Page 26 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“No.” Liar, liar pants on fire.

The omelet was already working magic. Butter, eggs, cheese melting into something rich and comforting. My knees weakened a little. I hated myself for it.

“I haven’t eaten since… yesterday,” I said, realizing it mid-sentence. No wonder my stomach gremlins were battling it out in my gut.

“Mm-hmm.” Dottie tossed in onions and herbs with practiced ease. “You look like someone who needs protein and grounding.”

“I don’t need grounding,” I said weakly. “I need a plan.”

“You need breakfast. Trust me on that. Your brain needs food. This is brain food.” She slid the omelet expertly, flipped it, and plated it before I even realized what was happening. Then she placed it in front of me on the island like an offering.

I stared at it. Then at her. Then back at the omelet. “This doesn’t mean I’m committing to anything,” I said. “Even if it does smell amazing.”

Dottie waved me off. “Eat.”

I leaned over the kitchen island, grabbed a fork and took a bite. “Oh, my god,” I moaned. “This is good. Really good.” My eyes nearly rolled back into my skull. This woman could cook, and then some. “This isn’t an omelet. It’s an orgasm with eggs.”

It was perfect. Fluffy. Savory. Comforting. The kind of food that made you believe maybe life wasn’t actively out to destroy you.

“I know.” Dottie smiled like she’d been waiting for that reaction her whole life. “See?” she said. “You’re home.”

I took another bite and swallowed. “Even if I agreed, I don’t have any money to pay you. Edna only left me the inn.” With all the renovations and upkeeps. There was no magic envelope with a stash of cash in it.

Dottie grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. I watched her as she started emptying the rest of the contents of the bags and started to fill the shelves. Funny how she seemed to have so much faith in me when I felt like I was in over my head.

“So, I hear you’re a writer,” said Dottie moving around the kitchen like she’d been here all her life and knew where everything was. Probably had.

“I am.”

“Are you working on something right now?” Dottie asked. “I mostly read guidebooks and plant encyclopedias. There’s always something new to discover in a mushroom encyclopedia.”

“Um. Right.” I nodded like that made sense. “I write mostly paranormal romance.”

Dottie’s eyes widened, delighted. “Well, I don’t know about all that,” she said cheerfully, “but I do know this. You came to the right place. Lots of interesting things around here. You just wait.”

I certainly hoped so because otherwise I was out of a royalty-paying contract and possibly my mind.

Suddenly, the kitchen door slammed open.

“Ah. There you are,” said a voice, smooth and confident.

A woman sashayed in, pulling an enormous rolling suitcase behind her like it was an accessory, not luggage. She stopped just inside the doorway and took in the room, me, Dottie, the omelet, and the coffee with the casual assessment of someone who knew she was the most interesting thing in it.

She was stunning. Blonde hair styled in loose, glossy waves that looked intentional but effortless. Her outfit was modern and sharp with tailored pants, a silk blouse that draped in all the right places, and heels that clicked confidently against the tile like punctuation. She was voluptuous in a way that felt curated, not accidental. Every inch of her said she owned mirrors and used them well.

Her perfect red lips pulled into a smile. “I need a room,” she announced pleasantly.

I swallowed the last of my omelet. “And you are?”

“That’s Lola, the town slut,” said Dottie with a grin on her face.

Ouch.

I waited for Lola to retaliate with something, but the gorgeous blonde just shrugged and said, “Lola Sinclair. I prefer sex goddess. Also luxury experience. Local legend.”

It was way too early for this.