Page 7 of Once Upon a Fall

I nod and then look toward the stairs, assuming that’s where my room is.

“Let me show you to your room,” she says. “I’m Rosie, by the way.” She holds out a hand.

I give it a quick shake. Her hand feels small in mine. And a little sweaty. I pull my hand away.

“Good to meet you.”

She heads toward the stairs. I grab the handle of my suitcase and follow her up and then down a dimly lit hall, passing closed doors until we get to the last one on the left.

There’s a sign on the door that says Sleeping Beauty on it.

I reach for my keys, but she twists the knob and opens the door, walking inside.

My eyes widen of their own accord as I enter behind her. It’s . . . pink. Frilly, ruffly, pink. Like a five-year-old girl’s dream room come to life.

“I’m sorry about the lack of fairies,” Rosie says.

“Fairies?” I ask, walking farther into the room.

“There are fairies in the Sleeping Beauty story, and somehow I forgot to add them. Rookie mistake.” She laughs to herself.

“It’s a big misstep for sure,” I say, the sarcasm coming out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

She laughs again, not sounding bothered.

“Is there maybe a less pink option?” I’m not opposed to the color; there’s just so much of it.

“Nope,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s the only room I’ve got available right now.”

“Are the other rooms booked up?” I thought I was the first guest.

“No,” she says. “It’s the only functioning room for now. Which reminds me, you may hear some light construction noise during the day, but I promise there will be nothing from ten at night to eight in the morning every day. Okay?”

Light construction noise? What does that even mean?

“The bathroom is here,” she says, moving on as if she knows I have a ton of objections to that but is hoping I’ll just let it go or forget altogether.

She opens a door to her right, and her plan sort of works. I’m taken aback once again by all the pink. The walls, the bath mats, the hand towels. The shower curtain matches the ruffly fabric hanging from the bed and the windows. At least she’s stuck with the theme.

Putting her hands in the back pockets of her overalls, she rocks back on her heels. “Well, I’ll let you get settled in.”

“Thanks,” I say. “What time is breakfast?”

She tucks in her chin. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah,” I say. “This is a bed-and-breakfast. Isn’t that part of the deal?”

She shakes her head, the bun bobbing once again. “It used to be a bed-and-breakfast. I changed it to just an inn because I didn’t want to deal with all that.”

Irritation courses through me at this information. “It says on your website that this is a bed-and-breakfast.”

Her brows move up her forehead. “It does? I thought I changed that.”

“You didn’t,” I say. I distinctly remember that detail because I was counting on it. The website said “a delicious breakfast” would be provided daily.

“Thank you for bringing that to my attention. I’ll be sure to fix it,” she says, giving me a closed-mouth smile.

I let out a breath. This is not going to work. I should have gotten more information before booking the room. I just need to make it one night, and then tomorrow morning I’ll find a place in Burlington. Driving back and forth will be a pain, but staying a month in this place could end up driving me crazy, and that will cost me a lot more money and time in the long run.