Page 121 of Once Upon a Fall

Emma whacks him on the arm with the back of her hand. “Dom,” she chides.

“Fine. I told her about your midlife crisis.”

“My mid—what? I’m not even old enough for that.”

“Your room,” he says, pointing toward it.

“I want to see it,” Emma says.

“It’s not anything special,” I say, but she’s already walking toward it.

I may have lost my little jolt of happiness in the garage, but it’s still there when I walk into my room with my siblings.

I love it. The Fairest of Them All walls, the picture collage, the new bedspread, even the fairy lights. I might love those the most, actually.

“Rosie, I love it,” Emma says. “It’s so you.”

I smile, appreciating that she could see my Rosie theme.

Dom takes a seat on the couch, and Emma on the desk chair, so I sit on the bed. All of us fit nicely in my space, which makes me feel even happier that I finally made this room mine.

I hardly ever brought anyone back here, and now I know why. It never really felt like mine. It still felt like the Jacobsens’.

“The inn has turned out so amazing,” Emma says.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I love my little inn.”

“How have the guests been liking the rooms?” she asks.

“I’ve gotten some great reviews,” I say, which reminds me of something. I turn to Dominic. “I got a few from the week of the festival that kept mentioning a bellhop, and one even mentioned a concierge. Was that you?”

Dom gives me a confused look. “No, that was Dean.”

“That was Dean?”

There were only a couple of mentions—one that said the bellhop was so helpful with their bags and another that said the concierge went out of his way to find her an umbrella when it started raining.

Of course that was Dean. Why did I even think it was Dominic? That last one doesn’t even sound like him. I guess I assumed it was Dom because Dean was supposed to be working on the farm, not secretly helping to keep my inn running. And yet, somehow, that’s exactly what he was doing.

And I never asked him to do any of it.

“Yeah,” Dominic says, rubbing his eyes. “The bed broke in the yellow room, too. He found me at the fair and asked if I could help fix it. And he told me not to tell you since you were busy with the festival.”

“What?” I ask.

Emma shakes her head at him. “But now you’re telling her?”

“Why does it matter? He’s gone.”

There’s that stabbing-in-the-gut sensation again.

“Yeah, but he told you not to tell her because he knew it would stress her out.”

“But that was, like, two weeks ago.”

“Still, there’s no reason to bring it up now,” Emma says, then looks at me, sees the tears streaming down my face, and her expression softens. She comes over to the bed, sits next to me, and starts rubbing my back.

“I’m sorry Dom’s so insensitive,” she says.