Page 22 of The Inn Dilemma (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker)

Chapter Fifteen

Holt

“You don’t need to do this,” I tell her.

“This is going to be fun. Just imagine how we’ll feel once we get each room clean and ready.” Her voice is muffled through the mask.

I can’t help but appreciate her positive attitude.

Ever since Aunt Birdie announced the destruction of the Storybook Inn, I couldn’t help but feel defeated.

Like we have an endless uphill battle. Nova is looking at this as an uphill journey, almost as if she can see the light at the end of the tunnel before we even enter the trenches.

We made breakfast together at Nova’s cabin, where we also created a game plan to get the inn cleaned up.

Aunt Birdie went into town to gather more supplies for our cleaning adventure.

Nova and I agreed to work our way from the entrance to the back of the house.

My goal is to get one room done a day to not overtax our lungs from the soot or wear ourselves out too quickly.

Nova is in ripped jeans and a paint-stained T-shirt.

I’m wearing one of my old flannels. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t choose it based on how Nova looked at me in my wood-splitting flannel.

Those charged moments before Aunt Birdie dropped this bombshell on us had me all twisted up inside.

I was seconds away from laying my heart out to Nova.

It was easy to ignore the growing attraction when I would only see her a few times a year while I served in the SEALs.

Each time I’d come home for a break, she’d get more beautiful, and not just in appearance.

I could see her true self break through the mold her parents tried to force her into.

I chalked it up to me feeling sentimental and learning how to reconcile who she was as a kid and the woman she was growing into.

Now I spend most of my days with her and it has completely uprooted that explanation.

I’m falling for Nova Price, and I’m not quite sure what to do with that.

The squeal of wood grinding against wood pulls me back to the moment as Nova attempts to drag one of the tables by herself.

She grunts and I chuckle.

Nova shoots me a playful glare. “Don’t laugh at me, Graves!” She shakes out her limbs. “These are Pilates arms, not lumberjack, superhero arms.” She motions to me, and I can’t help but flex for her. Her cheeks pinken as she rolls her eyes and turns away. “Oh, get over yourself.”

I grip her arms and gently nudge her to the side. “I got this, SuperNova.”

I lift the table easily, carrying it out onto the porch. Nova stays put.

When I meet her back in the entryway, she narrows her eyes at me and places her hands on her slender hips. She blows out a puff of air, making a loose strand of her blonde hair lift into the air and fall back down over her eye.

She mutters, “Show off” under her breath.

We work together, pulling the rest of the furniture out of the entryway onto the porch.

Once we get started on the cleaning part, it’s hard to stop.

The satisfaction I feel after scrubbing down each wall and seeing how the floors sparkle by the time Nova finishes them is unreal.

Once Aunt Birdie gets back, she’ll start cleaning the entryway furniture.

By the time six o’clock rolls around, I am drained and in need of a shower and a substantial meal. We paused for lunch and I scarfed down a sandwich and an apple, but now I need something much heartier.

Nova pulls off her mask as she finishes buffing out the last stain on the floor. As if she can read my mind, she says, “I’ll order takeout from Rico’s and we can all three eat at my place.”

Which is exactly what we do.

Nova made a small salad for each of us, and Aunt Birdie ate her favorite chimichanga from Rico’s while Nova and I split a supreme pizza. By the time seven thirty hits, I feel more than ready for bed.

“Well, I’m going to go get settled in my cabin and prep some breakfast for tomorrow,” Aunt Birdie announces.

“I can come over in the morning to help,” Nova says, putting her hand over her mouth as she appears to fight back a yawn.

Aunt Birdie waves her off. “No need. Tomorrow’s breakfast is going to be easy.”

“I’ll still be over to help at least carry things. ”

“Fine. But if you need to sleep in, you sleep in!” She waggles a finger at Nova. “You’ve been working your tail off.”

Nova smiles. “Deal.”

Thankfully, Van was able to get the large white tent we keep for weddings and other outdoor events set up and fixed with a few space heaters for when the weather is cool.

Van also scrounged up enough tables to seat all our current guests who are staying at the cabins.

Emma knows which cabin to go to once she gets here to finish up breakfast and get set up for the rest of the day.

Situations like this make me appreciate Aunt Birdie's dedicated employees.

Nova and I tell Aunt Birdie good night when she heads to the door, and I know I should leave too.

But I can’t. Nova insisted I bring Titan and Tootsie into her cabin for dinner.

Now they’re both curled up and sleeping in front of the fire looking even cozier and more at home than at my place.

I tell myself it’s for their benefit, not mine, that I stay a little longer.

Nova collects the plates, and I help her get the dishes washed up and drying on her dish rack. We work in comfortable silence until she starts humming an old hymn gently to herself. I can’t help the smile that spreads when she looks up and catches me watching her.

“What?”

“I like listening to you. Usually when people hum it means they’re happy. And I like seeing you happy.”

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I am happy. Happier than I can ever remember being.”

I search her eyes, hoping I can get a glimpse of some sort of hint that I am part of that happiness.

“You’ve always found a way to make me feel better, and now is no exception. Thank you,” she says, her voice growing quieter at the end.

“Don’t thank me, I need to thank you. You’ve jumped in and made a huge difference on a mammoth of a project.”

“I love it here and…” She swallows, her eyes dropping to the floor. “You don’t know how good it feels to be productive like this.” Her eyes flick back up to mine. “I feel useful and like I finally have a purpose outside of sitting quietly and looking pretty.”

If any other woman called herself pretty, I’d think her conceited. But I know Nova, and I’ve seen how she was treated most of her life. She was born beautiful, and she’s grown even more beautiful over the years; there’s no denying it.

“Well, you have a purpose outside of looking pretty,” I say, giving her what I hope is a flirty smile. “But you really are a beauty.”

She bites her lower lip and looks away, drying her hands on a tea towel. From her side profile, I can make out her blush. “Thank you,” she mumbles.

The click click click of paws on the hardwood grows closer as Tootsie makes her way to Nova. Tootsie rubs her head against Nova’s legs, and Nova leans over to rub Tootsie’s back.

“Looks like I’ve been replaced.” I place a hand on my chest, pretending to be wounded.

Nova shakes her head, then drops to her haunches and rubs behind Tootsie’s ears.

Tootsie licks Nova’s face and makes a happy sound in the back of her throat.

Nova giggles, and my heart takes on a new rhythm as my mind drifts to the future and the hope that Nova will stick around so we can have more moments like this.

The next two weeks pass in a blur. We work on the inn late into each night with volunteers from all over town popping in to help us in their free time. Aunt Birdie’s bingo crew, also known as the old lady brigade, make sure we all stay fed and privy to the town’s newest gossip.

Thanks to the generosity of our community, most of the house—minus two bedrooms—is soot-free, which is a project Nova and I tackled today.

The remaining soot stains have left us with fatigued muscles, and we learned the hard way that the only fix to the stains is by covering them with paint.

Which is our last project before we can reopen the main house.

Unfortunately, we need to go through the historical society to get the colors approved.

Gladys Monroe has been a nightmare through this entire process, and I know her approval will only come after miles of red tape.

Nova and I stare at the wood paneling on the master suite’s accent wall.

“I didn’t think this was the style in the 1800s. Wood paneling didn’t come around until the 1950s,” Nova says. “I’ve been researching this house’s time period and haven’t seen anything about wood paneling.”

“Maybe they updated it before it went through the historical landmark process,” I suggest.

She narrows her eyes. “I wonder what’s hiding behind there.”

I look up at the ceiling where the crown molding is pulling away from the plaster. “This molding isn’t original either. ”

Nova looks up at it, then does a slow turn around the entire room. “But the rest of it looks to be.”

That’s when my gaze finds the hole I noticed earlier. It’s not something I thought anything of at the time. The unfortunate consequence of owning a hotel is damage secretly left behind by guests.

“Come over here,” I say, motioning for her to follow me.

“What?” she asks.

“There’s a hole in the paneling over here. It’s hard to see from far away since the colors are the same, but I noticed it after I moved the dresser. I’m wondering if we can see anything behind it.”

“Ooh.” Nova grabs a flashlight out of the hall closet and comes back in to survey the damage.

I shine the light into the hole, and Nova sounds delighted by whatever she sees through it.

“Do you have a hammer somewhere?” she asks.

“Yeah, but we can’t exactly demo this wall.”