Page 122 of The Accidental Innkeeper

I bit my lip. “Okay.”

She watched my face like she was reading stock prices. “You’re welcome.”

“I am,” I said honestly.

“So,” Lola went on, her eyes gleaming, “what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, still dusting the same spot I’d already dusted three times. Of course I knew what she was implying, but… my brain was on pause right now.

“The ball’s in your court, darling,” she said. “And I would hate to see it just… roll away.”

“I didn’t know there was a ball,” I murmured.

“There’s always a ball,” said Lola. “You just have to decide whether you’re going to pick it up or pretend you didn’t see it.” She leaned closer. “Don’t waste it.”

Before I could ask her for more information, she winked at me, winked at the Drews—who looked like they needed a minute, a glass of water, and possibly therapy—and then swung her hips all the way out of the den like she’d just dropped a grenade and trusted me to deal with the aftermath.

I stared after her, the rag limp in my hand.

Dust-guy was back.

What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

Clearly Lola thought this was important to me, but I didn’t see why. He’d made his choice. He’d left. I was okay with that… right?

I glanced up at Edna-portrait. She stared back, her lips pursed and eyes sharp, forever frozen in that expression that said I told you so without moving her mouth.

“Oh, don’t start with me,” I breathed. “I’m not upset.”

From the corner of my eye, Mrs. Drew shifted on the sofa. I felt it, registered it, ignored it.

“I’m fine,” I continued, nodding at Edna-portrait like she’d just asked a question. “Perfectly fine. This is me being calm. Look at me. Dusting. Functional.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t care that he’s back. Why would I care? He’s nothing to me. And, yes, he’s hot, but that’s just the shell. And shells are useless. No one builds a life on a shell. Except hermit crabs. And I am not a crab.”

Mr. Drew cleared his throat quietly. Polite, concerned, maybe he was hoping I’d stop.

“He kissed me back,” I went on, still staring at the portrait, like Edna was the only one emotionally equipped to handle this. “And not, like, a polite kiss. This was a major kiss. Full commitment. No hesitation. I’m talking open mouth, full tongue, the kind of kiss where you briefly forget your own name.” I nodded to myself, as if confirming facts in court. “There was leaning,” I added. “Intentional leaning. Hands involved. Eye contact afterward. The kind that implies follow-up questions, follow-up texts, and possibly follow-up sex. The kind that makes you think, oh no, this wasn’t a one-time thing. This was a sequel.”

Mrs. Drew made a small, distressed sound.

“And then,” I said, warming up now, “he pulled back like none of that had just happened. Like we hadn’t just exchanged saliva and possibly expectations.”

Mrs. Drew whimpered.

I finally glanced over at her. “Sorry,” I said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m processing.” I turned back around, shaking my head. “And the worst part is,” I continued, pacing now, “I felt something. From him. I didn’t imagine it. It was there. I was there. A connection. Sparks, or whatever the hell you want to call them. That moment when two people just… fit. And then he decides to take off and leave.”

Mrs. Drew’s eyes flicked to her husband. They exchanged a look.

I waved my rag up at Edna-portrait. “I want you, but only on my terms, and only until it gets inconvenient. Seriously?” I leaned in a little closer to Edna-portrait, my tone sharpening. “He treated me like a problem to avoid instead of a person to talk to.”

There it was. The truth. Slipping out like it had been waiting for an audience.

I straightened. “And I do not need protection,” I said clearly. “I need respect.”

The den went very quiet.

Somewhere behind me, a chair scraped.

“Oh god,” I breathed. “I’m doing it again. Aren’t I?” I glanced sideways. One of the Drews, Mr. Drew, had stood up. He gave me a tight smile, the kind people use when they are backing away from something unpredictable.