Chapter 28 Sarah #2
Hell no. I shook my head. “Nope. I say, bring it.”
This wasn’t my first surprise. Or my biggest. And honestly? It felt kind of nice.
“Tomorrow,” I said evenly, “we show him exactly who we are. And if he doesn’t like it, he can shove it.”
Lola choked on her coffee just as the door to the inn opened again, this time slower.
A gorgeous, tall, sexy male with a face that belonged on a magazine cover and a body sculpted by the goddess herself waltzed in.
Alex.
He took one look at the room—the wide eyes, Helen half-slumped against the front desk, Lola still recovering from her cough, Dottie rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet—and lifted a brow.
“What’d I miss?” he asked.
Helen straightened immediately. “The town is on the brink of ruin.”
Dottie nodded solemnly. “She’s having a heart attack.”
“I am not,” Helen snapped.
“Emotionally,” Dottie clarified, “which is worse.”
Alex’s gaze flicked back to Helen before moving to Lola and then finally landing on me. He held it there, steady and calm, like he was taking inventory.
“Town reviewer,” Dottie added helpfully. “Very fancy. Very judgmental. Likes towels.”
Alex considered that for half a second and then said simply, “Sarah can handle it.”
Helen sputtered. “Excuse me?”
“She can,” he repeated, his eyes still on me. “If anyone can.”
Something warm settled low in my chest, both annoying and welcome.
“Well,” said Lola, recovering fully now. “If the man with the shoulders and a tight ass says so…”
“Then it’s true,” I added, smiling.
Alex set his jacket down, rolled up his sleeves, and before I could say another word, he was there—his mouth on mine, hands steady, kiss soft and then not soft at all.
Oh. Yes. That. Mmmm.
He pulled away with a knowing grin, the kind that said he knew exactly what that kiss had done to my lady garden, drumming away its own carnal beat.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be on the second floor fixing the wiring,” he said and disappeared up the stairs.
We’d only been dating about a month. And in that time, we hadn’t slept apart once. Either I stayed at his place, or he stayed at the inn. Mostly the inn because I needed to be here in case something went wrong, which, let’s be honest, it often did.
Most nights, all nights, we had hot, hot sex. Then we talked. We laughed. We lay there until sleep crept up on us and took over. Yes, he snored. Lightly. And no, it didn’t bother me.
I didn’t know everything about him—not his whole history, not every scar—but I knew how he worked. I knew how he showed up, and that felt like enough to begin.
The foyer was silent for a beat.
Helen finally exhaled. “I still don’t feel any better.”
“Come have breakfast,” said Dottie, yanking Helen with her and Lola back toward the dining room. “I can make you anything you want. Name it.”
“Yes, the sasquatch in her needs feeding.” Lola laughed.
“Stop calling me that,” hissed Helen.
“If you tweeze that unibrow and stop wearing those clothes, I’ll consider it,” teased Lola.
I watched the trio settle in the dining room before heading down to the den where it was quiet.
I caught my reflection in the glass of the front door as I moved—hair pulled back, a faint smudge of coffee on my sleeve, my eyes a little tired but steady. I looked focused, content, like someone who belonged in the middle of things.
A month ago, I’d been sweaty, furious, and dragging a suitcase up these steps like I was fleeing a crime scene. I’d been a struggling mess. I’d been broke, desperate, confused, and angry but stubborn as hell.
Speaking of another headstrong female. I stepped into the den. Edna-portrait stared back at me, unimpressed as ever.
“Well,” I told her quietly, “it didn’t collapse. And I didn’t have to sell. Guess I’m not the loser you thought I was.”
Edna stared back at me from the frame, her lips tight and eyes sharp, forever unimpressed. She looked exactly like someone who would insist this proved nothing and that I’d probably mess it up tomorrow.
That was fine.
I wasn’t doing this for her. I was doing it for me.
I’d thought about taking down her portrait many, many times. Fantasized about it, even. About replacing it with something soothing. A seascape. A plant. Literally anything that didn’t look like it was leering down at me, judging.
But every time I imagined the empty space on the wall, it felt… wrong. Too easy. Like erasing the evidence.
So I left it as a reminder that the inn hadn’t failed. I hadn’t failed. I’d stayed when it would’ve been easier to run.
I straightened the frame just a touch, more out of habit than affection.
“Nice try,” I said to her, “but I’m still here.”
And this time, I didn’t need her approval to know I’d won.
My phone vibrated with a text message and I pulled it out.
Becca: Hey. You up for some wine and a chat later tonight? I need to talk to someone.
I frowned at the screen. That could mean a lot of things. Real estate drama. Family drama. The kind of drama that required alcohol and couches. Or… something else.
My brain, being the traitor that it was, immediately jumped to the auction last month—to the person Becca had noticed, the one she’d gone oddly quiet about afterward. She’d brushed him off with a casual shrug that hadn’t fooled me for a second.
Interesting. I typed back before I could overthink it into a full-blown internal investigation.
Me: Of course. Swing by the inn around 6pm.
I stared at the phone for a moment longer after sending it and then slid it back into my pocket.
Wine and a chat never meant just wine and a chat. And something told me tonight was going to be… revealing.
I stepped back into the flow of the inn—the sounds, the movement, the small, manageable chaos. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t finished. But it was working.
And for the first time in a long time, so was I.
I didn’t end up here by accident. I chose this place. This inn. This life.
And that made all the difference.
I wasn’t leaving.
Because I was finally home.