7. Chapter 7
Rosie
The village had two elders who knew everything, including several things the princess did not.
I went to the wrong house.
I had a fifty-fifty chance, and I chose the wrong fifty. I should probably never gamble; I clearly have no luck where that is concerned.
It didn’t matter because no one was at the house, so when I went to the other one and both Ednas were waiting, the only complaint I got was that I was late.
By two minutes.
They weren’t too upset. Just worried that we’d miss out on their favorite seats, which happen to be right behind the players so the Ednas can heckle them. Which they do. Luckily, the boys take it all in good fun.
Still, I did cringe when the Edna with the dyed dark hair yelled, “Tucker Wells, how did you miss that catch? I could have caught it myself, and I’ve got two bad knees!”
Tucker just smiled and nodded as if he agreed, which was a lot better than most kids would have handled it.
Even Ari Langford—someone I used to cheer with in high school who just took a job teaching there—had to deal with their antics. The dark-haired Edna was trying to set her up with a new dentist moving into town before I could drag her away.
My dad and Emma showed up a little into the first quarter and sat with us for most of it, and Dominic made an appearance at halftime.
I smiled, thinking of how our mom would have loved this: having us all together at the first game of the season.
At the same time, it was a stark reminder of who was missing, and more than once I had to blink back tears.
Grief is strange. It’s been ten years, and most days I feel okay. But then sometimes, out of the blue, I’m not.
But a football game with two old biddies heckling the players is a weird place to feel it.
“Thank you for the escort,” Edna with the dark hair says when I pull up in front of her house after the game. At least, I think it’s her house.
“You’re so welcome,” I say. “I’m glad we won.”
“Those Golden Eagles did us proud tonight,” Edna with the whitish-yellow hair says.
“They did. It was a great game,” I say. I should have been home finishing the last of the molding in the Cinderella room, but I have to admit the break was much needed.
Now I need to go back and do some late-night work, and also eat something because I’m starving and the small bag of popcorn I ate at the game wasn’t enough. There’s a pot pie in my freezer with my name on it.
“How’s the festival planning going, dear?” Yellow Edna asks.
“Oh, you know . . .” I trail off because so far I haven’t done all that much, and it’s a painful reminder of what I have ahead of me and how little time I have to do it.
My hungry stomach sinks.
“Pam knew who would handle it best,” Dark Edna says, giving me a little pat on the wrist.
“Make sure there’re enough pies for the pie-eating contest,” the other one says.
Right, I think that’s on one of my lists. Hopefully.
“Now, you tell us about that man staying at your place,” Dark Edna says.
My eyes go wide.
“Don’t give me that look. We know he’s there. Heard he’s a good-looking fella, too.”
“Who told you?” It’s a dumb question. It’s not like Dean’s been holed up at the inn. He’s been going to the restaurants in town and visiting his property. Not to mention the run he went on this morning.
Would it be weird if I asked him to lie low and wear a disguise from now on? Probably.
It’s not that it matters if the Ednas know.
It’s that they will tell everyone. Stories about how I’m harboring a handsome man at my inn will spread like wildfire.
Just like the gossip about why I came back made its way around town.
It’s kind of hard to get over a failed relationship and job when everyone keeps asking you about it.
“We have our ways,” says the yellow one.
I let out a breath. “He’s just a guy renting a room at the inn. That’s all. And he’s only here until Tuesday.” That’s when his week is up. Maybe if they think he’s leaving, they won’t care.
“He’s an Alden,” says the yellow one.
I blink at them. I found that out from him just yesterday, but of course the Ednas already know.
“Vivian and Robert’s grandson. They had the orchard out past the covered bridge,” she says. “Vivian ran the pie booth for sixteen years.”
“Seventeen,” corrects the dark one.
“Is he single?” the yellow one asks.
Right. They still care. And now they’re both looking at me with wide, expectant eyes.
Should I tell them he booked for the month and then changed it to a week, leaving me without the much-needed income? No, that’s too much information. I did get another booking for one night next week, so at least I have that.
“I have no idea,” I say.
“Well, you should find out,” says the other one.
“I’m not going to pry into my guest’s personal life,” I tell them. All the information I’ve gathered regarding Dean has been from conversations we’ve had. There’s been no internet stalking on my part.
“We’ll find out for you,” says the dark Edna, and the yellow one nods.
I have no doubt they will. Who needs internet stalking when you’ve got the Ednas?
I escort both of them to the door, and the yellow Edna says her husband will pick her up, so now at the very least I know whose house this is. I wonder if I should start one of those logic puzzles from grade school. Two Ednas, two houses, one clue down.
It only takes me a few minutes to get back to my place, and, after parking in front of my garage, I walk through the door and literally salivate at the smell of garlic and onions.
Following the scent, I go into the kitchen, where I find Dean at the sink in dark jeans and a T-shirt, washing a pan, his back toward the door.
“Hey,” I say, waving at him even though he can’t see me.
He turns his head toward me. “Hey,” he says back.
“Smells amazing in here. What did you make?”
“Just some stir-fry. There are leftovers in the fridge if you want some.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling ravenous but also a little strange that someone I hardly know, who is paying money to stay at my inn, has made food in my kitchen that he’s offering to share.
Still, who am I to pass up a homemade meal?
“Of course,” he says. “I made plenty. Besides, this is your kitchen.”
“It seems like I’m getting the better end of the deal here, though,” I say. “I mean, you also fixed my wall.”
I was impressed by how perfect it looked, the shelf hanging there like it had never fallen off in the first place.
One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts upward before he focuses back on the dish he’s washing. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that half smile, and I feel something swirl in my stomach at the sight.
He turns back toward me when I don’t move, and I realize I’m just standing there, mesmerized by a man doing dishes in my kitchen.
“Do you want me to heat it up?” he asks.
I shake my head, snapping out of my trance. “I can do it. I’m very handy with the microwave.”
I grab a container out of the fridge and scoop some into a bowl with a spoon that Dean offers me, then put it in the microwave.
“How was the game?” he asks, now leaning against the counter, his arms folded.
“My family all came to watch and we won,” I say. “So, it was a good one.”
“Did you ever figure out which Edna was which?”
I grin, surprised he remembered that even though we had the conversation this morning. It didn’t seem like something he’d file away.
“I figured out whose house is whose. But still not sure which one is Edna B. and which is Edna G.”
“The great mystery of Autumn Ridge.”
“Exactly,” I say, laughing.
His humor always catches me off guard. I never expect it, which is what makes it even better.
“They knew your grandparents, by the way,” I tell him.
“Oh, really?”
“Apparently your grandma ran the pie booth for seventeen years. Or it could have been sixteen. There was a debate.”
The microwave beeps, and I carefully pull out the warm bowl and set it on the island. Dean opens the silverware drawer and pulls out a fork and hands it to me.
“Thank you,” I say, impressed by how quickly he’s memorized my kitchen.
I take a bite and do a full-body sigh. “This is so good,” I tell him. It’s flavorful, the veggies are perfectly crisp, and the chicken is perfectly tender.
My frozen pot pie could never.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I ask before taking another bite. I’m trying not to scarf this down like a raccoon in a dumpster, because my mom taught me better than that. But it’s not easy.
“My Grandma Vivian,” he says. “I used to visit every summer until I was fifteen.”
“Why did you stop going?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I started playing baseball, and the summers got busier.”
“Right. I cheered in high school. That took over most of my summers,” I say, holding myself back from yelling Go, Eagles! because that would be stupid. But it’s practically a reflex, especially after yelling it so much tonight.
Dean gives me a small smile again, and my stomach does a tiny flip.
“You’re probably not surprised by that,” I say before taking another bite.
Dean shakes his head. “Not a surprise, no.”
“Is it the rambling?”
“Maybe,” he says, reaching up and rubbing his stubbled jaw. “And attending high school football games.”
I snort out a laugh. “I’ll have you know that’s a community thing. We all go.”
“Right,” he says. “It’s that small-town charm.”
“We are pretty charming.”
Oh, crap. That was . . . flirty. I didn’t mean it to be, but it definitely sounded that way.
Dean’s only response is a nod, and I’m not sure how to take that. Did he even notice?
“Autumn Ridge is charming, though,” I say, feeling the need to fill the space that I made awkward. “The town is adorable, and we’ve got all kinds of people from all walks of life. Not to mention the inn on Main Street is a delight.”
“A delight?”
“That’s what reviews are saying.” I give him a smart look before taking another bite.
I got a fraction of a smile for that one.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Most of my life.”
“Most? Where else have you lived?” he asks.
“College in Burlington, so not far. But after that, I moved to Boston for work.”
“What did you do in Boston?”