Page 55 of The Accidental Innkeeper

That made sense. Somehow.

My pulse did something inconvenient. I ignored it. “Well,” I said, pushing off the banister, “the inn needs to survive next week.”

“It will,” he said, flicking his gaze back to me. The confidence in his voice loosened something tight in my chest. “I won’t get through everything today,” he said. “I’ve got other properties to check.”

Right. “When are you coming back?” I asked.

Dust-guy adjusted his grip on the toolbox like the question required some light math. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Early.”

That didn’t surprise me. He looked like someone who believed mornings were a moral choice.

“I’ll be here,” I said.

“I know.”

There it was again. That quiet certainty. Like the inn, the inspection, and my general state of chaos were already slotted into his schedule.

He turned toward the basement door, his boots steady on the old floor and toolbox swinging lightly at his side. For a half second, I thought that was it. He’d fixed the immediate problem, said the necessary words, and would disappear again until tomorrow like a responsible adult.

Then he stopped and pivoted slightly. “Oh,” he said casually, like this wasn’t about to rearrange my entire week. “I’ll be here every day until it’s done.”

“Every day,” I repeated like a simpleton, like my brain was straining to catch up.

He glanced back at me. “That’s how inspections work.”

I knew that, of course. Inspections were apparently immersive experiences, multi-day commitments, whole-lifestyle events.

Every day until it’s done.

My brain immediately began inventorying things I had not planned for him to see. Me before coffee. Me after coffee. Me crying quietly over spreadsheets. Me arguing with Dottie about muffins. Me losing to furniture.

“Okay, then,” I said, nodding like this was all very reasonable and not at all alarming. “Every day.”

He studied the ceiling again, his eyes tracking a beam, already back in work mode. “I’ll start with electrical runs today. Tomorrow I’ll do the third floor roof access. I want daylight for that.”

“Of course you do,” I said. “The inn appreciates daylight. She’s very particular.”

His mouth twitched. “I’ll make sure everything’s up to code before the weekend. Last thing you need is surprises.”

Surprises had officially been banned.

“I bet you see all kinds of surprises in your line of work,” I said. “Old houses have personalities. This one absolutely rolls its eyes at me. And it’s seen things I don’t trust it not to bring up later.”

Dust-guy gave a low laugh, the kind that caught me off guard and made me laugh too. It was a good laugh, easy, like he didn’t waste it.

“You’re not wrong,” he said. “They do. But once I’m done with them, they usually behave.”

“Because you make them beautiful again.”

He shook his head slightly. “Because I make them solid.” Then, after a beat, “And they get to be someone’s first home all over again.”

That stopped me.

“A young family,” he added. “Or a retired couple. Someone starting over.”

I found myself smiling at him without really meaning to. “That must feel good.”

For just a second, his expression shifted, making his features soften a bit. Then he looked away. “It’s work,” he said. “What I do.”