Page 101 of Once Upon a Fall

And then he leaves Tuesday. I’m going to ignore the tightening thing I just felt inside my chest.

“Okay, then let’s go raise a barn,” I tell him.

By the time we get there at eight, the place is already buzzing. Trucks line the road—Dom’s old orange-red truck among them—and framed walls lie flat on the concrete slab, waiting to be raised. Dew glistens on the changing leaves, and everything smells like fresh-cut wood and coffee. Someone’s running a saw, people are hauling lumber everywhere, and some brilliant person made sure there were donuts.

I wave at Bennett Walker, who’s been put in charge of the event.

“Hey, Bennett,” I say, walking over to him, Dean following behind me.

“Hi, Rosie,” he says. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, a baseball cap pulled over his dark hair. Apparently, jeans and long sleeves are the unofficial barn-raising uniform. Dean just skipped the hat.

I introduce him to Dean.

“Bennett built my check-in desk,” I tell Dean.

“Nice work,” Dean says, shaking his hand.

“Thanks,” Bennett says. “I heard my brother Luke was able to get rid of your raccoon problem.”

“He did,” Dean says. “Still not sure how he did it.”

Bennett shakes his head. “Best not to know.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Dean responds.

“You come to help today?” Bennett asks.

Dean nods. “Put me to work.”

I leave them to it, but as I’m walking away, Dean calls out to me.

“Where are you going?”

I turn to face him as I walk slowly backward, giving him a big cheesy smile. “I’m just going to sit over here and watch,” I say, pointing toward the donut table where Emma and some others are gathered.

He shakes his head at me, but he’s smiling.

I could help, but to be honest, I’m a little tired of any type of construction. Even if installing walls looks a lot easier than tiling around a bathtub.

Also, I’ve been up before six every day this week, and I’ve got the beginnings of a headache. I’m not sure I could get a two-by-four over my head right now, let alone a wall.

So, I go stand by the donuts, where I will be extremely useful.

Over the next few hours, I watch Dean work as I sit with the other onlookers, eating baked goods and gossiping.

He’s got sawdust in his dark hair, and he keeps shoving his sleeves up his forearms, only for them to slide right back down.

It’s hard to look away.

“Rosie, dear,” Edna B. calls out. “That’s the fourth time you’ve looked in that man’s direction since we sat down. I’ve been counting.”

I look over at her and Edna G., both sitting in lawn chairs like a couple of armchair quarterbacks. They’ve spent the morning yelling instructions at the volunteers and pointing out everything they’re doing wrong, while the volunteers do an impressive job of ignoring them.

“He keeps looking at you, too, you know,” says Edna G.

“Who?” I ask, playing dumb.

“Don’t play stupid with us, girl,” Edna B. says. “That man’s been giving you the same googly eyes you’ve been giving him all morning.”