Page 11 of Once Upon a Fall

“It’s fine,” he says as he hits the landing, the shower curtain dragging on the floor behind him.

It’s not fine, and we both know it. I’ve made too many mistakes already. I should have had Dominic or Emma come stay for a night or two as a trial run. But I worked tirelessly until the moment he arrived, and now I’m seeing all my mistakes.

Seriously, who forgets towels at an inn?

He goes into the open door of his room and sets down the drill on the dresser and then comes back for the towels.

He holds out a large palm, and I set the pile on it and give him my best everything-is-just-dandy smile.

“I’m sorry again,” I say.

He only nods and then shuts the door in my face.

I let out a breath and then head back down the stairs to find Dom leaning up against my check-in desk, his elbow resting on the edge, his toolbox on the floor next to him.

“So, that’s the guest that’s staying here for a month, huh?” he asks, his brows high on his forehead.

“No,” I say, folding my arms. “That’s not him. The real guy’s got a big head and a Scottish accent, with long, pointy ears sticking straight out, and green skin. Super mean guy.”

He pulls his chin back. “Wait . . . did you just describe Shrek?”

“No,” I say. In hindsight, I could have thought of someone more realistic than a cartoon ogre. But it’s all that came to mind.

“Rosaline,” he says.

“Dominic,” I say back.

“Please don’t call me Rosaline. But also don’t tell Emma or Dad, okay? They both would worry too much. Kind of like you are now. Which, now that I think of it, must be a family trait that all of you got and I didn’t. I wonder why that is? Maybe it’s a middle child thing—”

“Rosie,” he cuts me off. He exhales audibly before swiping a hand down his face. “Just call me if there’s ever an issue, okay?”

“You’ll be the first one,” I say, before giving him a closed-mouth smile and a single nod.

“Well, call the police first,” he says. “But then, yes. Call me.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” I say, and give him my best salute. “Shall we get to work? I need you to finish the drywall in the Cinderella room.”

“On it,” he says. He walks over to the pastry box, opens it and shoves a maple bar in his mouth, and then grabs the entire box and takes it with him toward the stairs, his toolbox in the other hand.

I’d object, but since my guest “doesn’t eat carbs in the morning” and I’m not paying Dominic with cash, I can at least pay him in pastries.

I take a deep breath before following him. I have a lot to do today, so listing off all the things I’ve messed up in the past twenty-four hours isn’t going to do me any good.

Now if I could just stop picturing my half-naked guest dripping wet on my stairs, that would be even better.

An hour later, Dom is off to a paying job (man cannot live on pastries alone, which is too bad, honestly) and I’m on my knees in the Cinderella room as I try to figure out how to fit a piece of the vinyl wood flooring into an awkward angle in the corner, when I hear a knock on the open door.

I glance up to see Dean standing there, dressed in work boots that look brand new, dark jeans, and a flannel shirt.

The flannel looks good on him. But he also looked good in a shower curtain, so it might just be him.

“Hey,” he says, the corners of his lips turning up briefly before going back to their normal straight line.

I hardly know this man, but it feels like a disapproving look. He does it often. The straight line of disapproval. That’s what it is.

“Hello,” I say, giving him a cheerful smile to combat his grumpy expression.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m checking out today,” he says.