5. Chapter 5 #2
I let out a breath, my shoulders dropping as if they’d been up by my ears the entire conversation.
Shaking it off, I quickly search around the room for the level and the stud finder, locating one of them in the bathroom and the other in the Snow White room.
The door to the Sleeping Beauty room is cracked open, but I knock lightly on it anyway.
“Come in,” I hear Dean say.
“I found the other things you need,” I say as I push open the door and stand just inside the threshold.
Dean is holding the shelf, staring at the wall where it fell off. I’m not sure the shelf will cover all the holes I made when I hung it, plus the new ripped-out ones from where it fell.
There’s probably a life lesson there. Or a metaphor. Something about doing it right the first time or whatever.
“I think it’s a bigger job than I was anticipating,” Dean says.
“No worries,” I tell him. “I’ll get that fixed right up.”
He shakes his head. “I can do it. I just need some more supplies.”
“Oh, really, you don’t have to—”
“I don’t mind,” he says. “Like I said, I’ve got some time on my hands right now.”
I should argue. I should tell him that I’ll take care of it. But heaven knows I need the help. Any help at this point.
“Well, okay,” I say. “Just maybe don’t put this in your Google review. ‘She put me to work. Made me use tools. One star. Don’t recommend.’”
His lips quirk upward. Aha! Well done, me.
“You didn’t put me to work. I offered,” he clarifies. “That bed might get you a one-star.” He points toward it. I hadn’t even noticed that it’s all made up, exactly how I do it.
“I’m sorry about the mattress. I had plans to replace them all, and then I had to do a bunch of other repairs I didn’t see coming, like the HVAC system needing to be replaced and then the plumbing issues in the Cinderella and Snow White rooms. I had no idea how much it would cost to run an inn.”
“I was teasing,” he says after my speech that was absolutely too much information. “The mattress is pretty terrible, but I actually found a spot in the middle and slept better than I have in a long time last night.”
“Oh,” I say. “You were teasing?”
“You couldn’t tell?”
Couldn’t tell? Is he crazy? I’d sooner tell the Ednas apart. Which is something I actually need to do before tomorrow. Or I’ll just drive to one of their houses and hope for the best.
“You do it so straight-faced,” I say. “Maybe you could lighten your tone when you’re teasing. Or smile or something.”
I won’t admit that I’m actually curious what his full smile looks like. I am really hoping for a dimple.
“I’ll work on it,” he says, his tone dry as always.
“Okay, so I guess you’ll need some supplies,” I say.
He scratches at the short beard along his jaw. “Yes, I’ll need—”
“Spackle, putty knife, primer, and paint,” I cut in.
He blinks twice, his hand pausing on his face. “Right,” he says.
“I’ve been doing this for a while, remember?” I give him a closed-mouth smile. “I have it all downstairs. I can show you where to find it.”
At least this time it’s all in the same spot and not covered with MDF dust. Hopefully.
“Great,” he says.
I lead him through the hallway and then down the stairs and to the door that leads to the kitchen.
Once inside, I’m again seeing the room with fresh eyes, that same twinge of vulnerability moving through me as I bring Dean into the space I hadn’t planned for guests to see, since this establishment is now only the “bed” part of B he pays me to stay here and also fixes my walls.
That’s worse.
Whatever I say, I need to be careful. Word spreads fast here, and the last thing I want is Emma or my dad coming over here wondering who the mysterious guy at my inn is.
“This is Dean,” I say simply.
Genevieve is smart. She’ll see the spackle and think he’s a handyman.
“Nice to meet you, Dean,” she says. “Thanks again, Rosie.”
She quickly leaves, and I turn to Dean. “I guess now I need to figure out where I can hang this,” I tell him, holding up the sign-up sheet.
I never thought of a place to hang things like this. I definitely don’t want it on my beautiful check-in desk.
The straight line of disapproval is back. “For your one guest?”
I snort out a laugh. “Right. Any chance you want to sign up for a candle-making class?”
“No,” he says.
I shrug. “Your loss.”
He doesn’t say anything in response; he just turns and goes up the stairs.
I set the flyer on the side table. Dean’s right. I have exactly one guest to advertise to, and he already said no. I’ll hang it anyway once I figure out where that will be. It’s the nice thing to do.
But right now, I’ve got a Cinderella room to work on.