Page 115 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“To Sarah,” said Becca. “For choosing this. For choosing us. And for finally realizing she’s stronger than the story she came in with.”

Dottie held up a spoon instead of a glass. “And for not dying. That’s always worth celebrating.”

They all looked at me.

My face burned. I wasn’t used to being the center of attention like that. Still, my throat tight, I lifted my glass. “Wow. Okay. This is… a lot. But thank you. Really.”

“Drink,” commanded Lola. “Before you get emotional and ruin my mascara by association.”

I laughed, which helped. A lot. We clinked glasses, and spoon, the sound bright and solid, and for the first time in weeks, something in me loosened instead of tightened.

They sat, their chairs scraping softly against the floor, all except Dottie, who disappeared toward the stove with purpose.

Lola produced a compact from her purse and dotted her forehead. “I hate an oily forehead.”

“You’ve got another date,” said Helen, “or should I call it what it is. A sex date.”

Lola laughed. “You’re just jealous because the last time you were on a date, the streets had cobblestones.”

Ouch.

Helen’s face darkened a few shades, but she didn’t rise to it.

“Of course it’s a sex date,” Lola went on. “If I don’t have sex at least once a day, I break out in hives.”

“Told you she was a slut,” Dottie called from the stove.

Lola snapped her compact shut and gave me a wink. “I prefer the term sexually proactive. Slut just sounds underqualified.”

Okay then.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Dottie called over her shoulder. “Because I made something that could end wars.”

She returned carrying a massive pan, steam rising. The smell hit me instantly, rich, savory, and comforting in a way that felt unfair. Layers of roasted vegetables, bubbling cheese, herbs that made my mouth water on contact.

“Vegetable lasagna,” Dottie announced proudly. “With a béchamel that took patience and a light emotional breakdown.” She set it in the center of the table and immediately started cutting into it, decisive and efficient. The knife slid through with ease, revealing perfect layers.

She served me first, placing the plate in front of me like an offering. “For the guest of honor,” she said. “And because you look like you need it most.”

I stared down at the plate for a second, overwhelmed by how good it looked. “This smells illegal.”

Dottie beamed. “I know. Eat.”

I did. One bite and I closed my eyes without meaning to. “Wow,” I said, my mouth still half full. “Okay. This is… really, really good.”

Dottie pressed her hands to her hips. “I know that too.”

Plates were passed, wine refilled, forks clinked, and conversation picked up like it hadn’t been waiting patiently for permission.

“So,” said Helen after a few bites, setting her fork down. “Fall’s coming, which means we need to start planning the festival.”

Becca groaned. “Already? We just had the Pearls & Pints. And I’m still recovering from the Spring Fling Incident.”

“That was not my fault,” said Helen. “No one told me the inflatable pumpkin had weight limits.”

“It launched a child,” said Becca.

Helen shrugged. “He landed. Didn’t he?”