Page 32 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“I’m not,” I muttered. “I’m just easily manipulated by older women.”

“Ha. You are,” Dottie agreed happily, as if that was a compliment. “Come through the back. The front door sticks.”

“I know,” I said because I’d bled on that door once.

“I’ll see you soon,” she chirped. “Oh… and don’t scare Sarah. She’s already jumpy.”

“She’s always jumpy,” I said.

Dottie made a pleased hum. “Yes. It’s adorable.”

“It’s dangerous,” I corrected.

There was a beat. Then her tone shifted. “Oh. You’ve met her already?”

I frowned. “What?”

“You don’t say always about someone you haven’t met.”

I sighed. “Her car broke down. I gave her a ride into town. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Dottie, clearly not buying a word of it. “Of course you did. Okay, bye!”

The line went dead.

I stood there for a moment with my phone still at my ear, listening to nothing and feeling my day shift under my feet.

Ten minutes, I told myself. In and out. Make a list. Fix something small if I have to. Leave.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and headed back toward the crew.

Tim looked up as I approached. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I need to step out for a bit. I have to take care of something.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Yeah.” I held up a hand before he could ask questions. “Keep the painters moving. Have them do the living room and the hall today. Make sure they don’t cheap out on the trim.”

Tim nodded. “Got it.”

I walked to my SUV, got in, and started the engine. As I pulled away from Harbor Lane, I told myself, again, that I wasn’t doing this because of New York. I was doing it because Dottie called. Because the inn was old. Because Edna would roll in her grave if her building collapsed from neglect.

Just business.

I eased out onto the road and set my jaw, my hands steady on the wheel. I’d done favors before. Plenty of them. This wasn’t different. This was a building I knew, pipes I’d bled on, stairs I’d tightened more than once. Edna’s place. Dottie’s kitchen. History. Responsibility. That was it.

From what Dottie said, it looked like New York was staying. Or at least she wanted to test drive the inn.

I’d figured New York would take one look at the pink monstrosity perched on the cliff, laugh like it was a dare gone wrong, and disappear back to wherever she came from. That was the sensible move, the smart move. Hell, it was the move I would’ve made.

But she hadn’t run.

I didn’t know how I felt about that. Didn’t need to. Feelings were optional. Decisions weren’t.

I told myself I’d go in, say what needed saying, and then leave. No lingering. No getting pulled into whatever chaos she was building with optimism and caffeine. Helping didn’t mean staying. Helping didn’t mean caring.

The road bent toward town, the ocean flashing between trees, and I kept my eyes forward.