Chapter 11 Sarah
SARAH
Who puts herself in a situation where an event that will require the inn to be fully functioning is not ready and is happening in one week?
You guessed it. Me.
I stared at Edna, or rather, her statue. “You knew this was going to happen. Didn’t you? This was your plan all along. You wanted me to fail. You expected it.” Because apparently, I had the “loser” gene.
The statue stared back with that same smug, carved-in-bronze expression she’d worn in life—chin slightly lifted and lips pressed together like she’d just smelled something disappointing, possibly me.
Here I was, a grown-ass woman, having a heated argument with a life-sized statue of my dead aunt. Did that make me crazy? Possibly. Did I care? Not one bit.
Because right now, I was pissed, she was here, and she was going to get it.
It was okay, though. So far, no one was here to witness my delusions. Lola had gone to her room the moment Maria came down to tell her it was ready. And Helen had left a few minutes earlier.
“If the inn isn’t ready, we’re going to lose money,” she’d said, clipboard tucked under her arm like a weapon. “That’s on you.”
And then she’d left. I resisted the urge to give her the finger. I tried not to be vulgar when I had witnesses. Sometimes my word-vomit got the best of me, but on this occasion, I’d kept my mouth shut. It was not the time to create enemies.
But now it was just me and Edna-statue.
“You’re going down, you overpriced paperweight.”
I paced the den, my bare feet slapping softly against the old wooden floor, trying to think instead of panic. Or panic productively, if that was even a thing.
Okay. Fine. One week until the Pearls & Pints Bachelor Weekend. No big deal. Right? I mentally ran through the list again because apparently my brain enjoyed suffering.
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.
“Oh shit…”
I went down hard, flat on my back, the air punching out of my lungs as I smacked against the floor. “Ow.”
I lay there, staring up at the cracked plaster, my arms splayed and breathing shallow, wondering if this was the chapter where my body decided we were a comedy now. “Fantastic,” I muttered. “Just… excellent.”
That’s when I heard footsteps approaching the den.
Slowly, I turned my head, half expecting it to be Maria or Dottie.
Dust-guy stood there, framed in the doorway—tall, perfect, sexy as hell with toolbox in hand—taking in the scene in silence. And by scene, I mean me. On my back. Sweaty. Smelly. Defeated. Edna-statue looming behind me like she’d just won. I really hated that smug, unblinking bronze bitch.
Dust-guy looked from the statue… to me… then back to the statue. There was a long, awkward pause.
I stared up at him. “Before you say anything, I was winning.”
He stepped into the room and circled the statue, slowly and thoughtfully, like a man mapping out a solution before touching anything. One hand rested on his hip. His head tilted as he assessed my humiliation.
I waited for him to say something. He didn’t, which was weird. He didn’t even offer to pull me up, like he enjoyed me on my back. No idea why my mind went there. Nope.
After one last look, he turned and walked out of the room.
A rush of anger rose in me. “Thanks for your help!” I called out, my face hot. Prick. Of course. He’d seen enough—the mess, the struggle, me on the floor like I’d picked a fight with gravity and lost badly.
I pushed myself up with a groan, brushing dust from my shirt.
“Who needs men anyway? We just need their wands occasionally for population maintenance. That’s it.
Minimal contact. Very efficient.” I squared my shoulders.
I could do this. I had to. Screw Dust-guy with his stupid perfect hair.
And his stupid perfect lips. And his stupid perfect ass.
I interlaced my fingers and pulled, aiming for a dramatic knuckle crack like in the movies. I got a faint tug and what felt like mild disappointment. Rolling my shoulders then, I exhaled sharply and adjusted my footing, preparing to try again.
The sound of wheels rolling across the floor pulled me around.
Dust-guy was back, pushing a dolly ahead of him like this had been obvious all along.
He positioned the dolly, locked the wheels with his foot, and tipped the statue forward with controlled strength.
The base slid neatly into place. He strapped it down, tugged once to test that the hold was solid, and then he pushed.
The statue rolled forward smoothly, obedient now, as if it had been waiting for someone who understood leverage.
I frowned. I hated that statue, possibly more than I hated my aunt for putting me in this situation. What kind of person develops a beef with a statue? I was clearly losing my mind, which sucked because my mind used to be my best feature.
Dust-guy maneuvered it through the doorway with ease, angling it just right to avoid the frame. “Where do you want it?” he asked, already moving.
I stared, my mouth open, which was deeply unattractive and probably made me look like a confused goldfish. “Storage,” I said. “Under the stairs. For now.”
He nodded and wheeled Edna-statue away.
I gave her a finger wave.
The den felt different immediately, lighter and open. I looked over the fireplace mantel and cringed inwardly. There was still the issue of the gargantuan painting of Edna, but that one I could easily move myself or ask Maria for help.
When Dust-guy came back, he wiped his hands on a rag like he’d finished a routine task. “You okay?” he asked, looking me up and down slowly.
Heat rushed to my face. “Yeah.” And standing there, watching him solve in minutes what had beaten me for an hour, something like respect settled quietly in my chest. The kind that changes things. The kind I didn’t want to examine too closely, especially not now.