He lets out a breath. “Would you let me help you with the balloon payment then?”
“What? No,” I tell him. “You do not need to help me with that.”
“Then let me pay for the room that I rented from you,” he says.
I open my mouth to object, but he keeps going.
“I stayed here for a month. I slept here, used your kitchen, your water, your electricity. You held the room for me when you could have rented it to someone else.”
“But—”
“And I wanted to help with the inn. You didn’t hire me. You didn’t ask me to do any of it.”
That shuts me up for a second.
“Those are two separate things,” he says. “I helped because I wanted to. I’m paying because I stayed here.”
I look down at my hands, which have been wringing the napkin while he’s been talking.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had prepared to talk about this.
I really hate that his argument makes sense.
“I don’t want to charge you,” I say, not wanting to give in.
“And I’ll figure out a way to pay you anyway.”
I widen my eyes. “Is that a threat?”
He smiles. “It doesn’t have to be. As long as you let me pay you for the room.”
I drop my head then, feeling tears behind my eyes. I swallow them back. His generosity is too much. I don’t know how I can accept it.
“Fine,” I finally say, looking up at him. “But I’m giving you a discount.”
“No,” he says.
“Dean.”
“Rosie.”
“Well, I can’t charge you for the night you gave your room to the Hendersons.”
The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “You mean the best night of sleep I had the entire month?”
Oh, wow. My stomach doesn’t drop so much as take a flying leap off a cliff.
The room suddenly feels warmer. The tension between us pulls tight. I briefly wonder if I should swipe the plates off the island like they do in the movies so I can make out with Dean on top of it.
Instead, I swallow. I’m pretty sure it was audible.
“At least let me give you a discount,” I say, sounding a little breathless.
“No,” he shakes his head slowly.
“Please?”
“I’m paying for the room.”