Page 3 of Once Upon a Fall

I could use five more of me. Or five of someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

“The money isn’t what worries me,” Dom says.

“My room is downstairs and on the opposite side of the house. I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “You already installed a deadbolt.”

“On a door that could easily be kicked in,” he says, one hand on his hip.

I grimace. When I bought this place, the bones seemed strong, and I figured I wouldn’t have much to update. I probably should have gotten a second opinion. The plumbing is still being worked on, and the HVAC ate most of my budget, which meant the cheap, hollow doors and mattresses with a roll-toward-the-center sort of feel had to stay.

I’ll replace them once I get the balloon payment sorted. Until then, I’ll keep learning as I go. Mostly it’s been me. And sometimes Dom when I beg him.

“Help me,” I order my twin, shaking my end of the bathroom curtain.

He sighs as he picks up the other end. I set my end into the bracket, watch as Dom does his, and then I grin. That was the last thing I needed to do in the bathroom.

“Okay,” I say. “That’s done. Now I’ve got to put the bedding on the bed, and then the room will be complete.”

“As long as the glue holds up,” he says.

“It will,” I say, giving him a closed-mouth smile. “Thanks for your help, by the way.”

“I’ll send you a bill.”

He’s kidding. I hope.

I’ve tried not to lean on my handyman brother too much, and when I do, I bribe him with baked goods from the bakery down the street since I’m a pretty terrible cook (also why this place went from a bed-and-breakfast to just an inn when I bought it).

We walk out of the bathroom and into the guest room in all its Sleeping Beauty glory.

There’s a large canopy bed draped with pink tulle against the north wall, with a picture of a castle hanging above the headboard. The ruffled bedding is currently in the dryer. Matching curtains hang on the windows, an antique cream dresser sits against the far wall, and the nightstands are ones I found at an estate sale.

My favorite part is the delicate chandelier that hangs from the ceiling, casting tiny amber-colored sparkles around the room. And no, I did not hang that with hot glue. But I did hang the art that says Once Upon a Time in beautiful script with a couple of too-small Command strips. So far it’s staying in place.

It’s not exactly how I pictured the room coming together, but it’ll do for now. It definitely has the honeymoon feel I was going for. I hope not-weirdo guy doesn’t mind. But from his short, lack-of-exclamation-point emails, I gather he just needs a room and isn’t too particular.

Still, I think anyone would find the room cozy and welcoming.

“Wow. That’s an insane amount of ruffles,” Dom says, standing next to me, his eyes searching the space.

Okay, so my brother doesn’t appreciate it. But his taste is lacking anyway. Emma would appreciate it. It was her idea to make the rooms princess themed, since I loved all the princesses when I was young. I was obsessed, to be honest. I grew out of that, of course, but when Emma suggested the idea after I bought the place, it seemed like a good plan.

“Come on,” I say, tugging on his arm. “I need you to hang up that picture.” And I need to do fifty million other things.

“Yes, princess,” he says, following me out the door and down the hall—the one I’ve got to remember to sweep—and down the grand staircase where, at the bottom, the check-in desk is nearly done.

“It looks amazing, Ben,” I say as we reach the front entry where Bennett Walker, town carpenter and cabinetmaker, is on his knees installing the molding around the base.

My anxious butterflies take a little break while the happy ones float in. The desk is going to be gorgeous. It’s tall with clean lines and a rich wood finish that matches the banister, wood flooring, and trim of the first floor.

Bennett looks up, his brown eyes warm and bright despite having been here installing since this morning.

“It’s coming along nicely,” he says in his deep voice.

“How long until you think you’ll be done?” I ask cheerfully, even if inside I’m willing him to say thirty minutes.

I need time to clean up all the dust and add the check-in sign I had made and the small brass bell I ordered. All so I can make this place look like it’s been running for years, rather than opening its doors for the first time today.

“I’d say in the next couple of hours,” he replies.