9. Chapter 9 #2
Dean goes back to setting another plank as if he didn’t just agree to sleep in my bedroom tonight. Like it’s nothing. No big deal.
It’s not nothing. Because it’s just now hitting me what my studio actually looks like—what’s in it, what I keep there, the fact that only my family has seen it.
And now I have to let Dean sleep there.
I feel weirdly self-conscious as I help Dean clear his things out of the Sleeping Beauty room. Most of it gets stashed in an empty closet down the hall. The rest goes in a bag—just what he’ll need for tonight.
In my room.
I really need to stop thinking about it because when I do, my stomach does a full roiling thing.
Dean goes back to work on the floor in the Rapunzel room, while I get to work deep-cleaning Sleeping Beauty for its next occupants.
I’m surprised by how clean it is, though. There’s not even a single facial hair in the sink—something Dominic often left in our shared one growing up. I was never more thrilled than when I realized I never had to share a sink with him again.
By the time the sun is near setting, I’ve got the Sleeping Beauty room all ready and have traded my overalls for linen pants and a white blouse—something that says I run a functional establishment and haven’t spent the bulk of my day trying not to have a nervous breakdown.
The Hendersons arrive just after six. Dean steps out of the kitchen and, without being asked, starts carrying their bags up to the Sleeping Beauty room.
Laurie Henderson has a round face, a contagious smile, and a UVM sweatshirt two sizes too big. She gushes about how cute Autumn Ridge is and how much she loves the inn. Her husband, Brian, silently hands over his credit card.
“We weren’t even going to come for Family Weekend,” Laurie says when I hand her the key, after doing a better check-in job than I did when Dean first arrived.
“But by the time we decided, everything in Burlington was gone. Every room. Except for one place called the Rest E-Z Motel. I wasn’t about to stay there after reading the reviews. ”
Dean comes back down for the last suitcase and gives me a knowing side-eye before hauling it up.
“I love that you and your husband run this adorable inn together,” Laurie says, just as Dean’s reached the top stair. I see him freeze for a second before continuing down the hall.
“Oh.” I go to correct her. “That’s not—”
“Is he not your husband?” Laurie’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. “Sorry for assuming like that. Is he a partner then? I’m never sure how that all works—partner, husband. Oh my, he could just be your boyfriend, and I’m making a complete fool of myself.”
I smile at a fellow rambler. “You’re fine,” I tell her while I try to think of something other than he’s also a guest—but one who works on my floors and makes me dinner, and as of tonight, is sleeping in my room.
And yep, my stomach just did a flopping thing.
Do I say he’s just a friend? Too complicated. My brother? That’s . . . weird. Just a guy next door that likes to help out? That’ll bring up too many questions.
“He is my husband, actually,” I tell her, and then hear a cough from upstairs that sounds a bit like someone choking on their own spit.
“Well, that’s just lovely,” she says, patting her spouse’s arm a bit more aggressively than seems necessary. “Don’t you think so, Brian?”
“Definitely,” Brian says.
“Twenty-two years for us,” she says, pointing to her husband and then herself. “How long have you two been married?”
“Four years,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue. I’m in too deep now. “We are very, very . . . very in love.”
Another cough from upstairs. It was one too many verys. I can’t help that I say stupid things when I’m nervous.
“Should I show you the room?” I ask, wanting to end this line of conversation.
I quickly usher them up the stairs toward the Sleeping Beauty room.
There’s no sign of Dean when we get there, just all the luggage sitting neatly on the floor at the end of the bed.
“This is absolutely lovely,” says Laurie when she sees the room. “Don’t you think so, Brian?”
“It’s . . . pink,” he says.
“I’m going to tell all my friends about this place. They all need to come and stay here,” Laurie declares after seeing the bathroom.
“We—uh, thank you,” I say, because apparently I’m a we now. Or at least for tonight.
I leave them to get settled in their room, after giving them some dinner recommendations (which are the only two places they can eat in town) and hurry down the stairs, pressing my clammy hands to my hot cheeks as I make my way to the kitchen.
Once inside, I find Dean chopping onions on a cutting board I didn’t know I owned.
“How did you get down here so stealthily?”
He stops his chopping. “I snuck down when you were showing them the bathroom.”
“Well done,” I say.
“I figured my wife could handle it,” he says, the corners of his mouth pulling up slightly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice coming out in more of a whine than I mean it to. “I didn’t know what else to say.”
He chuckles, and my stomach flips for a whole other reason. There’s something about that low grumble that gets me every time he does it. Which is rare. Maybe that’s why I appreciate it so much when he does.
“You didn’t think telling them I’m the guy you evicted from their room would go over well?”
He’s teasing. I can tell by the way his eyes light up. It’s also something he does rarely, which is why I clock it.
“You’re the consultant, you tell me,” I say.
He pauses, mid-chop. “From a consultant’s perspective, that was probably the right call.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking a seat at the island, feeling a bit calmer now that the Hendersons are upstairs and Dean and I are in the kitchen. “What are you making me for dinner tonight, husband?”
He gives me the straight line of disapproval before responding. “Beef stroganoff,” he says, pausing before adding, “wife.”
“Sounds delicious,” I say, hoping the butterflies currently taking up residence in my stomach will calm down before dinner is ready, or there won’t be any room for food.
Especially because not long after that, it will be time to go to bed.
Together. In my room.
Oh boy.