Page 10 of Once Upon a Fall

“What the. . .” Dom trails off at the sight.

What the, indeed.

I’m trying to wrap my brain around the fact that my first and only guest is standing on my stairs dripping wet with a shower curtain wrapped around him, but all I can do is gape at that magnificent upper body. It’s so . . . defined.

I swallow, and I think it’s audible because I can see Dom’s head swing toward me in my periphery.

“Your shower curtain fell off the wall,” Dean says, three steps from the threshold, his lips pulled into a straight line. “Also, towels?”

“Towels?” I ask him, not sure what he means, but it quickly dawns on me. “Towels! That’s what I forgot.”

I slap my forehead like an imbecile. Because that’s exactly what I am. Who forgets bath towels in a guest room? That’s basically rule number one. Right after extra toilet paper rolls (which I did remember) and right before not hot-gluing your shower curtain to the wall.

Obviously, I’ve learned my lesson with that one. Probably.

“I’m so sorry about that. And I’ll fix the shower curtain,” I tell him. “Um, I felt bad about the breakfast thing, so I got you some pastries.” I point to a side console table where I’d set the box of mixed pastries. It’s an assortment of cinnamon sticky buns, apple cider donuts, maple bars, and muffins.

It feels like a meager peace offering right now, with him dripping wet on my stairs.

“I don’t eat carbs in the morning,” he says, his tone flat.

Well, crap. How am I supposed to butter him up now? No carbs in the morning? What would life be like without a pancake for breakfast? Not a good one.

That’s a check in the negative box. I’ll put it just under the frown he’s giving me right now. Though I suppose I deserve it.

“Oh,” I say. “I guess you’ll get to eat them, Dom.”

My eyes move to my brother, who’s now trying to look anywhere but at the half-naked man standing on my stairs. Or perhaps he’s just working through the lecture he’s about to give me. Honestly, hiding Dean from him for a month was a ridiculous idea. But there could have been one point five million other scenarios that would have been better than this one.

“Can I please get a towel?” Dean asks, the space between his eyes pinching together.

“Yes, sorry, of course,” I tell him before heading to a door across the front entry that leads to the kitchen and the laundry room, and behind that is where I sleep. A small room with a bathroom. It’s not princess themed. It’s me themed. Which means it’s cozy and cluttered.

“How could you forget towels?” I say to myself, as I go through the fairly large kitchen, which is wasted space at this inn. I can feed myself of course, and I do, but I mostly buy ready-made meals. Emma will bring me food sometimes, I think out of older-sisterly duty.

I grab a stack of fluffy white towels sitting on the countertop next to the dryer and hurry back to the lobby.

“Yeah, no problem,” I hear Dom say as I enter, my guest still standing half-naked on the stairs.

But now Dean’s holding the curtain around him with one hand and Dom’s hammer drill in the other.

I look at Dom, and he sees the question in my eyes. “He said he’d take care of it.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” I say, turning back to Dean.

“It’s not a problem,” he says.

“You sure you don’t want me to?” Dom asks.

My eyes move from Dominic to Dean. This may be the first inn I’ve ever owned, but I’m fairly certain the guest shouldn’t be fixing anything. Also, what if he cracks the tile? Something I probably shouldn’t be worrying about right now. I should have let Dom do it. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.

“I can do it,” he says, then he looks pointedly at me. “It’ll stay better than hot glue.”

My cheeks pink and Dom lets out a snort-laugh that he tries to cover with a cough. I’ve changed my mind. He will not be getting any pastries.

Dean turns around and walks back up the stairs, and I follow behind with the towels.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, trailing a couple of stairs behind him.