Page 41 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“I got it.” She did as I instructed, her arms braced and jaw set.

And standing there, I watched her strain to keep it level with sweat at her temple, refusing to let go even when it clearly wasn’t easy. That was the moment she stopped being a quick fix.

It was the fact that she stayed, that she didn’t quit.

And that made her harder to walk away from.

I didn’t like that.

I set the toolbox down and flipped it open. Inside was a collection of tools that looked like they’d survived several wars and at least one bad divorce. A hammer with a chipped claw. A cordless old drill with the handle taped back together with duct tape. A level so old the bubble barely bothered pretending to be accurate.

I exhaled through my nose. “These are… vintage.”

“That won’t be a problem. Right?” she asked.

I dug deeper. Bent nails. Stripped screws. A wrench that had no business being that small. Then I found it—a handful of long wood screws, mismatched but solid.

I paused. “These’ll do.”

“If you say so.” She shrugged, still bracing the door with her shoulder.

I took the screws and glanced at her stance, her arms locked, feet planted, and mouth set like she’d decided the door and gravity could both go to hell.

“Don’t move,” I said.

“I won’t.”

She said it like a challenge.

I lifted the door into position, testing the weight. It was heavier than it looked, old wood dense with years. She adjusted instantly, shifting her grip without being told to keep it level.

Competent.

That again.

I slid a shim into place and reached for the drill. As I leaned in, my forearm brushed hers, and I felt her warm, bare skin.

A brief, stupid spark.

I pulled back immediately, feeling her eyes on me.

Focus. Damnit.

I lined up the hinge, pressed the screw in place, and started driving it home. The drill whined, vibrating through my hand, through the door, through her arms.

She sucked in a breath but held steady. “Little more to the left.”

As I adjusted, our shoulders brushed against each other. There was no room not to with the narrow hallway and damn low ceiling. Old houses were built when people didn’t mind being closer to each other.

I told myself it was nothing. Just physics.

I finished the first screw followed by the second. The door settled into place, solid. Good.

“Shift your weight,” I instructed. “Slow.”

She did. The door stayed put.

I reached for the second hinge and knelt, bringing me level with her hands. They were clenched tightly around the edge of the door, her knuckles pale.