Page 58 of Once Upon a Fall

Dean says nothing.

I nibble on my lower lip. “I could text him, I guess.”

It feels itchy to do something like this. But also, if Hal had picked up the truck when he said he was going to, this wouldn’t be a problem. So, it’s his fault, really. It’s his dad’s truck, though, and he’s not ready to sell it. Can I blame him for that? Yes. No. Ugh.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I feel itchy.”

“Huh?”

“It’s . . . don’t worry about it.” I sit down on the edge of the bed I still need to make with a deep-plum ruffle duvet I bought for this room. “I’ll send him a text.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

I pull up his name on my phone.

Me: Hi, Hal!! So sorry to bother you this late, I know you’re probably asleep or maybe still at the bar, either way I hope you’re having a good night. So this is a little awkward and please don’t feel any pressure whatsoever, but the festival tables are being delivered to the inn and it turns out they’re arriving at 8 a.m. tomorrow instead of the end of the week, which I only just found out about, which is honestly my own fault for not confirming sooner. Anyway I was wondering, and again absolutely NO pressure, if there’s any chance you might be able to come move the truck? I completely understand if that doesn’t work.

“Are you writing a novel?” Dean interrupts.

“Shh,” I tell him. “Let me concentrate.”

Me: I know it was your dad’s and I would never want you to feel rushed about something like that, I still have my mom’s favorite necklace in my jewelry box, and some days I can’t even look at it. If tomorrow’s no good I can definitely figure something else out, I already have a few ideas, and honestly the entryway might look sort of charming with tables in it. Haha. Let me know whenever! No rush at all!! Thank you so much for everything.

I’m about to hit send when I realize I’ve wasted my texting fingers because this probably won’t work.

“I don’t know if I should send this. What if he doesn’t see it in time?” I ask Dean.

“It’s worth trying,” he says.

I don’t hit send, though. I lie back on the bed, my legs dangling off the side, gravity tugging me toward the middle of it.

I really do need new mattresses.

“I guess they’ll have to go in the entryway. That’s going to be such a pain.”

“Or we could move the truck ourselves.”

I lift my head so I can see his face when I give him my own straight line of disapproval.

“It doesn’t run.”

“It doesn’t have to run.”

“Push it ourselves? That’s a terrible idea.”

He shrugs and then puts his hands in his pockets, and I flop my head back on the mattress, feeling defeated.

It’s quiet while I stare at the ceiling, trying to think of what else we could do.

“How would we even do it?” I ask.

“Put it in neutral and push it to a spot on Main Street,” he says.

I lift my head again. “That’s it? That’s the whole plan?”

“It’s a flat street.”