Page 37 of The Accidental Innkeeper

I could absolutely Google my way through this.

I did not need help, especially not his.

I crossed my arms, immediately aware this only made me look smaller and more defensive, which was not the message I was going for. Dust-guy watched me with that unreadable expression, his jaw set and eyes steady, like he was mentally tallying the number of ways this place could kill someone.

Or me.

And maybe he hated being here. Maybe Dottie had dragged him into this. Maybe he owed her a favor. Maybe he’d lost a bet. I didn’t know. But whatever the reason, he had no business standing in my inn, holding a muffin, and looking at me like I was a loose floorboard waiting to happen.

“I don’t need help,” I said. “I’ve got it under control.”

Dust-guy’s gaze flicked to the phone, the ledger, the papers, Maria marching upstairs with her buckets, and Lola sipping wine like this was theater.

Then his eyes landed on me—yoga pants, messy hair, panic probably written in neon on my face.

Great. Just freaking great.

“That’s not what it looks like,” he said.

“I’ve got it,” I repeated. “I’m a very capable woman.” Not sure why I needed to specify the woman part, but there it was. Announced. On the record.

Dust-guy cocked a brow. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”

That annoyed me more than if he’d laughed. Or argued. Or mansplained. The calm acknowledgment felt like a challenge, like he was daring me to prove it.

The phone rang again.

I stared at it. Then at him. Then up at the ceiling like the universe might suddenly intervene and replace my life with a different one. Maybe one where I was independently wealthy and allergic to responsibility. Yeah, I liked that one.

“I need to take this,” I said, snatching up the receiver. “Hartwell Inn.”

“Yes, hi,” a woman chirped. “I just wanted to ask if your bathrooms are private or shared.”

“Private,” I said immediately because optimism is free, and I hadn’t seen all the bathrooms yet.

“Great! And breakfast is included?”

“Yes.”

“What about parking?”

“Yes. Parking is included.”

“And pets?”

I glanced at Dottie because I knew she could hear the woman’s voice.

“Edna hated animals,” announced Dottie. “She never allowed pets.” She made a sad face. “Animals are people too.”

I agreed. I thought about it for half a second. Ownership. Choice. Revenge. “Yes,” I answered. “Pets are allowed.”

Oh, Edna would hate that. Good.

“That’s great. I’d like to book a room, please,” the woman said.

Even when I explained that all the sea-view rooms were already booked, she didn’t hesitate. She was happy with any room now that her beloved black lab, Boomer, was allowed to come. First floor, preferably, easier for bathroom breaks.

I hung up and gently placed the receiver back on the desk. “I don’t need help,” I said, mostly to remind myself. “I just need time.”