Chapter 3 #2
“Like… cleaning,” I said and then grimaced as I looked around the room. “Which I can do. I have hands. I have rage. I have a deep, personal relationship with bleach.” I imagined Simon’s head exploding again and me cleaning up the mess.
Becca tilted her head, still amused. “And bookings. And maintenance. And breakfast. And staff.”
“Staff.” Damn. I forgot about that one. I let out a long breath and looked back toward the foyer. The inn was quiet, sunlit, deceptively calm. Like it was luring me into a false sense of security before it attacked.
Panic fluttered in my chest. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
I was a writer. My biggest emergency usually involved a plot hole and a deadline. I could handle imaginary chaos. Real chaos, however, came with plumbing.
But then something else stirred under the panic—something stubborn and electric.
Maybe I didn’t know how to run an inn, but I knew how to figure things out. I’d built entire worlds out of nothing. I’d wrangled characters, timelines, and scenes.
Also, I was already here. And broke. And if I ran away now, I’d be the exact person my aunt accused me of being—a loser.
No. I wasn’t going to run away.
I lifted my chin. “How many rooms does the inn have?” Besides, I desperately needed a new adventure.
Becca’s expression got all business. “Twelve.”
My brain sputtered. “Twelve.”
“Plus the owner’s suite.”
“I get a suite?” I perked up.
Becca’s eyes flicked toward the hallway. “If you don’t mind dust, a questionable smell, and a bathtub that may or may not have… history. It was Edna’s room.”
I sat down hard on the nearest sofa. It puffed out a sigh like it was exhausted already. “Tell me there aren’t bodies in the walls.”
“No bodies,” Becca promised. Then, as if thinking of something, she added, “At least not that we know of.”
I looked around again, at the wallpaper, the furniture, Edna’s twin forms. “So what’s the state of everything? Like… is it gross gross, or just abandoned gross?”
Becca’s mouth twisted. “It depends on your definition of gross.”
“Rats. Spiders. Termites. Bed bugs. Cockroaches. Leaky toilets. Anything that crawls, bites, multiplies, or comes out of a wall.”
Becca snorted and pulled a slim folder from her bag. “I did a walk-through,” she said. “I made notes. Nothing official. Just… reality.”
“Okay,” I said, leaning forward despite myself. “Hit me.”
Becca smiled like she’d been waiting for that. “All right. Basic systems are running. Edna kept the utilities on. She had someone come in once a week to make sure the pipes didn’t freeze and the place didn’t flood.”
“Someone?”
Becca hesitated. “Not sure. I can find out if you want.”
“Yes. Thanks.”
Becca flipped a page. “The kitchen needs an overhaul.”
“Of course it does.”
“The roof over the east side leaks.”
“Yes, you told me.”
“The back stairs are… not ideal.”
“How not ideal.”
Becca gave me a look. “They wobble.”
I pictured myself in a dramatic fall, rolling down stairs and dying in the world’s least glamorous way while the boiler screamed in celebration.
“Okay,” I said, holding up a hand. “So, it’s been closed a while. No one is arriving tomorrow expecting a room.” I could live with that. I could take my time and decide what to do. Stay at the inn, walk around the town, get inspired, that kind of thing. Totally doable.
“Not tomorrow,” said Becca.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why did you say it like that.”
Becca glanced at her notes again. “Because a couple of people have already asked when you’re reopening.”
I stared at her. “Are you serious?”
Becca nodded. “The town’s been waiting.”
My mouth opened and then closed. “They’re waiting,” I said, my voice going strangled.
“They love the inn,” said Becca, like that explained everything. “It’s part of the town. Weddings. Visitors. Summer season. It’s… an institution.”
I looked around at the den and the statue and the wallpaper and the dead flowers outside. “This is an institution?”
“Don’t judge it by the bronze Edna,” said Becca with a smile.
“I’m trying not to,” I said. “But she’s very judgeable.”
Becca’s eyes flicked to the statue again. “Yeah. She is. She hated being ignored. I think it’s because she was tiny and people thought they could push her around. They were in for a huge mistake.”
I inhaled slowly, forcing my brain not to sprint away. “Okay,” I said. “So… my options are I can sell and let someone else deal with all of this. Or…”
“Or,” interjected Becca, “you can renovate and reopen.”
Renovate. Reopen. My heart did a weird little hopeful flip that I immediately distrusted.
“Or,” she added, “you can do a soft opening. A partial reopening. Just a few rooms. Test it. Build from there.”
I blinked. “That’s a thing?”
“It’s a thing,” said Becca. “And it’s probably the least terrifying option.”
Least terrifying was still terrifying. I glanced toward the foyer again, as if the inn might answer for itself. It remained silent, smug, and pink.
“Okay,” I said, swallowing hard. “If I chose the soft opening…”
Becca smiled. “Then we’d start with the safest rooms. The least broken. Best views. The ones that don’t… smell.”
“They smell?”
Becca winced. “Some do. Some don’t. Not like the basement.”
I stared at her. “The basement?”
“It smells, but basements always smell.”
“Because things have died there,” I answered. Then I thought of something. “Edna expected me to sell. Didn’t she?”
Becca’s gaze softened. “Honestly? Yes.”
I cocked a brow. “Because she didn’t think I could handle it.
” Becca didn’t have to answer. I saw it all over her face.
My aunt Edna never imagined I’d take this on.
I was a loser in her eyes. I didn’t own any property.
I basically had nothing except for this inn.
And she’d only left it to me because she felt sorry for me.
And I hated that.
I looked around again. The quiet. The dust motes. The sunlight. The smell of old wood, stale air, and something faintly floral that had no right to be alive.
I didn’t feel trapped. I felt… challenged. I felt like the universe had thrown me a ridiculous, pink, creaky dare.
And maybe I was stupid. Maybe I was impulsive. Maybe I was the kind of person who made life choices while sweaty and concussed. But I’d asked for a new adventure.
This was it.
I leaned back and let out a shaky laugh. “Well,” I said, “that’s unfortunate for her.”
Becca’s brows rose. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t come all this way just to sell and leave,” I said. Then, quieter, more to myself, “I came because I needed something new. I needed to get away from my old life, from my ex and his skinny-ass yoga instructor he’d been bumping uglies with.”
Becca pressed her lips together. “That feels like a later conversation with a bottle of wine.”
I smiled at her. I didn’t know her well, but I had the feeling we were going to get along just fine. “Make that two bottles.”
Becca threw back her head and laughed. “Well. I challenge you to even more scandalous stories. But first, you’re tired. Where are you sleeping tonight.”
I looked around the den. If the suite was half as bad as this, I could stay here. “Here,” I told her.
“You’re staying here?” she asked as she stood up.
“I mean,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice, “it’s my inn. Right?”
Becca glanced back at me, amused. “That’s the spirit.”
Or I was mad. Yup, I was mad.
“You know,” said Becca as she stepped out of the den, me behind her pulling my suitcase. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Take some time to think about it.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’m currently sweaty, dusty, mildly injured, and being silently judged by a bronze woman with a cigarette.”
My life might be going down the crapper, but I wasn’t a loser.
And I was going to prove it to my aunt Edna, even if she was beyond the grave.
I would.