27. Chapter 27
Rosie
The princess came up with the perfect plan. The prince ruined it.
I’m going to Manhattan.
Two days after deciding I’m going to tell Dean how I feel, I realize I’m being dumb. Why am I waiting? It could take months for the farm to sell, and by then who knows what will have happened?
Also, I had the following conversation with Emma after I told her my plan to talk to him:
“Why are you waiting until the farm sells?” she asked me as we walked along Main Street during her lunch break from the library.
“Because,” I replied. I really didn’t have a good answer to that question, and the truth was the same reason I didn’t tell him when he was here. I was a chicken.
There was a chill in the air, and most of the leaves had already turned brown, with only a few stubborn patches of orange and gold still clinging to the trees while the sidewalks and yards were covered in everything that had already fallen.
“Because isn’t an answer,” she said.
“I know. Maybe I should just tell him.” I turned to her, expecting some sort of Obviously or Why are you such a chicken? But she only gave me a shrug.
Later that day, I called her and told her I was going to Manhattan to tell Dean tomorrow, half expecting her to tell me that was a bit over the top, but all she said was, “I think that’s a great idea. I’ll watch the inn for you.”
Since I had a few days with no guests, it was the perfect time. So, I’m currently packing a bag to go on a little road trip. My plan is to drive there, go straight to his hotel, and then say what I’ve wanted to say.
After that . . . I don’t know. He could tell me it won’t work. We could have a lengthy discussion about how different our lives are and why there’s just no realistic way to make this happen. Dean could also tell me I got this all wrong, and a relationship with me isn’t something he’s looking for.
Or . . . he could kiss me and tell me he feels the same way.
Obviously, that’s the outcome I’m hoping for, but I need to be prepared for all of them.
Once I’ve said what I drove all the way there to say, I’ll figure out the rest. My original plan was to turn around and drive straight home, but Emma and Dominic insisted on paying for a hotel outside the city so I won’t have to make the whole trip in one day.
I argued for approximately two minutes before deciding free lodging was not the hill I wanted to die on.
This is probably a dumb plan. I’ve changed my mind a half dozen times and even written out two long texts to Dean before deleting them. I don’t want to tell him that way.
So, I’ve made up my mind.
I’m pretty sure.
I’ve got an afternoon of cleaning to do to get the rooms ready for guests, since there are three bookings for the weekend, and I won’t have much time when I get back to get them ready.
I’m a bundle of nerves as I clean the chandelier in the Sleeping Beauty room, straighten the tower prints in Rapunzel, and wipe down the vanity in Cinderella.
My mind keeps going back and forth, one minute thinking my plan for tomorrow is the best one I’ve had, and the next thinking I might be losing it.
I can’t just drive to Manhattan and tell Dean I love him.
Yes, I can.
Apparently, those are my only two options.
I’m still waffling as I fold towels in the laundry room later that evening when I hear someone call my name from the front of the inn.
“Rosie?”
I freeze mid-washcloth-fold because I know that voice. In a massive room full of tons of people calling out my name, I would know that one instantly.
“Dean?” I drop the towel back into the pile and run through the kitchen and out the door to the front entry.
There he is. In jeans and a tan V-neck sweater. Standing in the entryway of my inn.
My brain, which was counting on seven hours in a car to work out what to say, gets about four seconds.
“What are you doing here?” I finally ask, suddenly aware that I’m in my pink overalls with my hair in a messy bun. I reach up to fix it, then give up. He’s seen me looking much worse than this.
“Did the farm sell?” I ask, trying not to stare at him. His dark hair, those familiar eyes. My goodness, I’ve missed him.
“Sort of,” he says, and my stomach sinks.
I don’t know why. It’s just so final.
“So, I was hoping you had a room available? For a couple of days while I iron out some details?” he asks.
“Yes.” I give him a smile. “There are a few bookings for the weekend, but no one is here right now. I blocked out the calendar for the next couple of days because I was going to Manhattan tomorrow to see you. I had a whole plan. Emma was going to watch the inn. Dominic was going to help too. They even booked me a hotel because apparently driving there and back in one day was a terrible idea, which I still think was debatable, but—”
I slap my hands over my mouth.
I’ve said too much.
“You were driving to Manhattan to see me tomorrow?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I think you heard me wrong.”
He takes a step toward me. “Why were you coming to see me tomorrow?”
I close my eyes and try to rewind the words I just said. But I haven’t learned how to time-travel yet. Which is such a bummer.
“Rosie,” he says.
I exhale slowly before opening my eyes. “Would you believe me if I told you I was going to see the Statue of Liberty?”
He shakes his head, taking another step.
I don’t want to tell him right now. I was going to practice what to say in the car on the way there. If I say all of it now, I might forget something or say it wrong.
But he’s here, standing in my entryway. It doesn’t matter how I say it. I just need to tell him.
Time to be brave.
“I was coming to tell you I’m in love with you,” I say, ripping off the Band-Aid.
Another step.
“I know we lead different lives,” I go on, trying to remember everything I wanted to say when I got to his hotel. “I own an inn in a small town, and you travel for work and live in hotels. I’ve done the math over and over, trying to find a way this could work, and I know it might not be easy.”
His arms wrap around my waist.
“And I’m not asking you to do anything crazy or even to say it back. But I wanted you to know, and I didn’t want to text you or say it over the phone. I wanted to tell you in person. So that’s what I’m doing right now.”
“Rosie,” he says, pulling me toward him.
“Yes?” I ask, having to look up at him. We’re so close. I hadn’t fully realized I was in his arms until this moment.
He’s looking at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth pulled slightly upward.
“I love you, too,” he says.
Then his lips are on mine, kissing me like he’s been wanting to do it for a while. The kiss starts soft, then turns hungry.
My arms go around him, my hands on his back, meeting him kiss for kiss, as he holds me close to him.
His hand moves up to my face, cradling my cheek tenderly, and I melt into him as he deepens the kiss.
Well, this went much better than I hoped it would.
Dean loves me. Dean loves me.
The thought feels almost too big to have, and I smile against his mouth because I don’t know what else to do with it.
He told me he loves me while I’m wearing pink overalls and probably smelling like cleaning solution.
I can’t even bring myself to care.
His lips move to my cheek, trailing kisses down to my neck until he reaches the place just below my ear, where he lingers long enough to make me wish he’d never stop.
But then my brain catches up with my body, and I’m hit with a bunch of unanswered questions. Things that we definitely still need to discuss.
“Wait,” I say, pulling my head away from his amazing lips. I hate to do it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brows furrowed.
“We love each other,” I say.
“Yes,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again.
“But I live here and you live . . . other places.”
I can’t keep kissing him when I still don’t know if this can go anywhere. It will only make it harder if we figure out it can’t work.
He tucks some hair behind my ear, his eyes searching my face.
“I’m keeping the farm.”
“What?” I ask, not sure I heard him right.
“I’m not selling it.”
“But you said it was already sold.”
“I said sort of.”
I shake my head. “What does that even mean?”
He sighs. “I thought my grandma left me the farm to keep it out of my mom’s current husband’s hands. But that’s not what happened. My grandparents made the will twenty years ago, long before he was ever around. They always intended for me to have it.”
“Okay?” I ask, still not quite following.
“It means I was wrong about why she left it to me. She wasn’t asking me to protect it for my mom. She was giving it to me.” He pauses. “And once I understood that, I couldn’t sell it. So, I’m keeping the farm.”
“But you said it sort of sold.”
He nods. “I already promised the money to my mom, and I couldn’t go back on that. So, essentially, I’m buying the farm myself. I’ll make monthly payments to her instead of giving her one lump sum. She still gets what I promised her, and I keep the farm.”
“You’re keeping the farm,” I repeat, saying the words out loud, but feeling nervous that somehow I missed something and got this all wrong.
“I’m keeping the farm.”
“And what are you going to do with it?”
“Fix it up and live there eventually.”
“But what about your job?”
“I’m still going to be traveling some, but a lot of it can be done online,” he says. “I’m tired of living in hotels. I want a place to call home.”
“Home,” I say, tears pricking behind my eyes. I try to blink them away, but it’s not working.
“Home,” he repeats.
“And you’re staying in Autumn Ridge,” I say.
“Rosie,” he says, his lips pulling into that straight line. “I’m not sure how many ways I can tell you this.”
I laugh even as a tear travels down my face. He wipes it away with a thumb.
“I’m sorry, it’s just hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” he says before kissing me gently.
And I do. Or at least, I’m starting to.