Page 130 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Henry blew her a kiss and stepped out the front door, the bell jangling cheerfully as it shut behind him.

“Fun night,” I said, leaning against the front desk.

Lola turned slowly, one manicured hand still resting on the counter and her mouth curling into a satisfied smile. “Fun night,” she repeated. “Yes. And an even better lunch with Antonio later.”

I snorted. “Of course there is.”

She reached behind the desk, plucked a pen from the holder, and twirled it between her fingers like she was considering a very pleasant to-do list. “Antonio makes excellent risotto,” she added. “And he listens. Very important qualities at lunchtime.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how you manage all those men. Don’t you ever get them confused?”

Lola laughed, low and delighted, the sound bouncing lightly off the walls of the foyer. “Sweetheart, no. Men are not confusing. They’re enthusiastic.”

“If you say so.”

“They each serve a purpose,” she said breezily, tapping the bell once for no reason at all. “Henry is dependable and excellent in the evenings. Antonio is charming, attentive, and knows how to order wine without asking questions. And before you ask—yes, they know about each other. I don’t lie. I curate.”

I stared at her over the counter. “You run a rotation.”

“I run a lifestyle,” she corrected. “And everyone involved is very happy, including me. Especially me.” She dropped her purse on the counter, pulled out her compact, checked her lipstick in the reflection, and met my gaze. “Monogamy is lovely. It’s just not mandatory.”

I folded my arms. “I only have the energy for one man.”

Lola smiled at me then, softer but no less confident. “That’s because you’re busy rebuilding your life. When you’re ready, you’ll remember men are supposed to be fun. Not a second job.” She sighed and said, “I’m starving. All that workout last night, this glorious body needs carbs. Bye, darling.”

She blew me a kiss, her heels clicking across the foyer as she headed for the dining room.

Dottie appeared with the timing of someone who lived for entrances, barefoot and breezy, a long denim skirt swishing around her ankles. She wore an apron that read:

I LICKED THE SPOON. RELAX.

Lola slid into one of the dining room chairs like she owned it—which, honestly, she sort of did with that large check of hers—stretching her legs out and sighing happily. “Ahhh. Silence. Tables. Possibility.”

Dottie didn’t say a word. She simply poured Lola a cup of coffee, generous and dark, setting it down in front of her with a decisive little nod.

Lola lifted the mug and inhaled. “God bless you, barefoot kitchen witch.”

Dottie smiled. “I do work magic in the kitchen.”

Lola took a sip and practically purred. “Perfect. Strong. Slightly judgmental.”

“That’s the blend,” Dottie said, already moving on.

Lola leaned back in her chair, coffee cradled between both hands, surveying the room like a queen before court. “You know,” she called out lazily, “this place really is coming together.”

I heard the clink of a spoon from the kitchen and Dottie’s voice floated back. “That’s because Sarah’s doing the work.”

Lola smiled into her coffee.

I laughed just as the front door to the inn opened and closed again, letting in a blast of ocean air and the unmistakable sound of panic.

“Sarah! This is a disaster!”

Helen came barreling toward me, her face flushed and dark eyes magnified behind her red glasses. She wore a navy-blue shirt at least three sizes too big, baggy jeans that looked suspiciously like they’d once belonged to an old boyfriend, and sneakers that suggested she’d sprinted here without stopping to consider dignity. In her hand was her phone, which she was waving like a weapon.

I came around the front desk. “Slow down and tell me what’s happening.”

“This,” she said, thrusting the phone toward my face. “Look.”