to greet me.

“Rory,” I called.

Nothing.

I flew up the stairs, and at the end of the hall, I found George lying in front of Coco’s room like a guard protecting something priceless.

He lifted his head as I approached, and I swore he scowled at me. If he could talk, I had a feeling he would tell me I was a prick and that if it didn’t go against his gentle nature, he’d bite me.

“I know, buddy. Believe me, I know,” I whispered as I gently turned the knob.

The door creaked in protest.

Note to self: Oil every hinge in the house.

I peeked inside to see Rory sleeping soundly in the middle of the bed, clinging to a pillow. Morning light streamed in and fell across her, making her look like a fairy-tale princess in sweats.

Only Rory could pull that off.

I slipped inside and shut the door behind me. George actually growled from the hallway, clearly not impressed with my life choices.

I supposed that was fair, considering I wasn’t all that impressed with them either.

But I needed a minute with Rory. I needed to make this right. Or at least try.

Oddly, now that the adrenaline was wearing off after walking out of the interview—after basically quitting—I didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

The only thing I regretted was being so blind. Trading Rory for a show, a spotlight, and the approval of people who would never love me the way she had.

My dad was probably still over there trying to smooth things over. Trying to make sure I didn’t lose my contract. He could have at it. I was done trying to please him and the network.

I was done letting Quinton run my life and tell my story. A story that I didn’t want or even recognize.

The crazy part was, all they’d wanted all along was the magic.

And I already had her.

I eased onto the edge of the bed and watched Rory breathe steadily for a few moments before I dared touch her. She was exhausted. Grief had exhausted her. The house had exhausted her. I had exhausted her most of all.

That truth hit hard as I brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.

She smelled like mint shampoo and home.

I wanted to wrap my arms around her. Pull her against me. Promise her I had finally figured out what mattered. That Coco was right that being in love is when home becomes a person, not a place.

But for once, I didn’t take what I wanted.

I waited.

For how long, I didn’t know.