Page 43 of Once Upon a Fall

“You might trip over something, half asleep,” she says.

“I’ll be fine.” At this point, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to sleep at all.

It’s quiet, and I wonder if Rosie is one of those people who can fall asleep in two seconds.

But then I hear her let out a breath.

“Can I ask you something?” she says, her voice quiet.

“Sure,” I say.

“What do you think you’ll do with the farm? I mean once you’ve evicted the raccoons.”

“Probably sell it,” I say. It’s the smart answer. The one that makes the most sense.

“But do you want to?”

That’s a really good question. And not one I know how to answer. The short answer is: I don’t really have another option. The long one is: I can’t picture myself actually doing it. It feels wrong to sell it. But then what will happen to it? I don’t know how to take care of a farm, and I travel for work. Who would even look after it?

“I’m not sure I have any other options,” I finally say.

“There’s always an option.”

It’s such a Rosie thing to say. I should have guessed that’s what would come out of her mouth.

“Well,” she says through a yawn. “I guess I should try to sleep. Good night, husband.”

I smile to myself. “Good night, wife.”

“Dean?” I hear Rosie say some time later. I don’t know how long it’s been, but I’m definitely not asleep, and apparently, neither is Rosie.

“Yeah,” I answer.

She lets out a breath. “Would you just get in this bed with me?”

“What?”

“That didn’t sound right,” she says. “Let me start over. You are not comfortable on the couch.”

“I’m fine.”

“I keep hearing you move, and it’s making me worry that you’re not sleeping, and so then I can’t sleep.”

“I’ll be quiet,” I tell her.

“No,” she says. “This bed isn’t huge, but it’s definitely big enough for both of us. Just come sleep here.”

I hear her pat the bed.

I prop myself up on my elbows and look toward the bed. Rosie has moved close to the wall, leaving plenty of room beside her.

She’s right that I can’t get comfortable on this couch. It felt soft at first, but the longer I spend on it, the more I can feel the springs under the cushions digging into my backside.

But I can’t just get in her bed. That’s . . . weird. But also, we’re both adults, and this is a fully platonic situation.

“Come on,” she says, patting the spot next to her.

I should tell her no and deal with the couch. Instead, I get up, grab the pillow, and walk over to her.