Page 94 of The Accidental Innkeeper

And then it got worse.

“Hello, ladies,” said Carlos. He spread out his arms. “I give you The Carlos.”

Music blasted from the speakers, and I recognized “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred.

Carlos moved, his hips gyrating, chest popping, and confidence at an all-time high as he smacked his own ass while grinning down at all the ladies.

The women lost their minds.

Actual screaming. Whistling. Someone shouted his name like he was a rock star. Cards flew into the air. A woman near the front fanned herself so hard I thought she might take off.

I stared at the stage in stunned silence. “Am I at a charity auction?” I asked. “Or did I accidentally host a stripper convention?”

Carlos winked at me.

And I died a little inside.

“Sold!” cried Helen, and I’d never even heard the bidding. I was too distracted by Carlos’s thumping giant-sized joystick. “To the lovely lady with the hat in the front row for seven thousand dollars for a Latin Night with Carlos.”

“Damn, he went for more money than the handsome lawyer.” I was in shock.

Becca leaned closer. “Carlos has been doing this for years. And the rumor has it… he is very good with lots of things.”

“Ah.” Still. This was madness.

I was still half listening, half watching Carlos leap off the stage with a level of agility that did not match his age bracket when I caught the faint words handyman for a day drifting through the noise.

What?

I turned back toward the platform.

“Oh my god,” said Becca beside me. “That’s Alex Carter. He’s actually doing this? You didn’t tell me.”

“I…” I swallowed. “I had no idea.”

Dust-guy stood center stage like he belonged there—calm, confident, and completely sexy.

And then my brain shut off.

19

SARAH

Isat there frozen, coffee halfway to my mouth, waiting for the scene to rearrange itself into something that made sense. I blinked. And blinked again, just in case last night’s drinking had finally crossed into hallucination territory.

Nope.

That was Dust-guy, and he was on the stage.

Sunlight caught on his skin, making him look like he’d been lit on purpose. He wore jeans and a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms inked with dark, subtle tattoos. A tool belt sat low on his hips, heavy with actual tools. Damn. Did he look better than I’d remembered?

My mouth was still open. Was I drooling? Possibly.

“That’s right, ladies,” Helen announced, clearly enjoying herself. “We have a very special bachelor today.”

Dust-guy’s lips twitched, like he knew exactly what effect he was having.

“Our local house investor and flipper,” continued Helen. “I’ll admit, it took some convincing. But in the end, this is for the town.” She paused for effect. “And I’m pleased to say he agreed.”