Page 103 of Once Upon a Fall

A dance in a barn did not call for my normal attire of overalls—actually, that’s kind of exactly what I should be wearing to a dance in a barn. But I didn’t want to.

I’m sick of overalls.

So, I curled my hair in big soft waves and put on some makeup. More than my usual amount, but only a little extra because I still want to look like me.

Then I put on a dress. And then a different one. Then I tried a skirt-and-shirt combo. I hated that, so I put the first dress back on. Rinse and repeat.

This went on for over an hour, and I only had two hours to get ready.

Why is this so hard? I haven’t had a reason to dress up in a long time. I go to church with my family, and I try not to look like a slob when I do. But tonight is different.

I want to look pretty. I want to feel pretty. And I hate how self-conscious that makes me.

I’ve got the moths of ick flying around in my stomach.

I keep picturing myself walking into the front entry and finding Dean there, and then him seeing me all dressed up. I can pretend it’s for the dance, but . . . I know exactly who I’m dressing up for.

So I hope the deep-green midi dress with the square neckline, puff sleeves, and a skirt that moves when I walk does the trick.

Because that’s what I’m sticking with.

The decision is final.

It’s not sexy. It’s not formal. Those were things that Rosaline used to wear, and I was never that girl.

But it’s pretty and flowy and makes me feel feminine. And most importantly, it’s not overalls.

“Rosie?” I hear Dean call, his voice muffled by the walls between us.

Right. Time to go. I give myself one last once-over in the mirror, take a deep breath, and then walk out the door of my room and through the kitchen into the front entry of the inn.

Dean’s there.

He’s got his back to me. He’s traded his usual jeans for tan pants and a black sweater, the sleeves pushed up his forearms and his beard freshly trimmed.

“Hey,” I say, and he turns around.

He freezes in his spot, his eyes fixed on me, and all of my silly, ridiculous, self-conscious, icky-moth feelings die right there.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

I grab the sides of my skirt and hold them out like I’m presenting the full effect. “So, I clean up okay?”

He takes a step toward me. I can smell his cologne. It’s woodsy and very him.

“Yes. I like the dress. But . . . I kind of miss the overalls.”

I snort out a laugh. “Sure,” I say.

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice low and quiet.

Oh.

Right, so we should definitely skip the dance and go make out somewhere. Maybe the Ridge again?

I open my mouth to tell him about my change of plans, then shut it. No. We can’t do that. It’ll only make his leaving harder.

Although . . . that sounds like a problem for future Rosie. Present Rosie thinks we should kiss. Immediately.