Page 52 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Rooms. Were the rooms done? Mostly. Maria was a miracle worker, but miracles required time, and time was currently not on my side.

Linens. Did we have enough clean linens? Did I even know how many sets an inn was supposed to have? Was there a linen rule? Was there a linen law? Why did no one warn me about linens.

Staffing. It was basically me, Maria, Dottie when she had time, and Lola, if laughing counted as labor.

Food. Breakfast. Coffee. Pastries. Whatever Dottie decided to make. Was that enough? Were people expecting artisanal yogurt? Was yogurt artisanal now? I’d need a shopping list: eggs, bacon, fruit, milk. An alarming amount of coffee. But Dottie had worked for Edna for years. If anyone knew how to keep guests fed and quiet, it was her.

Inspections. I didn’t even want to think about inspections: fire, safety, health. All the words that made my right eye twitch. Then the left one.

The inn suddenly felt huge. Too big. Too old. Too full of opinions. How the hell was I supposed to do all this?

“I’m doing my best,” I told the statue. “You could try being supportive, even in death.”

Edna-statue loomed in the center of the den like a monument to judgment—watching, waiting, and blocking progress, literally and emotionally. If I could have tossed her into the ocean, I would have done it already.

“Fine.” I sighed. “We’re doing this again.” I planted my feet, bent my knees, and shoved. Nothing. Not even a freaking millimeter.

I pushed harder.

My arms shook, straining. My shoulders felt like I’d burned through their muscles. My feet slid on the carpet. The statue didn’t move.

I was in hell.

“Damnit.” I stumbled back, breathing hard, my hands on my knees. Sweat dripped down my spine and straight into my butt crack because apparently that was a thing my body did now. My shirt clung to me like it had given up on dignity, and that musty smell in the air? That wasn’t Dottie’s cooking. That was me. Nice.

Thank god there were no guests yet. Well, if you didn’t count Lola. Because if they saw me like this, I’m not sure they’d want to stay.

“Of course,” I said between breaths. “Of course you weigh a thousand pounds. Of course you’re immovable. Of course you’re winning.”

I circled her like a boxer, looking for a weak spot. I found none. Edna-statue was solid, unyielding, and deeply committed to being exactly where she was.

The phone at the front desk had finally stopped ringing. The silence should’ve been comforting, but it wasn’t. The last booking I’d gotten was for next week. For the Pearls & Pints Bachelor Weekend.

Double damn. It was already starting.

My stomach flipped as I pictured it. Forty women. Cocktails. Expectations. A dozen men being auctioned off like charity prizes. And this inn—my inn—was supposed to be the center of it all.

I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, my back against a side table, staring up at Edna-statue.

“I am not failing,” I told her quietly. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what Helen thinks.” I scrubbed my face with both hands and forced myself back up, my thighs protesting.

Okay. No giving up. Giving up was not an option.

Nope. I was a tall, strong female. There was no reason I couldn’t move this damn statue.

I grabbed a chair and wedged it against the statue’s base, testing the angle. The legs scraped, carpet burning under them. I pushed. The statue creaked.

I froze.

“Oh…” I breathed. “That better not be a lie.” I pushed again. The chair slid. The statue shifted, just enough to prove it could. “Yes!” I laughed, adrenaline surging. “See? Progress. Take that, fossil face.”

I shoved again. The statue slid right back into place like it had never moved at all. Like it was mocking me. Like it had reset itself out of spite.

My laugh died and I frowned. “Oh, yeah. You’re about to become rubble, sweetheart.”

I grabbed the chair again, jammed it tighter, and shoved with whatever strength my arms hadn’t already filed for divorce. The chair legs squealed. The seat tipped. My foot slid, carpet burn blooming through my sock.

Time slowed in that very specific way it does right before you fall.