Once Upon a Fall (Falling for Autumn #5)

1. Chapter 1

Rosie

Once upon a time, a girl built herself a fairy tale. She used what she had. Some of it was hot glue.

Everything is going to be fine.

T-minus four hours until my first guest arrives, and everything is going great. Super. Fantastic.

As long as you don’t count the fact that the room isn’t exactly ready, the front entry is covered in dust, and I haven’t showered in days.

Somewhere downstairs, the sharp whine of a saw cuts through the house before a nail gun pops twice in quick succession as the custom check-in desk I absolutely did not need to splurge on is finally being installed.

Oh, and I’m currently resorting to doing the finishing touches with a glue gun.

My shoulders have been creeping toward my ears since breakfast, but that’s probably unrelated.

“Please stay,” I whisper to the shower curtain bracket as I hold it in place, waiting for the glue to solidify, feeling a cramp in my arm as I keep the piece steady.

I need it to stay put because I tiled this tub myself. I’m quite proud of it. It took forever; I watched approximately forty YouTube videos, messed up twice, and had to start over, and I’m genuinely happy with the results, even if it’s still slightly uneven in one corner.

The brackets are supposed to be screwed directly into the tile, but drilling into tile that I laid myself, that I actually bled for (there’s a nice long cut across my forearm as proof), is too much to ask. One wrong move, and it will crack. I know this from experience, unfortunately.

Retiling isn’t an option, and so . . . glue.

“Would you just let me do it?” my brother, Dominic, asks, one hand on his hip, the other holding a hammer drill.

“No way,” I tell him. “If you do it and the tile cracks, I’ll never forgive you.

And then we’ll both resent each other: me, because you wouldn’t listen, and you, because you’ll tell me it’s not that big a deal when it does, in fact, crack.

And it’ll drive a wedge in the family that will be irreparable. ”

“That seems like a stretch,” he says, frowning.

“So, I’m using glue to save our family,” I say to my younger brother. Younger by two minutes, but I like to hold it over his head.

He lets out a long-suffering breath. “Fine. Is there anything else you’d like me to do while I’m here, Rosaline?”

“Don’t call me that,” I tell him. He knows I don’t like being called by my full name, which is why he likes to overemphasize it when he does.

“Fine,” he says. “What else?”

“Can you hang that painting in the front room? The one above the fireplace.”

He rests the back of the drill on the shoulder of his stained white T-shirt, his baseball cap pushed back slightly, his green eyes—the only thing we have in common, feature-wise—watching me.

“Rosie, are you sure you’re ready for this?” He reaches up, pulling the hat back slightly, so he can rub his forehead with a calloused hand.

“I have to be,” I say, tugging lightly on the bracket to make sure it’s sturdy enough to hold the curtain and the rod, and I feel a little glee that it might actually have worked.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” Dom says.

“Actually.” I stop him, and he sighs again. “Can you help me get this on here?”

I nod to the pile of pink frilliness on the floor, the shower curtain I painstakingly searched the internet for, the one I wanted for my Sleeping Beauty–themed room.

When I moved back to Autumn Ridge after losing my job and enduring a terrible breakup, I took a job at the only place to stay in town—a bed-and-breakfast owned by Tom and Jeanie Jacobsen.

Two years later, when they decided to sell it and move to Fort Lauderdale, they offered me the place at a steal of a price.

An offer I literally couldn’t refuse. Five months ago, I signed the mortgage, and now, on September first, I’ll have my first official guest.

Did I dream of owning an inn on Main Street one day, where guests could stay and visit our lovely town, before I’d even turned twenty-nine? Nope. That was never, ever on my radar. But I’m so glad I did.

Well, mostly.

Dom eyes the shower curtain with disapproval. “When does your guest arrive?”

“He said some time after five,” I say, reaching down to grab one end of the curtain rod.

“He?” Dom asks, his eyes widening.

I tilt my head to the side. “Yes, a man. Are you worried that he’s going to hate all the pink in his room?”

“No.” He shakes his head, but then he stops, his brow pinching. “I mean, it is a lot of pink.”

“He’s a paying customer. It could be a room wallpapered with fairies, and he’d just have to deal. Oh my gosh.” I stop, the curtain rings clinking against the rod. “Should I add fairies?”

No fairies in a Sleeping Beauty room? How did I forget that?

“You don’t have time for fairies.”

“True,” I agree.

Note to self: add fairies.

I pull my phone out of the front pocket of my pink overalls and add it to my “things to fix or add” note. It’s a mile long at this point.

“So let me get this straight—a man is going to be staying here for a week? Just you and him?”

I look to the side, tucking some of my blonde hair behind my ear. “Until the third,” I say under my breath.

“Oh. Only two days?”

“No, October third.”

“A month?” His words echo around the small room.

“Yes, a month,” I say, a little more confidently this time, tucking my phone back in my pocket.

“Who comes to Autumn Ridge for a month?” my brother asks.

It’s a valid question. One I also had and considered asking. But my bank account dictated that I didn’t need to know the reason.

“To visit our quaint little town, of course,” I tell him.

“What if he’s a weirdo?”

I draw my head back, scowling. “He’s not.”

“You don’t know that. You’ve never met this guy.”

“Well, if he is, then I will do my best to avoid him while taking his weirdo money.”

Dom rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time to worry about this.”

“Thank goodness I’m a full-grown adult.”

He eyes me like he’s considering whether that’s true or not.

Dom is one of the few people who know what I’m up against right now: a balloon payment on the loan I took out to do renovations, due in November.

Only two months away. Only he and our older sister, Emma, know—which means if our dad finds out, I’ll know who told him.

And there will be a wedgie in that person’s future.

So, if someone does, it better be Emma. Because it’s been over a decade since I could properly wedgie Dom.

He’s much bigger and stronger these days.

My dad can’t find out, though. He’s already been worried about me since I bought the inn, and knowing about the debt I’m in would only confirm his fears.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “And besides, I need the booking. Between his month-long stay and my October reservations, I can make the payment.”

Barely. Assuming nothing else breaks.

I give Dom my best easy smile while anxious butterflies flutter around in my stomach.

It took me nearly four months to finish this one room, and now I have to complete the other four in a month.

I can’t afford to hire anyone, so it’s all on me.

And it has to be done in time for the fall festival, which I’ve also somehow been put in charge of.

Pam Vasser has already texted me twice asking whether I’ve confirmed the vendors, and I haven’t even opened the spreadsheet she sent me.

I could use five more of me. Or five of someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

“The money isn’t what worries me,” Dom says.

“My room is downstairs and on the opposite side of the house. I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “You already installed a deadbolt.”

“On a door that could easily be kicked in,” he says, one hand on his hip.

I grimace. When I bought this place, the bones seemed strong, and I figured I wouldn’t have much to update.

I probably should have gotten a second opinion.

The plumbing is still being worked on, and the HVAC ate most of my budget, which meant the cheap, hollow doors and mattresses with a roll-toward-the-center sort of feel had to stay.

I’ll replace them once I get the balloon payment sorted. Until then, I’ll keep learning as I go. Mostly it’s been me. And sometimes Dom when I beg him.

“Help me,” I order my twin, shaking my end of the bathroom curtain.

He sighs as he picks up the other end. I set my end into the bracket, watch as Dom does his, and then I grin. That was the last thing I needed to do in the bathroom.

“Okay,” I say. “That’s done. Now I’ve got to put the bedding on the bed, and then the room will be complete.”

“As long as the glue holds up,” he says.

“It will,” I say, giving him a closed-mouth smile. “Thanks for your help, by the way.”

“I’ll send you a bill.”

He’s kidding. I hope.

I’ve tried not to lean on my handyman brother too much, and when I do, I bribe him with baked goods from the bakery down the street since I’m a pretty terrible cook (also why this place went from a bed-and-breakfast to just an inn when I bought it).

We walk out of the bathroom and into the guest room in all its Sleeping Beauty glory.

There’s a large canopy bed draped with pink tulle against the north wall, with a picture of a castle hanging above the headboard.

The ruffled bedding is currently in the dryer.

Matching curtains hang on the windows, an antique cream dresser sits against the far wall, and the nightstands are ones I found at an estate sale.

My favorite part is the delicate chandelier that hangs from the ceiling, casting tiny amber-colored sparkles around the room.

And no, I did not hang that with hot glue.

But I did hang the art that says Once Upon a Time in beautiful script with a couple of too-small Command strips. So far it’s staying in place.

It’s not exactly how I pictured the room coming together, but it’ll do for now. It definitely has the honeymoon feel I was going for. I hope not-weirdo guy doesn’t mind. But from his short, lack-of-exclamation-point emails, I gather he just needs a room and isn’t too particular.

Still, I think anyone would find the room cozy and welcoming.