Page 89 of Once Upon a Fall

The princess had a farewell speech prepared. She did not get to give it.

T-minus one day until guests arrive. Which means only two days until the festival.

Am I panicking? Yes. Am I at least doing it gracefully? Not even a little.

“Rosie, dear,” Edna G. says, her yellow hair looking extra coiffed. There’s been a lot of teasing involved.

I don’t have time for this.

“Yes?” I say, standing behind my check-in desk. Upstairs, Dominic is hanging the shower curtain in the Beauty and the Beast bathroom, and Dean is hanging pictures.

Dean. I’ve been trying not to think about him checking out tomorrow. There’s a chance I could see him again. He’ll be around working on getting the farm ready to sell, and he said he’d drop by the festival to check it out.

But no more spending time together. No more dinners. No more staring at him wondering if he’s thinking the same thing I am: that if I could break something small for him to fix, maybe I could keep him here one more day.

“Rosie?” Edna G. asks, looking at me as if I’ve grown another head.

“Oh, sorry,” I say. “What was it you were needing?”

As usual, these two showed up unannounced. Like a cold sore. Uninvited and at the worst possible time. Juliet Monroe is supposed to be stopping by soon to go over the last-minute festival details.

“You asked Monica Batchelder to make pies?” Edna G. asks.

I give them both a questioning look. “So?”

Edna B. sighs. “It’s just that last year her pumpkin was so watery.”

They both scrunch their noses.

“Yes, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

It pops out of my mouth before I can stop it. And wow, that sounded snarky.

“I mean, I need all the help I can get,” I add, giving them a big cheesy grin.

“Of course,” says Edna B., apparently not registering my snark at all. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“I . . . yes, I do,” I say, appreciating that they actually recognized the pressure I’m under with the inn and the festival.

“You’ve got a hunky man under your roof, after all,” says Edna G.

Nope. Spoke too soon.

“Oh, yes,” agrees Edna B. “How is our dear Mr. Alden?”

“He’s just fine,” I say, not giving these biddies anything.

What I really want to say is that he’s an amazing, absolute hero of a man, and he’s leaving me tomorrow, and I kind of want to curl into a ball and cry, but unfortunately I have an inn to finish and a festival to run.

Also, I would never, ever say that to the Ednas.

“Well, you tell him hello for us,” Edna G. says, patting me on the hand.

“Will do,” I say.

They turn to go, and I realize they didn’t offer me a single piece of gossip. This feels like progress.

“Oh, and I was wondering something,” Edna B. says. “Wade Stevenson and Ari Langford were here the other night. Did you notice anything between them?”