Page 60 of The Accidental Innkeeper

I glanced back at her notepad and saw she’d underlined it twice.

She looked up, caught me seeing it, and cleared her throat. “I’m… taking this seriously.”

“That’s good,” I said.

Her shoulders eased just a fraction, like she’d been waiting for permission to care this much.

We climbed to the second floor. The hallway was narrower up here, lined with doors that had been painted and repainted until the hinges looked tired. Wall sconces ran along the length of the hall, each one slightly different, like the inn had been collecting them over decades and calling it charm.

I checked the first one. Solid. Second one. Flicker. Third one. Solid. Fourth one. The switch plate was cracked.

I snapped pictures as I went. Base, plate, wiring access points, anything that looked improvised.

New York matched my pace down the hall, her pad angled toward the nearest light. When she paused to write, her shoulder brushed my arm, close enough that her notes flashed into view between steps.

Ask Maria if she saw water stain.

Check linen closet for extinguishers.

Buy more lightbulbs???

She underlined the last one twice and then added a star in the margin.

We reached a spot where the ceiling had been cut and patched. A thin line of new paint outlined a square that didn’t match the rest. Someone had accessed the wiring there recently.

I stopped.

New York bumped lightly into my back, soft, quick contact before immediately stepping away like she’d touched a hot stove.

“Sorry,” she blurted, her cheeks darkening.

The color made her eyes stand out. Bright. Blue. Sexy. Way too sexy.

I pulled my gaze to the ceiling and lifted my phone to snap a picture of the patch. “Keep moving.”

She nodded, pen ready again. “Yes, boss man.”

My mouth twitched before I could stop it.

We continued down the hall. A door opened at the far end, and Maria stepped out with a basket of linens balanced on her hip. Mid-fifties, short dark hair pulled back tight, the same practical no-nonsense look she’d had for years. She spotted us and slowed, her eyes flicking to me first.

“Hey,” she said, like this wasn’t the first time she’d seen me in these halls.

“Maria,” I replied, just as easily. She’d worked here back when Edna was still alive, long enough to know the building by feel.

Her gaze shifted to New York, quick and curious. “Rooms are nearly done,” Maria said. “Just need towels.”

New York’s expression tightened for a beat before shifting to focused, already moving. “Towels,” she repeated, writing it down. “Okay. Great. Thank you.”

Maria nodded, adjusted the basket on her hip, and headed toward the linen closet like she’d done it a hundred times before.

New York exhaled slowly, and loudly.

“You okay?” I asked because the question came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

She looked at me like I’d asked if she enjoyed breathing. “Yes. Totally. Thriving,” she said and then pointed at her notepad. “Do we have enough towels? No. Do I know how many towels an inn is supposed to have? Also no. Do I want to find out the hard way? Not particularly.”

I nodded once and checked another sconce. The light held steady. “Order more.”