Page 100 of Once Upon a Fall

Rosie doesn’t come home Friday night.

There’s a parade, then a tailgate, then a football game, and she’s going to all three.

I make myself dinner anyway—a Cajun pasta I found in my grandma’s recipe box.

I put a plate in the fridge, cover it with foil, and write Rosie’s name on it. I’m not sure why; there’s only one other person who uses this kitchen. I just figure it’s something she might like. I wish I could see her face when she sees it. Her eyes will probably light up the way they always do.

The inn is quiet. All of the guests are out doing festival activities, and I sent Willa home at six since there was nothing for her to do.

I leave the kitchen and wander into the front entry, where one of the pictures hanging beside the stairs is slightly crooked. I straighten it without thinking.

Four days until I leave Autumn Ridge. The rooms are done, the festival is running, and the farm is ready to list.

As a kid, I used to dread leaving my grandparents at the end of every summer. I’m beginning to think leaving Autumn Ridge this time might be even worse.

Rosie

The princess watched the prince build a barn. There was ogling.

“What do you mean a barn raising?” Dean asks, coffee cup in hand, as we stand in the kitchen the next morning.

He made me pasta last night and left it in the fridge on a plate with my name written across the foil. I got home late, exhausted and starving after surviving on popcorn at the homecoming game, and I almost cried when I opened the refrigerator and saw it there.

A whole plate of pasta and sausage. For me.

And my name, written in Dean’s handwriting. I don’t think I’d ever seen his handwriting before, and for one ridiculous second I wanted to save the foil and put it in a scrapbook.

Except I don’t own a scrapbook.

“Yes, a barn raising,” I tell him. I look at my phone. “In an hour.”

He looks confused and rightfully so. I just dropped it on him in the middle of telling him about the game. Which we won in a completely insane finish.

“What exactly is a barn raising?” he asks.

“Exactly how it sounds. A bunch of people building a barn in a day, and then tonight we have a dance there.”

“Is this what you normally do during the festival?”

I shake my head. “Just this year. The one we used for community events burned down a while back. It’ll be good to have it back again, since we’ve been having to use the church instead.”

Which is how I ended up with a quilting circle in my front room and why I’m still finding random threads everywhere. At this point, I think it might be reproducing.

“Interesting,” he says.

“Do you . . . want to go?” I haven’t asked him to come to anything for the festival because he’s been busy with the farm, and I wouldn’t have been able to properly show him around since I’ve been going nonstop all day, every day.

Now that the activities are done and most of the booths are down, this is the first time I’ve been able to take a full breath all week.

“I think I have to,” Dean says. “I’ve never been to a barn raising.”

“And you may never get another chance,” I say.

Because, really, how often do people have a barn raising anymore? I mean, besides the Amish.

“Do you have farm stuff you need to do today?” I ask.

“No. I’m done there,” he says. “They’ll be cleaning it out on Monday.”