Page 73 of The Accidental Innkeeper

I pushed open the kitchen door.

The smell hit me first—bacon, coffee, something buttery and warm that felt like a hug to the face. That kind of smell would totally have me gaining ten pounds just by inhaling.

Dottie stood at the stove, spatula in hand, her apron already dusted with flour. Next to her was a young guy I hadn’t met yet. Early twenties, maybe, all limbs and enthusiasm. He wore a borrowed pink apron and looked like he was taking the job very seriously, stirring something with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.

“Morning,” I said.

Dottie glanced over her shoulder, took one look at me, and paused. “Huh,” she said. “Look at you.”

I stopped just inside the door. “What? Do I have ink on my face again?” I’d been mortified when Dust-guy had told me a few days ago. I’d probably had that smeared ink on my face for hours, meeting guests, and no one had the balls to tell me. Except Dust-guy.

She turned fully now, her eyes sweeping over me from head to toe like she was assessing a before-and-after photo. The words spread across her pink apron said: THIS MIGHT BE POISON.

Okay then.

“You look like you belong here,” she said.

I frowned. “I… have coffee breath and I’m pretty sure I sat on something sticky at the desk.”

She waved a hand. “Not that. You look… in it. Like you know what you’re doing.”

Huh. I leaned against the counter, suddenly aware that my shoulders weren’t up around my ears. My jaw wasn’t clenched. I wasn’t bracing for impact.

“Oh,” I said. “That.”

The young guy looked between us, clearly confused but polite. “I’m Jason,” he said quickly. “Dottie’s assistant. I’m here for as long as you need. I can do eggs, toast, prep, cleanup. I’m very good with lists.”

Dottie snorted. “He alphabetized my spice rack.”

“It was really disorganized,” said Jason, unapologetically.

“I like him already,” I said, and Jason beamed.

I’d confirmed with Dottie a few days ago that she would need help with the kitchen for the Pearls & Pints festival. He would also double as a waiter, which we desperately needed. I’d let Dottie do the hiring. This was her domain, not mine.

Dottie slid a mug across the counter toward me without asking. Coffee—dark, strong, exactly how I needed it.

“Festival tomorrow,” she said casually, flipping something in the pan. “Town’s buzzing.”

“Don’t remind me.” I sighed, wrapping my hands around the mug like it was a lifeline.

Dottie shot me a look. “You’re ready. Don’t worry.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, did you hit your head?”

She ignored that. “Kitchen’s staffed. Rooms are full. Guests are happy. You’ve got help. You’re doing fine.”

Jason nodded enthusiastically. “Everyone’s very impressed. I heard someone call this place ‘a hidden gem.’”

My chest did a weird little flip. “Except the Harringtons,” I said automatically. The entire time they stayed at the inn, they complained about everything. The smell of the soap we used for the linens. The mattress. The curtains were too thin and let in too much light. The wood floors squeaked when they walked in their room.

I’d waved at them when they left.

Then, when I was sure no one was looking, I’d waved with both middle fingers.

“There’s always a Harrington,” Dottie said. “Fifteen years ago, we had a couple just like them. The Beaumonts. Complained about everything. My food. The wine. The inn. Said they were reporting us to the building inspector because it was unsafe.”

I raised a brow. “Really? What happened?”