Page 47 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“Have you considered,” Lola said thoughtfully, “that she wants to stay?”

I paused. “I’m not leaving this thing in here. It’s creepy.”

“Maybe she likes watching you struggle.”

I looked Edna in the eye. “You enjoy this. Don’t you?” Her stone lips said nothing, but spiritually? She was smiling.

I let go and stumbled back, breathing hard. “Okay. New plan.”

Lola perked up. “Involves explosives?”

“No,” I said. “Involves leverage. Physics. Possibly swearing.”

Lola raised her glass. “My favorite combination.”

I dragged a nearby chair closer, wedged it carefully under the statue’s base, and tested the angle. The statue shifted—barely—but enough to give me hope.

“There,” I said. “See? Progress.”

Lola leaned back. “You’re glowing. And you stink.”

I let out a breath. “Thanks. I needed that.” But she wasn’t wrong. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to another shower with a bar of soap that looked like it belonged in the 1970s. Yay me.

“So,” said Lola, drawing the word out like she had all day and nowhere to be, “what did you think of Alex? The two of you seemed pretty cozy.” She lifted her brows meaningfully.

“What? Pffft.” I waved a hand, already turning back toward the statue. “He was just here to help fix some things. That’s it.”

Lola hummed loudly… judgingly.

Dust-guy had proved to be more useful than I’d expected. Annoyingly so. Competent. Focused. The kind of man who didn’t waste words and somehow made you feel like you were the one rambling. Even though he’d been a jerk and doused me with dust and never once apologized for it. Which I had absolutely not forgotten. Or forgiven.

I braced my hands on Edna’s statue again and pushed.

Nothing.

My mind, traitor that it was, drifted anyway. To the way his hands had brushed mine while we fixed the door. How it hadn’t been dramatic or lingering, just… there, warm and solid. Enough that my body had reacted before my brain could shut it down. The quick, inconvenient spike of awareness had no business existing while I was sweating through my shirt and arguing with bronze.

Nope. Not doing that.

I shook my head, as if I could physically dislodge the memory. Alex was not a distraction. He was not stupidly attractive. He was not allowed to live rent-free in my head while I was trying to run an inn, wrestle with unresolved family trauma, and evict a judgmental stone effigy.

Lola was still watching me, her lips curved.

“He’s just a man who fixes things,” I said firmly. “I have things to fix. Including this statue. Priorities.”

Lola took a slow sip of her martini. “Of course you do, darling.”

I pushed harder, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck that had absolutely nothing to do with Alex’s stupid, calm voice or the way he looked when he concentrated.

This was not the time. This was not the place.

And if my pulse had briefly betrayed me earlier, that was between me and the statue.

Someone cleared their throat.

My hands slipped mid-push, and I stumbled, nearly falling head-first into Edna’s statue. I caught myself at the last second, my palms slapping against cold bronze and my heart pounding like I’d just been caught shoplifting or accidentally liking an ex’s Instagram post from 2014.

I whirled around.