Page 82 of Fetch Me A Mate
"Run the inn."
"Build a home," Miriam corrected. "For yourself, for this community, for the travelers who need sanctuary. That's what innkeepers really do."
They walked back toward town in comfortable silence, Diana flanked by the woman who'd trained her and the man who'd chosen her. The inn's windows glowed warm and welcoming in the distance, calling them home.
"I need a minute," Diana said when they reached the inn's front steps.
"Where are you going?" Rowan asked.
"Kitchen. To process this properly."
Diana slipped through the lobby into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the counter, looking around at the space that had become her domain. The scarred butcher block, the ancient stove, the window that looked out over the square she now belonged to permanently.
Then she cried. Not from sadness or relief or overwhelming gratitude, but from the simple, profound satisfaction of having fought for something precious and won it completely.
She was home. Really, truly, permanently home.
When the tears finished, Diana wiped her face and returned to the lobby. Rowan and Miriam were talking quietly by the fireplace, their voices low and companionable.
"Better?" Rowan asked, studying her face.
"Much better." Diana straightened her shoulders and looked around the lobby that was finally, officially, undisputedly hers. "Now, who wants something to drink? We have celebrating to do."
40
ROWAN
Rowan arrived at the inn before dawn, his truck loaded with the last of the materials. Crown molding for the parlor, replacement boards for the front porch, hardware for the attic space that would become their home. He worked in the pre-morning quiet, letting his hands speak the apology to the town that his voice couldn't manage.
By eight AM, he had the parlor trim installed and the loose banister tightened. By ten, the squeaky floorboard in the hallway was silent and solid. At eleven-thirty, he crouched on the front porch with his level and a stack of new boards.
"You know that step was fine, right?"
Diana's voice came from the doorway. He looked up to find her watching him work, coffee mug in hand, hair twisted up in a messy bun.
"It sagged."
"Barely."
"Enough." Rowan drove another screw into the board, testing its stability. "Guests shouldn't have to worry about uneven footing."
"Is that what this is about? Guest safety?"
He set down his drill and looked at her properly. "It's about doing the work right. Finishing what I started."
"All of it?"
"All of it."
Diana settled onto the porch swing, tucking her legs underneath her. "The inn's never been in better condition."
"Should be. You deserve a place that won't give you problems."
"Rowan."
"What?"
"The inn isn't the only thing that needs to be solid. We talked about this."
