5. Chapter 5
Rosie
The castle had holes in its walls. The princess knew. She’d made most of them herself.
Emma: Hello family! Who’s going to the game tomorrow night?
I’ve been working nonstop on the Cinderella room this morning, finally finishing the floor and just starting the trim, when I get this text from my sister.
I quickly type back, fine dust from cutting MDF trim coating my fingers and getting all over my phone screen.
Me: I’ll be there. The Ednas asked me to escort them.
Emma: You said yes? Don’t you have rooms to finish?
I sigh. I have way too much to do and no time for the game.
Not to mention the festival plans that I’ve been totally neglecting.
But also . . . it was our mom’s favorite thing to do: go to the first high school game of the season.
And I know Emma has tried to keep up the tradition for the family.
Some years, we are great at it; some years, life gets in the way.
Life is very much in the way for me right now, but I’ll be going anyway because I told the Ednas I’d take them.
I quickly type back.
Me: How could I say no to the Ednas?
Dominic: I’m a maybe.
Me: Oh, Dom! Wouldn’t you love to escort the Ednas for me?
Dominic: I’m now a definite no.
I snort at my phone. Dom would escort the Ednas if they really needed it, and he knows it. But they are the gossip duo, and Dom doesn’t like gossip.
Me: Thanks for nothing.
Emma: I’m thinking of going. Save me a seat, Rosie.
I set my phone down, and it vibrates against the floor. Another text, this time from our dad.
Dad: I’ll try to go. I always love going to the first game of the season. Love, Dad.
I’ve tried to tell my dad that he doesn’t need to end his texts with his name since we all know who’s texting, but he just keeps doing it.
I hear something thump against the floor and then Dean’s muffled voice from behind the door across the hall.
Oh, please. Not another disaster.
I know it’s not the shower curtain this time, because I looked at it after Dean checked out yesterday, and it was perfectly anchored to the wall. Not even a tiny fracture in the tile.
I was going to work on fixing other things in the Sleeping Beauty room that I took a shortcut on, but then figured what was the point? The other rooms need my attention more, and since there was no one staying there, I could do that later.
But then he came back. And that was . . . embarrassing. That’ll teach me to dance to Taylor Swift with my back to the door. I’ve learned my lesson. Hopefully someday I’ll be able to listen to Shake It Off again without getting the ick.
The question is, do I check on him? I really should have yesterday; then the whole half-naked-in-a-shower-curtain thing wouldn’t have happened, and maybe he wouldn’t have left and then come back and found me dancing with a drill.
I make a snap decision, get up from the floor, walk across the hall to the Sleeping Beauty room, and knock.
“Everything okay in there?” I ask through the door.
It swings open, the straight line of disapproval in full effect as Dean stands there. He has one hand on the doorknob, the other holding up what takes me a second to recognize as a floating shelf I’d hung on the wall opposite the bed so I could put a picture of a castle on it.
I peek around him to see the bare wall, the anchors ripped out, now leaving big torn holes, along with a few other holes next to them.
I’d measured it wrong and was in a hurry, so instead of fixing my mistake, I just adjusted the shelf, so it covered the holes.
I knew I hadn’t anchored it correctly, and I was going to ask Dominic to fix it, but in the craziness of getting everything ready, I forgot.
Oops.
“Oh, shoot,” I say. “I’ll get that fixed.” I hold my hand out, but he doesn’t give it to me.
“How about you let me do it,” he says.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I reply.
“I know I don’t,” he says. “But if I do it, it probably won’t fall off again.”
I huff a breath out my nose. I want to tell him he’s rude and mean, and he can take his disapproving lips and go . . . somewhere. Obviously, I would come up with something much more profound before I actually said it.
But also, he has a point.
“Aren’t you super busy doing . . . what are you doing in Autumn Ridge, again?”
I actually have no idea why this grumpy man is visiting this town for an entire month. Even the leaf-peepers only stay for a week at most. I didn’t bother to ask, mostly because when he booked the room, I was more interested in the money I would make than his reasoning.
He stares at me for a second, and I’m about to tell him it’s not any of my business when his mouth opens. “I’m figuring out what to do with my grandparents’ property. It’s the old apple orchard.”
I furrow my brow. “Which one?” We have a couple of them around here.
“The one that burned down.”
My eyes go wide. “The Alden family one? Wait . . . your last name is Alden. Oh, I should have put that together,” I tell him, like I’ve just solved one of life’s biggest mysteries.
He gives me one simple nod. “That’s the one.”
“So, what are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Right now there is a family of raccoons that’s moved in.”
“Oh, wow. You should charge them rent,” I say, the words falling out of my mouth. “Sorry, that was dumb.”
I mentally kick myself for my stupid joke.
One corner of Dean’s lips pulls up just briefly, though, and I take that as a small victory.
“I don’t think they’d pay.”
Was that . . . a joke? It’s hard to tell with how dry his tone is. I think I’ll count it, though.
“So, now I have to wait for someone to remove them, and I haven’t had much luck finding anyone to do it.”
“I bet I could get one of the Walker brothers to take care of it,” I tell him.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Is that what they do? Wildlife removal?”
“Oh no.” I shake my head. “They’re just brothers who’ve never turned down a project that could end in a trip to urgent care.”
Dean stares at me for a beat. I’m going to assume that he doesn’t have a lot of experience with small towns.
“Right. I need someone with insurance,” Dean says. “So far, one company is a couple of weeks out. I’ve got a few calls out to companies in Burlington.”
“Well, if you get desperate, let me know,” I say.
I hold out my hand again for the shelf. “I really can take care of that,” I tell him.
He holds onto it tighter. “Do you mind? I’ve got some time on my hands. It’ll give me something to do.”
“Are you handsy?” I ask, and then immediately cover my mouth with my hand, my eyes widening. “Handy. I meant handy.”
Another upward tick of his lips. That’s two for the day.
He shrugs. “I know a few things. I used to help my grandpa around the farm.”
“Well, if you’re looking for things to keep you busy, I’ve got plenty of stuff to do around here.” I hold out my hands toward the Cinderella room in all its under-construction glory.
I mean it as a joke. I’m definitely not asking my one-and-only guest to help me with my renovations. I’m desperate, but not that desperate.
Actually, I am that desperate. I wonder if he . . . no. There’s no way.
“Sorry. Another dumb joke.” I put my hands in the back pockets of my overalls, rocking back on my heels. “Stick around, I’ve got lots more.”
I should probably shut up. And get back to work.
“How about I start with this,” he says, holding up the shelf. “Do you have a drill, a level, and a stud finder to start?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “I can grab them for you.”
“Or you can just show me where you keep your tools, and I’ll grab them.”
“Right,” I say, drawing out the word. “So, they are sort of all over the place.”
He squints his eyes. “How do you know where to find anything?”
“I just figure it out.” I give him a little shrug. “I had plans to set up my garage with everything, but then I ran out of time before you got here, and then Hal was using it for his truck.”
“Who’s Hal? Does he work here?”
“No. This is a one-woman show. Hal bartends down at the Maple Bar.” I point in the direction of the bar, which is just down the street from here.
“Why is he storing his car in your garage?” Dean asks.
“He needed a place to put it,” I say simply. “It’s only for a week.”
“Got it,” he says, but I get the idea that he has more questions and has decided that it’s none of his business. “So, then where can I find the tools?”
“Follow me,” I say, taking him across the hallway to the Cinderella room.
Opening the door, I see the room with fresh eyes as I allow my guest inside my current work in progress.
The flooring is in, but it’s hardly noticeable since there are several pieces of trim laid out on the floor and some leaning against the wall, and white MDF dust on nearly every surface.
He saw it yesterday when he came to tell me he was leaving, and again when he came back, but today, it’s making me feel more vulnerable. Maybe it’s because I’ve invited him in rather than having him standing at the threshold.
I find the drill lying on the floor in the corner, covered by a thick coat of white dust, and try to wipe some of it off with my hand, but then I find a towel in the corner that sort of does the trick.
I hand the drill to him. “I’ll find the other stuff and bring it to you,” I say.
Dean takes the drill, his eyes scanning the room. “You’ve done all this by yourself?”
“Most of it,” I say. “Other than the stuff I can get my brother to do.”
“The guy the other day was your brother?”
“Dominic. He’s my twin, actually. I’m two minutes older than him, so I can sometimes get him to do my bidding. As long as I can pay him with pastries.”
“Sounds like a deal,” Dean says.
I laugh, but he doesn’t smile. Not even a minuscule upturn of his lips. I have no idea how to read this man.
Silence lands on the conversation, and we both stand there sort of awkwardly. I put my hands in the back pockets of my overalls.
“Well,” we both say at the same time.
I smile. He doesn’t.
“So, I can just bring you the other tools, then?” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, before giving me a quick nod and leaving the room.