The Red Door Inn

by Liz Johnson

  Seth heaved a sigh from somewhere deep in his stomach and pressed a thumb and forefinger against his eyes. “I really am sorry, Marie. I had a good time at the auction.”

  She licked her lips, steeling herself to tell the truth. “I did too.”

  “Maybe we should do it again sometime.”

  “Another auction?” She sidestepped his suggestion, anything to keep from having to respond to it.

  He shook his head. “Not an auction necessarily. There are plenty of other projects we could work on together. Or we could go for a walk and get ice cream. I could show you my favorite spot on the beach.”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, which had turned into a desert. Ice cream. He’d just suggested they get her favorite thing on earth. Like, on a date. Or maybe not a date, but definitely alone. Just the two of them. Eating her favorite thing.

  Did he know that ice cream was her worst weakness?

  Her stomach shot into her throat. She’d left her mini diary in the typewriter. She’d confessed to wishing she’d gone to get ice cream and left it there for anyone—including Seth Sloane—to find.

  And then she’d promptly forgotten about it. Twice.

  She was such a birdbrain. What a stupid mistake.

  Biting her cheeks, she tried to find enough moisture in her mouth to respond to him, but instead her tongue seemed to swell. Her throat felt like sandpaper as she tried to swallow.

  She grimaced against the pain.

  “Are you all right?” Seth asked.

  Nodding with forced enthusiasm, she backed away. “I just forgot something.” She set down her bowl and pointed over her shoulder, then ran down the hall. She hoped she didn’t sound like a herd of island cows stampeding over the hardwood, but she couldn’t get to the room at the end of the hall fast enough.

  She closed the door behind her, at the last minute turning the knob to silence the sound of the click. As she wove her way between stacks of newly purchased antiques, she found the original piles. And there was her beautiful black Underwood.

  The sheet of white paper she’d left there nearly glowed on its curved perch.

  She grabbed the edge of it, intent on pulling it free, until she saw that a second line had been boldly typed below her original confession.

  I wish you had too. Next time?

  S

  She stared at the letters, unable to make sense of their meaning. “Next time?” She said the words aloud, hoping that would help them sink in.

  The knot in her stomach pulled taut, and she pressed a hand to her belly.

  This was the third time he’d asked. Or maybe it was the second. She had no idea when he’d typed this note. It could have been before the auction.

  But did that make any difference? All it really meant was that he had asked again. That he really did want to spend time with her. But that could be just to ask more prodding questions about her past.

  She tightened her grip on the paper, ready to pull it free.

  What if it’s not?

  She harrumphed at the voice in her head. What did it know?

  That you’re lonely. That you miss having a friend who’s not twice your age. That you like being told your hair is pretty.

  She frowned at the paper but left her hand in place. “I don’t have to, you know. I can turn down ice cream.”

  Yes, but do you want to? Or are you just scared?

  “What do I have to be scared of?” Even as she whispered the words, her voice shook. She had plenty to be scared of. Haunting memories. Losing her breath to another panic attack. Being coerced into returning to Boston.

  Taking a wavering breath, she released the paper and knelt to sit in front of the typewriter. Resting on her heels, she stared at the blank area below Seth’s message until her eyes crossed. She had to give him an answer. And leaving it here was easier than saying her piece in person.

  Except she wasn’t quite sure what her answer was.

  She pinched her eyes closed and clasped her hands in her lap. “Oh, God, what am I going to do?” The prayer passed over her lips before she even realized what she was doing. Somehow it felt natural, like it hadn’t been three months since she’d talked to him.

  Letting a slow breath out through tight lips, she pressed one of the keys. Then another. The reports picked up speed, echoing against crates and boxes.

  Quick footsteps down the hall outside the door announced Jack’s imminent arrival. “Marie? Ready to go?”

  “I’ll be right there.” She lifted her voice to carry through the closed door, pounding out the last word in careful measure. As she pushed to her feet and scurried toward the door, she gave her note one last glance.

  As long as next time is soon.

  M

  The pews were empty. The parishioners had long since fled the indoors, prompted by the unusually warm midday. Their voices—faint but lively—carried from the front lawn through the open door.

  Jack welcomed the solitude, leaning his arms against the back of the bench before him and folding his hands. His gaze followed the outline of the wooden cross hanging behind the podium, where Father Chuck had dismissed the congregation more than fifteen minutes before.

  As he closed his eyes, numbers and columns flashed before him. From black to red they danced, leaving only dread in their wake.

  “God?” He lifted his eyes toward the rough-hewn beams above, his voice falling far short of the vaulted ceiling. “I’m in a bit of trouble, and I could use your help here. I’m just trying to do what Rose wanted, but the numbers aren’t adding up. And the bank says I’m not a good investment anymore. But I can’t pay back the loans I’ve already taken out if the Red Door doesn’t open.”

  He bowed his head, staring at the swollen knuckles and broken fingernails. He was working hard—they all were—but it wasn’t going to be enough.

  Soft steps approached, and he turned to find Aretha making a slow path up the center aisle. “I’m sorry to interrupt you.” She pointed to the bench behind him. “I forgot my hat.”

  He nodded, doing his best to give her a smile. “No problem. Just talking with God for a bit.”

  Her floppy pink hat flourished as she picked it up and waved it under her round chin. Green eyes—so different from Rose’s deep brown—squinted at him. “May I ask you a question?”

  Jack nodded.

  “You seem troubled. Is there something I can do?” Though they were a different color, the compassion in Aretha’s eyes was exactly like Rose’s.

  He shook his head, looking down again, his chin touching his chest, his shoulders falling. A sigh escaped pinched lips from somewhere deep inside.

  Her skirt swished as she slid into the pew beside him and rested a silky-smooth hand on his outstretched forearm. “There’s something weighing heavy on you. Will it help if you talk about it?”

  “No.” He patted her hand. “Thank you for offering.”

  She bobbed her head slowly, scooting a little closer until her shoulder brushed his. They sat in silence for several minutes as he prayed for a way to solve his money dilemma.

  “Is this about Marie?”

  He jumped at the sound of her voice. “Not so much. But I’ve certainly pulled her into my problems.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He scratched behind his ear. “I thought I could help her. Thought she needed a safe place to stay. She was just so sad.”

  Aretha rearranged her skirt as she crossed her legs and took a soft breath. “How did you meet her?”

  “On the Wood Islands ferry.” Had it only been a month since he’d spotted her in the terminal, so alone? “She was hugging her bag like it was a matter of life and death, and I’d never seen a grown-up curl into a ball like that. Everything about her screamed that she wanted to be left alone, but when I saw her counting the change in her pocket and staring at the lunch specials, I knew she didn’t have two nickels to rub together, and I couldn’t stay where I was. My Rose and I didn’t have any children. God never s
aw fit to give us any. But when I saw Marie . . . guess my fatherly instincts kicked in. Lord knows I never wanted a daughter. Too much to worry about. Too many emotions.”

  Aretha chuckled, her eyes glistening and her lip trembling. But she remained silent, nodding for him to go on.

  “I didn’t know what else to do with her, so I sat down next to her and said the first thing that popped into my mind—the only thing I thought about. I asked her what color I should paint my inn. She actually answered me. Once she got to talking about colors and flowers, I didn’t want her to stop. By the time we were on the ferry, I thought, ‘Well, this girl could be the answer to my prayers.’ We needed a woman’s touch, so I talked her into taking a job. Nearly had to force her into it.”

  “Jack, that’s wonderful.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sure. Sounds nice. But now I’ve got her counting on me, relying on me for a roof over her head and a weekly paycheck, and the Red Door is bleeding money.”

  Aretha’s eyes grew wide, her hand at her throat. “How?”

  He had to look away, so he studied the crevices in the ceiling beams. Saying the truth was harder than he’d imagined. And he knew that Aretha would be disappointed by his failures. Just as Rose would have been.

  “It started with having to replace the pipes in all the bathrooms. They were corroded and below grade. Seth worked with a local plumber and replaced them in record time. But it was an unexpected cost. I made an adjustment, taking from elsewhere in the budget. Then the materials for the two bathrooms that needed to be completely remodeled were much more than the original quote. More money from another part of my budget. I’m stealing from Peter to feed Paul. And in a month, I’ll add the salary for an executive chef.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t be too much. The island is full of young, talented chefs looking for jobs.”

  He shook his head, covering his face with his hands, his elbows leaning on the pew in front of him. “I’ve already contracted a trained chef from New York City. I’ll just be able to make his salary. If one more thing goes wrong or costs more than it should, I’ll . . . I don’t know where I’ll be. In trouble, I suppose. Bankrupt and on the road back to Chicago.”

  He held his breath for a lecture. Or a look of pity.

  He got neither.

  “Is that all?” Her bright red lips pursed as she crossed her arms. “My, my, Jack Sloane. I expected more. Seems we may need to toughen you up a little bit. You’re borrowing worry from tomorrow. For today, right this minute, Marie has a safe place to stay and a little spending money in her pocket. You have an inn and a plan and two people who are willing to work their trim little rear ends off for you.” She scoffed. “Sounds to me like you’ve got it pretty good.”

  She pulled herself up and held out her hand. “You have friends, and two kids who couldn’t love you more if you were their biological father. The good Lord may not have seen fit to give you children to raise, but he certainly hasn’t left you alone.”

  The words sank in slowly, their warmth spreading from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers.

  “Jack, are you about ready?” Marie said, peeking around the edge of the door. “Seth is getting hungry. And you know how grumpy he gets when he isn’t fed.”

  He laughed. “I’ll be right there.”

  Aretha was right. Marie wasn’t a liability. She was an asset with a soft heart and an eye for design unlike anyone he’d ever met. She completed the team, and he needed her at least as much as she needed him. He’d offer her everything he had until he didn’t have anything left to give. God would just have to take care of the rest.

  “Thank you, Aretha.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” She straightened her hat, and he jumped to his feet, then offered her an elbow as they strolled toward the double wooden doors. “Now, let this friend bring you lunch today. We can eat at one of your fabulous new tables and wonder about all the delightful guests who will find their way to your inn when the doors open on time and within budget.”

  He prayed she was right.

  This was his only shot at fulfilling Rose’s dream.

  And maybe then finding his own.

  16

  After Aretha’s impromptu lunch of cold lobster quiche, Seth left her and Jack at the antique table Marie had bought at the auction and carried a stack of paper plates into the kitchen. Marie closed the dishwasher as he dumped the plates into the trash can. When he stood, she was watching him with an intense focus that made him stand up straighter.

  “It’s a beautiful day today.”

  She nodded. “Do you think it’ll stay this way?”

  He shrugged. “I hope so. But Father Chuck seemed to think that we’re bound for another cold snap.” She shivered at just the mention of another front. But he wasn’t going to be held captive by the thought of cold. He’d enjoy what was before him. The warmth of the shining sun and a gentle breeze off the water. And maybe even an opportunity to take Marie up on her last note. He’d had a feeling she’d seen his message that morning, so he’d checked as soon as they were back from church and found her response. “I was thinking about going for a walk. Maybe down the boardwalk for some ice cream. Want to come with me?”

  He held his breath as she nibbled on the corner of her bottom lip, her face a war zone. She opened her mouth with a smile, then snapped it closed with a shake of her head. Rubbing her cheeks with swift movements of her flat palms, she looked at the floor between them.

  She’d said she wanted to go. And sooner was better than later. He was giving her the chance she’d asked for.

  So why was she hesitating?

  Watching her internal battle made his skin crawl and his heart pound.

  Maybe there was a more important question. Why did he want her to go with him so badly? Oh, he had a ready answer for that. He still knew almost nothing about her past, or what had brought her to the soon-to-be red door of Jack’s bed-and-breakfast.

  But an annoying pest in the back of his mind suggested that he just liked spending time with her. That he wanted to see her smile again because when she did, her whole face lit up.

  He searched around for something to do with his hands in an effort to silence that voice.

  Grabbing the drawer that was jammed about halfway open, he yanked on it until it broke free with a terrible screech, blank white paper flying into his face.

  “What are you doing?” Her giggle took the edge off the nuisance in the back of his brain.

  “Nothing. Just thought I could fix this drawer before I go for that walk.”

  He set the drawer on the counter and squatted down next to Marie, who was already shuffling the strewn papers into a pile. From under her bangs, she glanced up at him, her smile warm. Not brilliant. Just kind.

  He nodded toward the papers in her hands. “Thanks.” When he held out his hand to take them from her, she handed the pages over, and their fingers touched.

  And she didn’t pull back like he disgusted her.

  His gaze shot to where her trembling hand still rested on his. The tremors were invisible, but the vibrations made his whole hand tingle.

  “All right?”

  She nodded, her eyes trained on the exact point where their hands met. Long lashes fluttered to a stop on her pink cheeks, her lips nearly disappearing as she squeezed them together. A cascade of waves fell over her far shoulder, and he reached to brush the hair behind her ear before he consciously made the movement. It felt like individual strands of brown silk, and he had to fight every urge to rub it between his fingers.

  She jumped when he touched her hair, but she didn’t pull away.

  That was a victory in his book.

  He leaned in just enough to catch the full scent of her shampoo—something clean and subtly flowery. She smelled like a garden on the beach. She smelled like a woman should.

  She cupped a hand around the smooth skin of her cheek and licked her lips with the tip of her tongue until they were sleek and glossy. All
the moisture in his mouth vanished. His gut clenched like a clamp had been twisted on it.

  Dear God.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  Wherever the urge had come from, he beat it down, grasping for something—anything—else to think about. But a man couldn’t be expected to focus so close to her perfectly pale features, silky skin, and heavenly scent.

  He managed an audible swallow, leaning back just enough to inhale fresh air, clean air.

  He had to think of something to say. He had to get his mind off kissing those perfectly shaped lips she pursed as she lifted her eyelids to meet his stare.

  Was she taunting him? Inviting him to press his mouth to hers?

  Nope. He was still thinking about her lips. And his. Together.

  And that would be a recipe for disaster.

  His attraction wasn’t to be trusted. He’d proved that with Reece.

  And he’d never be able to forgive himself if he let this bumbling, uncertain attraction to Marie get in the way of protecting Jack. If she was anything but who she appeared to be, he’d miss it being this close to her.

  Still, he couldn’t pull his hand away from hers without saying something. “I got your note.”

  “I thought maybe you did.” Finally she pulled away, and he could suck in a whole breath, the fog around his mind slowly rolling away. “Is that why you asked me to go with you?”

  “Of course. Did you change your mind?”

  She stuck her tongue out between her teeth. “It may be a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, but she’ll never change it about ice cream.”

  “Fine. Fine.” He held out a hand to help her stand, but she was already getting to her feet. “I’ll never say such a thing again.”

  She waggled her eyebrows and pasted a crooked smile into place. “I just thought you might have wanted to give Jack and Aretha some alone time.”

  He turned his head in the direction of her gaze, wondering if Jack had walked into the room. But the dining room door was still firmly closed. Squinting at her, he tried to read between the lines of what she was saying. The message didn’t translate, so he shook his head. “Why would I give them time alone?”