Page 83 of Once Upon a Fall

“Wendell,” he says. “He lives next door to my grandparents’ place and came over to give me a hand.”

I stop looking around and turn to Dean. He’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, smudges of white paint on both as proof of his antics this evening.

“I can’t believe you did this,” I say, tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. I blink quickly, trying to keep them there.

He gives me a soft smile. “It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to spend it painting.”

I go to him then, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his chest like I did earlier today. His arms come around me immediately, pulling me close, his short beard brushing the top of my head when he rests his cheek against my hair.

How do I thank this man properly for everything he’s done for me? I’ve probably used up my lifetime supply of thank-yous, and pastries feel wildly insufficient at this point.

He’s given me hours of his time. Fixed things he didn’t break. Cooked for me, worked beside me, and somehow keeps showing up every time I need him.

There’s nothing I can say that feels big enough.

There’s one thing I could do. But that’s off the table, and it’s my own fault that it is.

So, I just hold on to him a little tighter, wishing I could keep him and knowing I can’t.

Dean

The prince’s tenants were evicted. He did not ask how.

The following Monday, Luke Walker stops by to get information about the raccoon situation.

He’s sitting in the front room when I come down the stairs, sprawled back in one of the chairs like he owns it. He looks younger than I expected. Early twenties, maybe, with wavy light brown hair, and a grin that makes me think he’s either already up to something or would be if given the opportunity.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say after introducing myself and then taking a seat on the couch across from him.

Luke rubs his hands together. “So, how many raccoons do you think there are?”

I’m impressed already. He gets right down to business.

“Five, maybe six,” I tell him. “A mother and babies, from what I could see.”

He rubs his jaw. “That does make things a little more difficult. The moms can get defensive.” He looks to the side, out the window. “I might have to get more creative.”

“They all have to live,” I tell him.

He furrows his brow. “Obviously.”

That’s a relief, at least.

“Any of them unusually large?” he asks.

“They’re raccoons,” I say. I’m not familiar enough with raccoons to know what qualifies as large. They just look like regular ones to me.

“Right, but can you tell me how big the biggest one was?”

“I guess,” I say, spreading my hands apart, estimating the size. “Probably about this big?”

He lets out a breath and nods.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” he says. “I just wanted to get an idea of what I’m up against.”

Is he going to remove them with his bare hands? Should I advise against that?