Page 70 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Inside the dining room, chairs scraped, plates clinked, voices rose and fell. The smell of coffee, eggs and toast reached me along with something else I couldn’t place. Dottie did a mean breakfast. They were in for a treat. I noticed there were more people now than this morning. Not that I cared.

I kept moving, nearing the lobby. New York was on the phone behind the front desk, a smear of ink across her cheek.

She didn’t look up when I passed.

Good.

I moved down the hall, checking the fixtures and switches that I missed yesterday as I went. One light flickered when I flipped it on. I snapped a photo, took another of the junction box above it, and made a note.

Connection’s loose. Prioritize.

A couple stepped into the hall behind me, pausing like they’d taken a wrong turn.

“Uh…sorry,” the man said. “Room 203?”

Before I could answer, New York was already there, keys in hand, her smile easy.

“Right this way,” she said, turning them neatly around. “Breakfast runs until ten. Coffee doesn’t stop.”

I caught the shift, confusion to relief, as she guided them down the hall. Her manner was efficient, confident, like she’d been doing it longer than she had.

They followed her like she’d tied a rope around their wrists. Then they were gone, and I kept moving.

By the time I finished the first-floor pass, my phone was loaded with more photos than I’d planned. The list had grown teeth. It wasn’t just an inspection anymore. It was a timeline.

Before next week.

The thought settled in my chest without asking permission.

I shut it down and moved on.

When I came back toward the desk, New York was back on the phone, her shoulder braced against the counter.

“Yes,” she said. “That works. Thank you.” She hung up, scribbled something fast, and then finally looked up and saw me. “Helen’s nephew’s helping out. Porter, basically. Mornings. Bags, errands, whatever comes up.” She shrugged. “I can afford mornings.”

I nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Roof?” she asked. “How bad is it? Are we talking blood donation, or full organ harvest?” She smiled at me.

I looked away from her mouth. “Not leaking,” I said. “One section needs attention soon.”

Her pen moved immediately. “Soon as in before Pearls & Pints soon?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

She nodded once. “Perfect. Because soggy tourists are where hospitality dreams go to die.” Her gaze locked to mine, again with that sexy smile of hers. That ink smear was distracting.

I stepped closer before I caught myself and lifted my hand. My fingers hovered a breath from her skin, close enough to feel her warmth.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just watched me with those big blue eyes.

I pulled my hand back like I’d brushed a live wire. “You’ve got ink on your cheek.”

She looked momentarily startled but then laughed. “Oh thank god. I thought you were about to tell me I’d been bleeding this whole time and no one loved me enough to mention it.” She squinted. “Which cheek?”

I took a step back, too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.

She really was an odd one.