Page 81 of The Accidental Innkeeper

I stared at her.

Dottie turned back, beaming. “See? You just have to establish dominance. She’ll behave now.”

Somehow, I doubted that, but I wasn’t about to argue with a woman who threatened dead relatives with kitchen appliances.

Dottie tilted her head, squinting at me. “You’re flushed.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are,” she said cheerfully. “Did something happen?”

I lifted the papers automatically. “Just got the inspection report back.”

“Oh dear,” Dottie said, clutching her chest. “Will it break the bank? Sometimes these reports dig for problems that barely exist.”

I shook my head. “Worse.”

“Worse?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. The truth was, I did not want to explain Dust-guy to Dottie right now. Or the kiss. Or the fifty-dollar inspection. Or the way my body had apparently decided to betray me like we weren’t on the same team.

Also, Dottie clearly cared about him. And I was… confused. Spiraling. Unqualified to discuss feelings before noon. This was not the time or place.

“Did you need to talk to me about something?” I asked instead.

Her eyes lit up. “Yes. Helen wants to serve shrimp cocktails tomorrow night.”

I blinked. “Okay?”

“And I want to serve my stuffed mushrooms.”

I paused. “And she doesn’t want? Aren’t you in charge of the food?”

“Absolutely,” said Dottie. “She says that they may or may not violate several health codes. They are perfectly safe,” she added. “Mostly.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

She waved a hand. “Helen says shrimp is classy. I say shrimp is overpriced and smells like poop if it sits out too long.”

“That is… vivid.”

“She thinks my mushrooms are ‘too much,’” Dottie went on. “Too much flavor. Too much garlic. Too much joy.”

I opened my mouth but then closed it. “You’re fighting with Helen about appetizers.”

“We are having a spirited disagreement,” corrected Dottie. “And I need you to side with me before tomorrow night.”

That snapped me fully back into focus for tomorrow. It was the kind of night that could make or break the inn’s momentum.

I straightened, the papers in my hand suddenly feeling heavier. “We need this to go smoothly.”

“It will,” replied Dottie confidently. “As long as you pick the mushrooms.”

I glanced down at the inspection report again—fifty dollars, trusted contractors, a thousand problems still waiting in line.

And I absolutely could not afford to be distracted by some guy’s mouth.

“Fine,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Do the mushrooms. But no poisoning anyone.”