Page 70 of Once Upon a Fall

Did I even know that?

“Are you married?” the other one asks.

“No.”

“Seeing anyone?”

His eyes connect with mine briefly before going back to them. “No,” he says.

“Well, Rosie here is single as well,” Edna B. says, pointing toward me. “I know she’s a bit of a work in progress, but she fixes up nicely.”

Oh. I see what’s going on here. I fell on my way to get the pie tins and am now having a concussion-induced nightmare. That has to be it.

“Okay, well, this has been fun,” I say. “But don’t you have some pies to make, ladies?”

“How long are you in town?” Edna G. asks, like I didn’t even speak.

Maybe I really am dreaming?

“Until the third,” he says.

“That’s plenty of time for us to find you someone,” says Edna B. “Do you like blondes or brunettes?”

“Tall or short?” asks the other woman.

“We’ve got a librarian, a high school teacher, a baker, an author,” Edna G. says, ticking off on her fingers.

It sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke.

“Oh, and someone who just came back to town. Reese is her name. Her mom is a piece of work, though. So maybe not her.”

Wait . . . Reese? Dominic’s ex is back? He’d want to know that. Should I ask? No. I need to get these two out of here. Right now. They’ll have Dean betrothed in the next five minutes.

“Well, okay, this has been fun. How about we let Dean get back to work, and get you those pie tins,” I say, gently grabbing Edna G. by the shoulders and ushering her out the door and then guiding the other one the same direction with a hand on her back.

It’s like herding cats.

“It was lovely meeting you,” says Edna B. over her shoulder as they leave.

“Do tell us if you want to meet one of Autumn Ridge’s available women,” the other one calls out as we head toward the stairs.

“I see why you’ve been keeping him all to yourself,” Edna G. says as I herd them down the stairs. “That is one handsome man.”

“I’m not keeping him to myself,” I say. “He’s just helping me finish the inn.”

“Oh? Are you paying him?” Edna B. asks.

“Yes, with pastries.”

“How interesting,” says Edna G.

I guide them through the front entry, grabbing the pie tins from the check-in desk and giving them each a stack, before opening the door for them.

“Thank you for helping make the pies,” I tell them before shutting the door and then leaning up against it.

That couldn’t have gone worse.

My dad doesn’t show up by dinner. He shows up afterward.