15. Chapter 15
Rosie
The princess worried that she had made things awkward. She had.
What do you call a fairy godmother who shows up, takes half your festival problems away, and leaves you with nothing to do but install baseboards and feel guilty about it?
Because that’s what happened.
Juliet Monroe, a.k.a. the mayor’s daughter, showed up at the inn midmorning to see if she could help with the festival.
She was ready and willing, had time on her hands, and needed something to do.
So, she figured I probably had a lot on my plate with the inn and the festival and offered to take some of it.
Did I suspect that the mayor was behind it? I did. Probably because I still haven’t called him to confirm the breakfast that kicks everything off. But why would I need to do that? He knows there’s a breakfast and that he kicks it off.
Pam’s well-oiled machine spiel was a hot pile of garbage.
Regardless, I was dropping the ball, and I think he was worried. And rightfully so.
I tried to tell Juliet that I was fine and could handle it. Why would I say that? Last night, I pretty much had a panic attack and then cried in front of Dean while sharing secrets I didn’t mean to with him. Like the balloon payment. My own dad doesn’t even know about that.
I think my worst offense was telling him we couldn’t kiss anymore. Of all the dumb things I’ve done recently, that is by far the dumbest. It even outranks hot-gluing a shower curtain rod, and that was seriously stupid.
Imagine how much better it would have been trying to finish this inn while sharing flirty moments and stealing kisses. It would have made everything much more fun. Also much more distracting.
The truth is, I was trying to protect future Rosie from being absolutely heartbroken. Now I’m thinking future Rosie needs to grow a pair. A little heartbreak never hurt anyone. Except the whole Sutton family and Jackson thing messed me up for quite a while, so maybe I was right.
Still, I don’t have to like it.
“Dean, can you please pass me the measuring tape?” I ask, my voice so formal I may as well have called him Mr. Alden and requested it in writing.
Things are so weird between us. I tried to make it lighter, telling him that Juliet is now my Fairy Taskmother, which he did smile at, but it wasn’t his normal half smile. It was like a quarter of one.
“Yes. Here you go,” he says, handing it to me, sounding slightly robotic. Our hands graze as I take it from him. My stomach flips, and I want to tell him we should throw caution to the wind and make out on this dusty LVP floor.
But I don’t. I take the tape measure and get back to it.
“Rosie?” someone calls from downstairs.
My eyes widen. It’s an Edna for sure.
Dean looks at me, and I put a finger to my lips. The universal sign for keep your gorgeous mouth shut.
I go over to him and whisper, “The Ednas.”
His dark eyes narrow with confusion, but then he leans in so his mouth is near my ear. “Edna B. has the dark hair.”
I really hope he didn’t feel the shiver that just ran through my entire body.
“You think I’d forget that?” I whisper back.
He shrugs, and I shake my head, smiling.
It’s a beat. An anchor. Something that pre-kiss us would have done.
We stare at each other for a second.
“Rosie?” one of them calls out, and the sound is a little closer now.
“Go,” Dean says, shooing me with his hand.
“Coming,” I yell, not wanting them to come upstairs and see a handsome man working on my baseboards. Which they would absolutely read into and then tell the town that I’ve got a hot man doing my bidding.
And my dad would be knocking on my door by tonight. Not to meet Dean. To check on me.
He’d be standing in a half-finished inn eleven days before every room is full, asking questions. And I have a real track record with questions lately. Last night someone asked me what was wrong, and I confessed the truth about a loan I’ve only shared with my siblings.
I hurry down the stairs to find the two women standing by the side table looking at the box of baked goods I’ve yet to do anything about. I hope the goodies survive until my guests arrive. My current one hasn’t shown any interest.
“Did Sadie drop these off?” Edna B. asks. And yes, I did get a little hit of dopamine when I knew exactly who asked.
“She did,” I say. “Would you like some?”
“You think we have to pay for Sadie’s maple treats?” Edna G. says, her dyed yellow hair looking extra yellow today.
“She’s been spending quite a bit of time with that James Carver, you know,” says Edna B.
“How can I help you, ladies?” I ask, nipping wherever that was going in the bud. James’s family owns Carver Farms, and I don’t think he’d appreciate having his name bandied all over town.
“We came for pie tins,” Edna G. declares, as if this was a planned thing that I had on my calendar.
I did not.
“You’re supposed to drop them off,” Edna B. says, as if it were in the handbook that doesn’t exist. “But I know how busy you’ve been with the inn.” She pats me on the arm.
“Thank you,” I reply. I didn’t even know these two were planning to help. I assumed their official festival duties were circulating rumors and pointing out everything everyone else had done wrong.
“We like to make pies in advance and freeze them.”
Doing something in advance so you weren’t scrambling to finish it at the last minute? What might that be like? I fear I will never know.
“Have you met the dentist who’s renovating next door? He’s a single dad, has a cute little girl named Penny,” Edna G. says.
“I haven’t. Let me grab those pie tins for you,” I tell them. That’s how you handle the Ednas. You have to keep bringing them back to the task at hand, or before you know it, you’ll be set up with someone’s divorced nephew.
Ask me how I know.
I rush through the kitchen and into the laundry room where I shoved the box of pie tins, only to remember I moved them to the garage the other day. I run outside, find the box, grab as many as I can carry, and hurry back inside.
But when I get there, my front entry is empty.
“Ednas?” I call out.
Did they leave?
“Up here, dear,” I hear the voice coming from upstairs, and my heart drops to my feet.
I drop the tins on my check-in desk and take the stairs two at a time, racing to the Snow White room, scared of what I’ll find there.
“Look what we found,” Edna G. says when I skid to a stop in front of the door.
It’s just as I feared. Autumn Ridge’s senior surveillance team, standing in the unfinished Snow White room, talking to Dean Alden.
He’s got his hands in his pockets, giving them his full attention.
“We heard something fall,” Edna B. says, not looking at me. No, both of them only have eyes for the handsome man in front of them.
Also, I know for a fact nothing fell. I’d bet my entire fortune on it. Which, if this inn doesn’t get done in time, will be a very large negative balance.
“Your grandmother made a lemon meringue people still talk about,” Edna G. says to Dean.
“What are you doing with the property?” asks Edna B.
“Selling it,” Dean says.
This is my fault. I didn’t get a chance to coach him on how to handle the Ednas. He doesn’t even know he’s feeding them exactly what keeps them alive: fresh information.
“Selling it?” Edna B. repeats, in a tone that says this will be all over town by dinner.
“That’s a shame,” says Edna G. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” he says.
Did I even know that?
“Are you married?” the other one asks.
“No.”
“Seeing anyone?”
His eyes connect with mine briefly before going back to them. “No,” he says.
“Well, Rosie here is single as well,” Edna B. says, pointing toward me. “I know she’s a bit of a work in progress, but she fixes up nicely.”
Oh. I see what’s going on here. I fell on my way to get the pie tins and am now having a concussion-induced nightmare. That has to be it.
“Okay, well, this has been fun,” I say. “But don’t you have some pies to make, ladies?”
“How long are you in town?” Edna G. asks, like I didn’t even speak.
Maybe I really am dreaming?
“Until the third,” he says.
“That’s plenty of time for us to find you someone,” says Edna B. “Do you like blondes or brunettes?”
“Tall or short?” asks the other woman.
“We’ve got a librarian, a high school teacher, a baker, an author,” Edna G. says, ticking off on her fingers.
It sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke.
“Oh, and someone who just came back to town. Reese is her name. Her mom is a piece of work, though. So maybe not her.”
Wait . . . Reese? Dominic’s ex is back? He’d want to know that. Should I ask? No. I need to get these two out of here. Right now. They’ll have Dean betrothed in the next five minutes.
“Well, okay, this has been fun. How about we let Dean get back to work, and get you those pie tins,” I say, gently grabbing Edna G. by the shoulders and ushering her out the door and then guiding the other one the same direction with a hand on her back.
It’s like herding cats.
“It was lovely meeting you,” says Edna B. over her shoulder as they leave.
“Do tell us if you want to meet one of Autumn Ridge’s available women,” the other one calls out as we head toward the stairs.
“I see why you’ve been keeping him all to yourself,” Edna G. says as I herd them down the stairs. “That is one handsome man.”
“I’m not keeping him to myself,” I say. “He’s just helping me finish the inn.”
“Oh? Are you paying him?” Edna B. asks.
“Yes, with pastries.”
“How interesting,” says Edna G.
I guide them through the front entry, grabbing the pie tins from the check-in desk and giving them each a stack, before opening the door for them.
“Thank you for helping make the pies,” I tell them before shutting the door and then leaning up against it.
That couldn’t have gone worse.
My dad doesn’t show up by dinner. He shows up afterward.
After Dean made us spaghetti and meatballs, after we laughed about the Ednas and the ridiculousness of that whole thing, and after he didn’t believe me when I told him my dad would show up soon.
I wish I could capture Dean’s look of surprise when there’s a knock on the kitchen door and my dad peeks his head in.