Page 102 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Us.

New York had inherited a mess—a town, an inn bleeding money, and expectations stacked high enough to crush someone less stubborn.

And me? I was a complication she didn’t need.

I’d already crossed a line by undercharging her, by giving her names, by kissing her in her own damn house and making her feel something she didn’t have time for.

I exhaled slowly, letting the salt air ground me.

This was on me to fix.

Sabrina touched my arm again. “You look very intense,” she said. “I can rectify that. I give excellent massages.”

“I’m thinking,” I replied, trying not to recoil from her touch.

“Well,” she smiled, “try not to think too hard. We’ve got a whole afternoon together.”

I glanced back one last time. New York was talking to Lola who’d joined them with her bachelor, the guy with the boat.

Good.

If she’d been looking at me, I might’ve walked over. Or done something stupid. Or convinced myself I could juggle this without anyone dropping.

I turned away from the lawn, from the stage, from the ocean backdrop and the crowd and the woman who had no idea she’d gotten under my skin in a way that mattered.

She didn’t need that.

She didn’t need me complicating things when she was already balancing an inn, a town full of expectations, and a future she was trying to stitch together with grit and caffeine. She didn’t need someone like me stepping in and making promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. Or worse, becoming another problem she’d have to clean up later.

I’d seen what happened when people leaned on the wrong thing at the wrong time.

I’d learned that lesson the hard way.

I’d finish this. Do what I’d agreed to. Be polite. Be professional. Keep my hands to myself and my head where it belonged.

Then I’d step back.

Because wanting her was one thing. I could carry that. I could swallow it, file it away, let it burn off like everything else I didn’t act on.

Letting her get hurt because I couldn’t keep my distance?

That wasn’t happening.

Not on my watch.

And if walking away was the price of making sure she stayed standing…

I’d pay it.

21

SARAH

After the final bachelor was auctioned off, a thirty-something with a shaved head, thick dark beard, and that aggressively curated modern lumberjack vibe, to a sixty-year-old woman in leather pants who looked like she owned at least three motorcycles, it was finally over.

The platform stood empty now, the microphone abandoned, the ocean behind it calm and indifferent, like it hadn’t just witnessed two hundred people loudly bid on men like they were limited-edition collectibles.

Yes, it had been one of the strangest things I’d ever seen. And yes, I had the strong feeling that I’d be seeing a lot more of these “festivals.”