Page 42 of Once Upon a Fall

Her face softens. “When did she pass?”

“Last year.”

She reaches over and gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“Thanks,” I tell her. It’s exactly the right response. No platitudes. No attempt to make it better. Just I’m sorry.

I think you have to lose someone before you understand that sometimes those are the only words that don’t make it worse.

Her hand lingers on my arm for a moment before she removes it and gets up from the couch.

“Okay, so I think I’m going to get ready for bed.”

Right. Bed. We’d already stayed up late working on the Rapunzel room. Sleeping is the entire reason we came in here in the first place.

She goes to the top drawer of her dresser and rifles around in it before pulling out pink pajamas.

“I’m taking the couch,” I tell her when she turns back toward me.

She stops in her tracks. “You are not. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

I shake my head. “Rosie, I can’t in good conscience let you sleep on the couch.”

She points to herself. “And I can’t, in good conscience, let you sleep on the couch. You’re a guest at my inn.”

“I don’t think I qualify as a normal guest anymore.”

“Right. You’re a paying guest who also works here and feeds me. Oh, gosh.” She rubs her forehead. “I’m a terrible business owner.”

I chuckle even though I think she’s serious. “You’re not a terrible business owner.”

“I kind of am.”

“How about this—not as a guest, but as a gentleman, I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight. My grandma would probably come back from the dead just to kick me if I didn’t.”

She drops her chin, a pout on her lips. “How can I argue with that?”

I give her a single nod. “Exactly.”

I ask to use the bathroom first, and she doesn’t fight me on it. Normally, I’d be a gentleman in this situation as well, but I’m pretty sure if I let Rosie go first, she’d claim the couch while I was getting ready for bed and refuse to move.

By the time she comes out of the bathroom wearing pajama shorts and a matching top, her hair pulled into a bun, I’m already stretched out on the couch in lounge pants and a T-shirt, the blanket pulled over me and my head resting on the pillow she gave me.

She gives me a look when she sees me. “Dean, you don’t even fit.”

It’s true. My head is pressed against one armrest, and my feet are propped on the other.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I say, even though my back is going to hurt tomorrow for sure.

“Just let me sleep here. I’m shorter than you and fit perfectly.”

I close my eyes, snuggling into the pillow. “Go to bed, Rosie.”

She makes a growling noise before turning off the light. Then I hear her get into bed.

“Do you want me to leave the bathroom light on and crack the door so you can find it in the night if you need it?” she asks.

“In case I get lost in this room?” I ask, sarcasm in my tone. For her own space, it’s small—and feels even smaller right now as we lie here in the dark.