Page 4 of Inn To You

She spins to exit the area, and I’m slow to rise. I really should take a minute, but I can’t afford the time in this bathroom. First priority today, check all doorknobs.

Manny watches Tessa’s retreat. “Man, I’d love to fix her knob.”

While I once might have been a guy to voice such a thing, I’m not that man anymore. Working in hospitality, I quickly learned to keep my comments clean and my decisions professional. And I’m implementing my first authoritative act as manager of this inn.

“Manny, you’re fired.”

I’m a hypocrite, though, as I’d like to polish Tessa’s knobs myself.

2

[Tessa]

“You cannot fire my handyman,” I snap as Noah approaches me on the enclosed veranda.

This section of the inn is one of my favorite spots. The large L-shaped room curls around the former ballroom, which is now a game room. Window after window after window provides natural light here in the mornings. One day, I’d like this space to be a café, offering morning coffee and light breakfast treats. In the crook of the room is the original bar that once served both afternoon ice cream sundaes and evening adult beverages. Guests of the inn used to meander this area before dinner service or dancing.

“I can, and I did,” Noah quips, breaking into my thoughts.

Taking a final look around the dimly lit area, I exhale in order to calm myself before another altercation with my new manager. I’m on a fixed schedule and running out of time. And his presence complicates everything.

“Now who is going to fix things?” With my hands fisted on my hips, I face off with Noah. All six-plus feet of lean body and long muscles plus these crazy, mesmerizing silvery-blue eyes. His light brown hair shifts to dusty silver, like snowflakes on wet sand. He is just too good looking, and he knows it.

“I thought you were maintenance.” He smirks as he mocks my declaration in the water closet, that silly bathroom doubling as a hodgepodge of storage.

I was maintenance, watching YouTube videos and asking questions at the local hardware store, but I couldn’t do it all myself.

“You know what I mean. Manny handled the bigger projects.” Painting, painting, and more painting. Hard wood floor repair. So much hard wood flooring. Electrical issues. Plumbing problems. There’s new water damage in the lobby ceiling, which I’m not certain Manny didn’t cause in the first place.

“He was burning your money,” Noah states, and he isn’t wrong.

Manny was the least expensive laborer I could find, but inexpensive meant cheap. An apple was an apple. He was all we could afford, though.

“Well, who am I going to hire now?” I flap my arms out to the sides like the wings of the tiny bird the inn is named after.

“Me.”

The idea of Noah doing manual labor forces me to laugh. Like bend at the waist, hands on my knees guffawing. Tears spring to my eyes. I try to right myself, grapple with controlling the lingering giggles, and then break into more full-body cackles. Hysteria is settling in.

“It isn’t that funny,” Noah mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck.

He’s right. It’s not funny, not one freaking bit, but my emotions are all over the place today. First, my uncle called with more threats of intervention and closure. Then getting locked in the bathroom with this sexy man and unable to do what I wanted to which was straddle him, and now this with Maintenance Manny.

“You’re lucky you know how to work a zipper.” My gaze drops to said region on the smoothly pressed dress pants he’s been wearing as he struts around this place, taking notes on his fancy tablet and harrumphing as he goes. I refuse to think about what I saw earlier, the clear tenting of the front of those pants. My gaze leaps back to his face. “A hammer is beyond you.”

“That hurts.” He slaps a palm to his chest.

If I knew him better, the expression on his face might have matched his claim, but I doubt anything stings this city slicker, all pulled together in his pretty pants and fitted dress shirts.

“Show me your hands, city slicker.” I hold out one of my own and wiggle my fingers.

As we connect, I ignore the instant current rushing over my skin, crackling like little sparks inside my palm. Noah’s head pops up, eyes seeking mine, but I concentrate on cradling the back of his hand while my fingertips stroke over his lifeline. Soft, untouched, pampered. He probably gets manicures to match the city-wise, panty-whisperer vibe written all over him. And to think I almost kissed him in the bathroom.

“What kind of voodoo magic are you working here, innkeeper?”

“Huh?” I glance up, noticing Noah watching me as I continue to stroke over his palm, delicately tickling my fingertips against the lines in his soft skin. “What? Nothing.”

I drop his hand like the hot iron it is, and a final crackle of heat snaps between us with the release. Certain Noah didn’t feel anything unusual I don’t mention the strange flicker of lightning.