Page 93 of Once Upon a Fall

Dominic doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the way he looks at me like I’m an idiot and then says, “I don’t buy it.”

“Well, buy it,” I say. “Because it’s the truth.”

The stupid, no-good, dirty, rotten truth.

“I hired someone from the high school to work at the inn this week while I help with the festival—Willa Pickle. Isn’t that the best name?” Dom just snorts in response. “Anyway, she starts tonight. So, I’ll be at dinner,” I tell him.

“Rosie?” Dean says, a soft knock on the door of the Beauty and the Beast room.

“Hey,” I say, coming out of the bathroom, holding the window cleaner in one hand and a rag in the other.

“Did you grab that rag from the room?” he asks, pointing to it.

“Yes?”

“I used it to dust all the wood,” he says.

“Oh,” I say.

No wonder I couldn’t get the streaks off the mirror.

What am I going to do without Dean?

I will not cry. I will not.

“I’m about to take off,” he says, gesturing toward the front of the inn.

“Okay,” I say, setting the spray and useless towel on the counter. This is fine. Everything is totally, completely fine. “I’ll walk you out.”

Dean says goodbye to Dominic, who gives me a curious look that I ignore, and I follow him down the stairs.

We stop in the front entry. A piece of his dark hair has fallen across his forehead. I stop myself from brushing it back.

I’m ready to give him my well-planned speech. It involves thanking him profusely for everything he’s done, making sure he knows how grateful I am, and maybe asking him to kiss me one last time.

I’m not actually going to do that last part. But I did rehearse it in my head, and somehow the rehearsal ended with us making out on the couch and . . . you know what? I’m just going to keep that version to myself.

“Well,” I start, ready to give my speech.

I open my mouth again, but then my phone beeps in my pocket.

I pull it out to look at it.

“Oh no,” I say, looking at the notice on my lock screen. “Someone’s canceled.”

“What?” Dean asks, standing by me so he can see my screen.

I pull up the app I use for reservations, and there it is. The booking for the Snow White room, canceled for the entire week.

“That’s not good,” I say, mostly to myself, my stomach doing a twisting thing.

I show Dean my screen, then look at it again myself. Out of nowhere, a laugh bubbles out of me.

It’s not hysterical. More of a well-isn’t-that-just-great kind of laugh, with a little mania around the edges.

“Rosie?” Dean asks, a concerned look on his face. He probably thinks I’ve finally lost it.

Maybe I have.