Page 80 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“No. The…” I waved vaguely between us. “Everything. This. That. Mouth choices.”

His eyes flicked to my mouth again, just briefly. “I didn’t think you were easy.”

“Good,” I said. “Because I’m not. I’m impulsive. There’s a difference.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He straightened, clearly making the executive decision to leave before one of us did something else we’d have to narrate later.

“I’ll see you around, New York.”

“Later, Dust-guy,” I said.

That got me a smile, brief and dangerous.

Then he was gone.

I looked down at the papers in my hands. Fifty dollars. Trusted contractors. And a man who definitely did not kiss women in inherited inns unless things were already complicated.

“I’m a real winner.” I stood there for a full ten seconds before exhaling. “Oh my god,” I whispered to the empty room. “I just kissed my contractor.”

I glanced up at the portrait of Edna. I swear I saw her smirking.

“Don’t you judge me,” I told her.

Because I was doing a pretty stellar job of that myself, Olympic-level, really. If self-criticism were a sport, I’d have medals, possibly a sponsorship deal. Hell, if I could swing my legs high enough, I’d kick my own ass.

Why did I have to kiss him?

A hug would have been better. Awkward as hell, yes, but socially acceptable. Hugs were neutral. Safe. You hugged people when they brought casseroles or delivered bad news or helped you move a couch. You did not, under any circumstances, grab their face and make out with them.

I dragged a hand down my face, paced the length of the den, and then moved back again.

“I panicked,” I told Edna-portrait. “That’s all. Fight or flight. Apparently, I chose flirt.”

And it wasn’t like I even knew anything about him. For all I knew, he was married, or engaged, or had a long-term girlfriend. Sure, I hadn’t noticed a ring. His hands had been bare. Very bare. Distractingly bare. But contractors took rings off all the time. Safety hazard. Or maybe he just didn’t wear one. Or maybe he rotated girlfriends like seasonal tires.

I groaned and leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “You don’t go around kissing men you barely know.”

Except I had. With enthusiasm.

I’d basically assaulted a man with my lips.

Not my finest hour.

I pushed off the wall and stopped short when my gaze landed on the folded papers still clutched in my hand. The inspection bill. The contractor list. Proof that this wasn’t just some heat-of-the-moment hallucination my brain had invented to cope.

Fifty dollars.

I snorted softly. “Great. So now I owe him money and my dignity.”

I felt eyes on me and looked up to find Edna-portrait staring down from the wall. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” I flung a finger at her painted face. “If you planned that, I will haunt you back. You just wait…”

“Sarah? Who you talking to?”

I flinched and whirled around, nearly dropping the papers in my hands as Dottie stepped into the den, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Me? No one,” I said.

Dottie flicked her gaze to the portrait. “Oh.” She nodded. “I talk to her all the time.” She marched forward, planted her feet, and shook a fist at Edna-portrait. “You behave yourself, you old hag. Or I’ll toss you in my oven. And don’t think I won’t.”