Page 35 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Maria’s mouth twitched, and I could tell she was very pleased to be wanted. “She said you’d be like this.”

Behind me, Lola leaned over the desk. “Does she come with references?”

Maria glanced at her. “Thirty years. No complaints. Except Edna. But she complained about everyone.”

I was not surprised to hear that.

The phone on the desk started ringing again. The held call was probably plotting my downfall.

Oh, shit.

“Thank you for coming, Maria,” I said, waving her in. “Please, come in. Do Lola’s room first, Room 204. Then 205, 303, and 304. All the sea-view rooms.” I paused. “But you already know that.”

“Mine has the best sea views,” Lola said calmly because humility was not one of her hobbies. “It’s why it’s mine.”

I turned back to Maria. “I’m guessing you know where all the linens are? And do you also handle the laundry?”

Maria shook her head. “Edna took care of that. Laundry’s in the basement.”

Right. I nodded like this information didn’t just derail my entire sense of reality. So that meant I was now in charge of the front desk, incoming bookings, outgoing panic, and laundry.

Fantastic.

Nothing says “welcome to your new life” like being responsible for other people’s towels.

Maria looked around, already clocking the mess, and stepped inside. “Supplies?” she asked.

“I…”

She lifted one of the buckets. “I brought my own,” she said, and climbed up the staircase.

I might cry today. It was looking increasingly likely.

The phone rang again.

Damnit. I leaned over the desk and picked it up. “Thank you so much for holding! Yes, your room is confirmed. Breakfast? Absolutely. Ocean view? Of course. We…” I glanced at Lola, who nodded solemnly. “Specialize in that.”

I hung up and pressed my forehead to the counter for one solid second. Without Dottie’s omelet this morning, I probably would have passed out by now.

From the kitchen came the clatter of pans and the unmistakable smell of something incredible.

Dottie appeared, carrying a plate like she was presenting an offering to the gods. She’d changed her apron today. This one was pale yellow with bold red letters that read: IF IT SMELLS WRONG, IT’S ALMOST READY.

“Taste test,” she announced. “Blueberry and raspberry muffins. I added my secret ingredient. It’s my special sauce.”

Lola snorted. “Oh, I know all about special sauces.”

Dottie shot her a look. “Don’t be nasty this morning. You’ll scare Sarah away.”

“Please,” said Lola, giving me a once-over from my messy hair to my yoga pants and back up again. “Sarah looks like she’s lived a little. Innocent girls don’t have that kind of eye twitch.”

“Hey,” I said. “That twitch is from stress. And trauma. Possibly caffeine withdrawal.” Yeah, I needed another cup of coffee. Possibly a gallon.

Lola smiled, satisfied. “Sex is the best remedy for that. All that stress. All those pent-up emotions. You need to get laid. And I don’t mean some two-minute genital slapping. I’m talking about a full-on climax carnival.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“And not some sad, rushed, situation where everyone’s disappointed and someone pulls a muscle,” Lola continued, warming up. “I’m talking about a full production. Enthusiasm. Sweat. A proper finish.” She winked.