Page 36 of The Accidental Innkeeper

I was in hell.

“She’s been waiting all morning to say this,” commented Dottie.

Lola waved her off and leaned in my direction. “Once you take care of the Velvet Curtain properly, darling, you’ll feel looser, lighter, and significantly less homicidal.”

I stared at her. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” said Lola. “Nothing clears the mind like a good, thorough orgasm. It’s like meditation, but louder.”

I blinked. “Is she always like this?”

“Worse,” said Dottie, shoving a muffin at me. “It’s still early. By noon she’ll start naming techniques.”

“I don’t have time to eat,” I said, even as my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.

Dottie ignored that. “It’s just one bite. You’ll love it. I promise. You need to take a muffin break.”

“I can’t.” I sighed, staring at the ledger with already four rooms booked for tomorrow, including Lola’s. “If I stop moving, I’ll collapse.”

Dottie leaned over and sniffed me. Actually sniffed. I saw nostril movement and heard the sound. “You’re running on coffee and spite.”

True. “That’s my brand.” It totally was.

Boots sounded on the floor behind me. Heavy.

I turned.

Dust-guy stood in the foyer.

What the hell?

He stood there all tall and pretty and hard—whoops, I meant solid. And irritatingly calm. Looking like he had absolutely no business being here yet somehow fit like he belonged. His broad shoulders filled a black leather bomber jacket, a gray T-shirt dipped into a low V that showed just enough chest hair to be distracting, and dark jeans snugly hugged his powerful thighs.

I glanced away. I really didn’t need this now, especially not with the morning I was having.

“What is Dust-guy doing here?” I blurted. That sort of just flew out of my ass.

Dottie blinked. “Who’s dust-guy?” she asked, peering behind her like another man might be hiding in the hallway.

Dust-guy raised an eyebrow. “She means me.”

Lola’s smile widened. “Oh. This is good. Very good. I have a feeling I’ll need more wine for this.”

Dottie’s face lit up. “Alex! Perfect timing.”

I looked at Dottie. “Why do I get the feeling you know something I don’t.”

“I called him,” explained Dottie, breezing up to Alex and shoving her plate of muffins at him like she was feeding a large, useful animal. “Take one.”

I watched Dust-guy accept the muffin, break it in half, and eat the top in two efficient bites.

“Why?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Because you need help with all the fixing,” said Dottie, like this was obvious and I was slow. “And Alex is the best at fixing house stuff. He flips houses. He knows construction.”

I felt it then—the heat, the slow, creeping humiliation climbing up my neck and settling right in my cheeks.

I was not some helpless damsel stranded in a tower of pink despair. I had a brain, a college education, and Wi-Fi. I had Google, YouTube tutorials, and the unearned confidence of someone who once fixed a leaky faucet after watching a six-minute video.