Page 4 of Once Upon a Fall

“Perfect,” I say, even though that’s not perfect at all.

“Aren’t you running out of time?” Dom asks me, his brow pulled down.

“I’m fine.” I give him a smile that says shut your stupid mouth. “Don’t you have a picture to hang?”

“Yes, your highness,” he says, heading over to the living area that has two sofas currently covered in sheets, which are facing a stone fireplace with a dark wood mantel.

I don’t need Dom’s energy right now. I need someone with positive, happy vibes who will tell me that it will all work out. Because it has to.

There’s a quick knock at the front door before it opens and Hal Rodgers, the bartender from the Maple Bar down the street, pops his head in.

“Hello,” he says, opening the door fully and walking inside wearing a plaid shirt that’s pulling at the buttons and a pair of jeans. “Glad you’re here, Rosie.”

I smile. Even though inside I’m a bundle of nerves because I don’t have time for anything other than getting this inn ready. “What can I do for you, Hal?”

“Quick favor,” he asks. “Do you mind stepping outside?”

I let out a breath, trying to keep a grin on my face because my mom taught me not to be rude.

“Of course,” I tell him.

We walk outside into the breezy last-bits-of-summer air and onto the long porch of the inn. The fresh sage green paint looks especially pretty in the afternoon light, even if the three white rocking chairs are still the only things making the porch look finished.

Guests will be able to sit outside and enjoy the changing colors. That’s what we’re known for in Autumn Ridge: leaf peeping. That’s what they call it around here. I’ve always hated the saying. We might as well call it leaf stalking, because that’s truly what it is.

But in the fall, thousands of people come to our little town to do just that, most of them during the first full week of October for our fall festival. Which I will concentrate on after I get my first guest settled in.

Oh, fun. The anxious butterflies brought their friends: the moths of dread.

It’ll be fine, though. Just fine.

I follow Hal to an older red truck that’s towing an even older blue one. It looks like something you might see in a classic movie, with round fenders and a split windshield.

“What ya got here?” I ask, pointing to the truck.

“That’s the favor I need,” he says. “You see, the wife wants me to get rid of it. Says she’s sick of seeing it in our front driveway. But I’m not ready to part with it just yet.”

“Okay?” I’m not sure how this involves me.

“So, I was wondering if I could keep it in your garage around back,” he says, pointing toward the direction of the single-stall, detached garage that the previous owners had built behind the inn.

I was planning to use that garage as a staging area for cutting tile and molding, since doing that inside with a guest staying here seems inadvisable. Especially when said guest could be cooped up in his room building a meth lab, for all I know.

Oh, gosh. I hope not. Then the police would have to get involved, and I’m not sure how that all works. And then they’d probably have to shut the place down because aren’t those places toxic or something? Then I’d miss out on money from the rent, and I’d have to tear down the entire house, and can you rebuild an inn in a week? I mean, it’s possible. But—

“Rosie?” Hal asks.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling myself out of my what-ifs.

“What do you say?” Hal asks, patting the hood of his old truck with his hand.

“I’m not sure—”

“It would just be for the week,” Hal cuts in, his bushy eyebrows drooping downward. “It was my dad’s. Can’t bring myself to sell it just yet.”

“Of course,” I tell him, this time without hesitation.

I have stuff from my mom that I’ll never get rid of. Sure, it’s not a massive truck that takes space in my only garage, but . . . I get it.