Page 108 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“Dottie will be happy to know she fed you something,” I told him and then shooed him away when he was done so I could pick up the plate.

My traitorous mind flicked back to Dust-guy, the way he looked at me, all intensity and quiet focus, like he was actually listening, like I wasn’t just another task to be managed. The way I hadn’t understood what I was seeing at first, and then how completely derailed I’d been by that one stupid, offhand comment that had cracked something open in me.

I’d been wrong about men before. That was nothing new. I had a long, well-documented history of being wrong about men. But not like this. Not when my gut, my instincts, the ones I’d spent years rebuilding and learning to trust again, had been so sure. What I’d felt during the kiss. The way he showed up every morning. The quiet help around the inn. The fixing without asking, without billing, without making a big deal out of it. All of it had pointed in one very specific direction.

That he felt something for me.

And I’d been dead wrong. Not mildly mistaken. Not “oops, misread the room” wrong. Spectacatastrophically wrong. (I just made that up). The kind of wrong that made you want to revoke your own emotional judgment privileges indefinitely.

Worse, my humiliation hadn’t happened privately, in the safety of a locked bathroom or under a duvet with chips. No, it had come with an audience—a lively, opinionated audience who had apparently decided, collectively, that Dust-guy and I were a thing. Or at least a promising almost-thing. They’d smiled, nudged, made comments, claimed he liked me too.

They were wrong, which meant either everyone else had misread him just as badly as I had… or I was the only idiot in the room who’d built an entire emotional narrative out of strong arms, quiet competence, and wishful thinking.

Either way, the conclusion was the same.

I’d imagined something that had never been there.

I was a fool. A damned fool.

“What are you doing down there?”

I looked back to find Becca standing by the railing, peering down at me like I’d lost my mind. “Fishing.”

Becca laughed. “Get your butt back up here. It’s dangerous.”

She wasn’t wrong. The drop was steep, the ground uneven, and my dignity had already taken enough hits for one weekend. But I also wasn’t about to let my property be permanently decorated with someone else’s Chardonnay-soaked paper plates. I scanned the ground one last time, and when I didn’t spot any more scurrying napkins making a break for freedom, I carefully climbed back up.

“Here,” said Becca, handing me a cup of coffee. “Thought you might need some caffeine.”

I settled beside the railing, dragged the garbage bag along with me, and let it slump at my feet like it had also given up. I took the cup. “Thanks. I thought you’d left.”

“Not yet,” Becca said. “I’ve got a showing in half an hour. I don’t think they’re serious. But I still have to pretend they might be.”

I took a sip. “Mmmm. Good coffee.”

Becca smiled. “Dottie made it. But I did pour it into the cup for you.”

I let out a short laugh. “She does make good coffee. Possibly magical coffee.” Knowing what I knew of Dottie now, it made me wonder what she’d slipped in the coffee for me. Some of her “special” herbs or whatever to help me “cope.”

My cousin sighed and glanced up at the inn. “Most of the guests are gone. I saw maybe two in the lobby arguing about their Instagram pictures. Once they resolve that international crisis, it’ll be quiet.”

“It will be,” I said. “Tomorrow I’ve got four rooms booked for the week. Then three more arriving the day after.”

Becca nodded. “Busy all summer. That’s good.”

“It is.”

She was quiet for a beat longer than usual, which was never a great sign. Then she cleared her throat. “You okay? With the… you know… Alex thing?”

I wrapped both hands around my coffee like it was a grounding exercise. “Yeah. I mean…” I exhaled. “I was just… surprised.”

Becca frowned. “So was I. I really thought he was about to ask you out. I mean, I would’ve put money on it. Real money.”

I snorted despite myself. “Please don’t tell me that.”

“Sorry,” she said, wincing, “but I was wrong. Clearly.”

“Me too,” I said. “Apparently I hallucinated an entire connection. That’s fun.”