Page 104 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” I muttered.

Dottie exhaled loudly and planted her hands on her hips. “It’s not poison,” she said, offended. “It rinses out all the toxins and you’ll feel better immediately. Trust me.”

Trust her. That was a bold request coming from a woman who’d just offered me something that looked like it had been siphoned out of a swamp.

But I couldn’t spend the rest of the day feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. Possibly backed over. Twice.

“Fine,” I said. I pinched my nose like a five-year-old being forced to eat vegetables and took a tentative sip.

I waited for the gag reflex.

It didn’t come.

Surprised, I took another sip. And another. Before I knew it, the glass was empty. I swallowed. Okay. It still tasted like tar. But… less aggressively than expected.

I smacked my lips together, confused, and handed the empty glass back to Dottie. “If I die,” I said calmly, “we’ll know who to blame.”

Dottie punched me on the arm. “Don’t be silly.”

“Ow.” I rubbed the spot. She was surprisingly strong for such a petite woman. Farm strength. Or cook strength. Possibly both.

Still… she wasn’t wrong. Something shifted. The pounding in my head eased just a notch. My stomach stopped staging a full rebellion. My vision even sharpened a little.

I blinked and then blinked again. “Huh,” I said slowly. “I feel… ten percent better.”

Dottie smiled triumphantly. “See?”

I eyed her warily. “I’m not saying I trust you. But I am saying I might need another one of those later. Preferably when I can’t see what’s in it.”

She winked. “That can be arranged.”

Somehow, that was both comforting and deeply alarming.

Dottie smiled. Then she skipped back to the tables and began helping some of the guests with their food.

That Dottie was so cute, and kind, and I was grateful she wanted to come back to work at the inn. I wasn’t sure how I could have handled all of this without her help. Yes, she was getting paid for it, but I don’t even think she did it for the money. She did it because she enjoyed it.

I felt eyes on me. I looked across the yard and found Dust-guy watching me.

The redhead was still clutching his arm, her fingers wrapped tightly like she was afraid he might bolt at any second. Honestly? Fair concern. I was still in shock he’d volunteered in the first place. The man looked like he avoided crowds and nonsense for sport, yet here he was, freshly auctioned, surrounded by pearls and entitlement.

His gaze was… intense. Fixated, like the rest of the crowd had dropped away and I was the only thing left standing.

I tried to read his expression but failed spectacularly. There was something tight. Something unreadable. His mouth was set, his jaw flexing once, like he was holding back words or something. Either way, it did absolutely nothing for my ability to think clearly.

My intestines immediately started doing a jig. My heart followed up with a full percussion solo.

Great. Super dignified bodily response, Sarah.

I shifted my weight, suddenly hyperaware of my posture, my hands, and my face. Was I smiling? Scowling? Did I look weird? Hungover? Emotionally compromised? Probably all of the above.

His eyes dipped, came back up, and held.

“If he could undress you with his eyes,” said Becca beside me, not even bothering to lower her voice, “you’d be buck naked.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “Please don’t narrate my humiliation.”