Page 39 of Once Upon a Fall

“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.