The Red Door Inn

by Liz Johnson

  He took slow bites of his, the creamy icing melting in his mouth, the bread soft and not at all like Reece’s onetime attempt. Hers had resembled rocks more than clouds. But Caden’s handiwork tasted like a sunrise, light and fluffy and pink.

  When her treat was gone and she had only her coffee to distract her, Marie stared at the crashing waves. After a long sip of joe, she looked in his direction. She opened her mouth, then closed it, repeating the motion several times before wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “You want to tell me where you were planning on going this morning?”

  Her shoulders jerked, her posture suddenly straight as rebar. She licked the corner of her mouth and twisted a hand into the edge of her jacket. “How’d you know?”

  “You didn’t remember to hide your bag.”

  She sighed, running her hand through her hair. “I thought it would be better if I left.”

  He grunted. What was a guy supposed to say to that? He didn’t have a response, so he waited. Maybe if he let the silence hang long enough, she’d reveal her plans.

  “You don’t need me anymore. I’m an expense that Jack can’t afford. I’ve told him not to pay me, but he insists.”

  “So this is just about the money?”

  She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, her profile perfectly aggravated. “And you know . . . there are other things.” She looked about ready to stay more, but whatever was on the tip of her tongue stayed there.

  He stole a swig from his cup, the java turning lukewarm in the cold spring conditions. Time to get talking and get moving back to the house. “I am sorry about that. The other things, I mean. I shouldn’t have—um . . .” He jabbed at his hair, scratching behind his ear, hoping the words would spring free. But they didn’t. “I’m just sorry.”

  When she turned toward him, her eyes were filled with questions, the biggest and boldest clear. Why? Why hadn’t he kissed her? Why had he backed away?

  He couldn’t answer those unspoken queries without admitting that he sometimes still suspected her motives weren’t entirely altruistic. After all, her timing was perfect. She’d chosen to leave without telling a soul when it was clear that Jack’s money was running out.

  Less clear was why she’d stayed and stopped the water.

  So he asked a question in return. “Why didn’t you leave?”

  Her forehead wrinkled, her bottom lip disappearing as she chewed on it. With a shrug she shook her head. “I’m not sure. When I saw the water rushing out from under the sink, I knew you would still need me.”

  She meant that both he and Jack needed her, of course. But the simple use of the word you made his heart stop, completely unrelated to the icicles he inhaled.

  Her long lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and she took a long breath. “I don’t understand why these things happen. Jack is a good man.” The corner of her mouth rose, her eyes still closed. “He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met and more of a father than I’ve ever had.”

  The biting wind carried her words, jerking him upright. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing. I mean, I guess . . .” She shook her head as she pulled her knees into her chest. The fabric of her jeans pulled tight over her legs, and she flicked at a piece of sand stuck to them. “My dad is about the opposite of Jack. He’s never met a deal he couldn’t make or a situation he wouldn’t leverage.” She curled into a ball, her head bent and smile gone.

  He needed to comfort her. He’d been prodding and pushing for the details of her past, and now that they were coming out, he couldn’t stand to see the strain on her face or hear the quiver in her voice. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her into his embrace. She held fast at first and then let him guide her into his side. Her warmth made him forget about the cold and the reason for hurrying back to the inn. He could sit with his arms around her and her head tucked under his chin for hours.

  She leaned into him, her shoulder resting over his heart, which picked up its pace with each passing second.

  “Is that why you left Boston?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to tell me more?”

  “It’s a long story.” Her fist clenched, then relaxed, then tightened again. And she shifted like she was uncomfortable. But maybe she was just trying to decide how much she would tell him. Maybe she was trying to figure out how much she trusted him. He nodded gently, prodding her on. “Before I left, my father made it very clear that his priority was a real estate deal. Not me. He—” Her voice caught, but she cleared her throat and continued. “He tried to use some information that I had told him to blackmail the landowner.”

  “What did—”

  “Jack’s so different from my dad.” She cut him off, and at the rate she was talking, she had no intention of answering his half-formed question. “Jack really only wanted me to be safe and happy. He didn’t have a clue about me, and without questions he gave me a home and work that I love. Because of him I met Caden and Aretha.” She elbowed him gently in the stomach. “And you too. But I don’t understand why such bad things can happen to such a wonderful man. What did he do to deserve this?”

  Seth knew that question well. He’d asked—sometimes yelled—it at God time and again after Reece. Was he being punished? Or did God just not care? His conclusion hadn’t been hopeful at first.

  “I’m not sure. I asked Father Chuck something like that when I got here. I guess I had some pent-up anger after my business was stolen out from under me.”

  She turned her head, her hair catching on two-day-old stubble that he couldn’t shave. “What’d he say?”

  “Something about it raining on the just and the unjust.” He moved his arm, and she leaned further back against him. “In this case I guess it floods on the just and the unjust. We all have hard times.”

  She nodded slowly. “Father Chuck talks about God as a father, and up until I met Jack I thought I knew what that meant.”

  “How so?”

  “My dad was distant. He didn’t care. He didn’t hear me when I needed him. God didn’t either.” Her shoulders lifted as she faced the ocean. “But if I’d had a father like Jack, well, I’d have had a different picture.”

  He sighed. He didn’t have many answers either. He knew about being angry with God. Even months after Reece’s betrayal, it snuck up on him at times. “I wish I had some great wisdom to offer. But I wonder, if you had had a dad like Jack, would you see more of the good gifts that God the Father gives because that’s what Jack gives you?”

  She stayed silent and motionless for at least a minute, the only sounds the wind’s whistle and the waves cresting on the sand. When she finally spoke, her words were soft. “I want to give Jack a gift of my own. I have an idea, but I need your help.”

  “All right. Whatever I can do.”

  19

  Jack paced outside the doorway of the kitchen, his arms crossed and his gaze never leaving the middle-aged man with the clipboard standing in the center of the waterlogged mess. Aretha stepped into his path, holding out a steaming paper cup.

  “Take a deep breath and have some coffee.” Her eyes were soft but the line of her mouth firm. “You can’t make him work any faster.”

  The man in the kitchen looked under the sink and scribbled something on his clipboard.

  Jack nodded, taking the coffee and a quick sip. It burned his tongue, but the warmth pushed some of the dread out of his chest. “Thank you.” He ran a hand through his freshly washed hair. Aretha had been right that assessing the damage was easier after a hot shower and warm breakfast. “And thank you for letting us stay at your place this weekend.”

  “Oh, I’m happy to help. When Marie asked, I couldn’t refuse her.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “You have a place to stay as long as you want it.” Her cheeks flushed, the fine lines and wrinkles near glowing. She looked away, and her tone dropped like the phrase might add up to more than the value of each word.

/>   But he didn’t have time to do the math before the assessor joined them.

  “Well, I’ve looked it over and taken pictures.” He tapped his pen on his chin as his eyes ran down the form on his clipboard. “You were pretty lucky to catch the leak when you did, but the water damage inside the walls could be excessive. The cabinets will have to be removed and the drywall cut out and replaced.”

  That wasn’t new information. He and Seth had known that from the moment they’d seen the leak.

  “How much will the check be?” He let out a slow breath, clenching and unclenching his hand at his side.

  “I’m not sure.” The man’s eyes were gray as stone, his response about that helpful. “I’ll have to run some numbers, look at your policy, and consult with your agent.”

  Jack nodded, rubbing a hand over his hair. “We’re scheduled to open up in three weeks. What are the chances we can get a check in time to get this fixed?”

  The other man pursed his lips and squinted at his writing as though the answers to all the world’s questions were written there. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask the accounting department, but I can’t make any promises.”

  It seemed to be the guy’s favorite line, but it wasn’t very helpful.

  Jack’s only hope of paying off the loans he’d taken out to open this place was to actually get it open. A few of his rooms were already booked for after the first of May. But he couldn’t open without a kitchen. And he couldn’t redo the kitchen in a few weeks without a check.

  Jack stuck out his hand, and the other man’s grip was looser than a limp fish.

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  He showed the guy to the front door and closed it after him. Then he pressed his forehead against the cool wood.

  A warm hand snaked its way into his and squeezed. “It’ll be all right.”

  He shook his head, not even looking at Aretha. But he clung to her hand, the only stable point in this day. “The deductible is going to nearly wipe me out. And I have an overpriced French chef on his way with no kitchen for him to cook in and no place for him to stay.”

  “Where was he going to stay?”

  “The basement apartment. It was part of his compensation, a private apartment. But that’s Marie’s room now. I’m not going to take it from her.”

  “You’re a good man, Jack Sloane.” She brushed some hair from his cheek. “How can I help?”

  Still pressed against the door, he turned his head until he caught sight of her glowing green eyes. “I suppose prayer is about our only hope at this point.”

  She slipped an arm around him, pulling him close. When she hugged him tight, some of the pressure on his shoulders fell away. He knew he’d still have to deal with the issues at hand, but it was almost as if she’d taken some of the weight on herself.

  As she tucked her face into his shoulder, he rested his chin on top of her head, inhaling the sweet berry scent that clung to her hair like a halo.

  He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to hold a woman like this, to be comforted by a gentle embrace and calmed by soft words.

  One of God’s sweetest gifts.

  “I can’t believe how hot it is today.” Marie dumped a load of splintered wood into the back of Seth’s truck and wiped the sweat off her forehead. Only five days after the midnight freeze, the sun had returned and true spring weather had descended on the island. It was almost as if that night had never happened.

  Except for the gutted kitchen.

  As she trudged back inside for another armful of the remnants of the cabinets, she pulled off the leather work gloves Seth had loaned her and used them to fan her face. But the meager breeze barely registered against her steaming skin.

  Where the lower cabinets had been, Seth lay sprawled, his head halfway between two exposed beams in the wall. He must have heard the gloves clapping together, because he looked in her direction, pointing the flashlight in his mouth directly at her.

  Holding up a hand to protect her eyes, she said, “Did you find the leak?”

  “Yep.”

  That might not be a good thing. He’d been stewing about the point in the pipe that had leaked, worried that the section he’d replaced had failed under the pressure of the freezing water. Slipping her gloves back on and picking up a piece of wood from the pile on the floor, she prodded him. “So?”

  He pulled the flashlight from his mouth. “It was the joint in the pipe right behind the one I fixed.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Shooting for an appropriate level of enthusiasm, she grinned.

  He grunted.

  “It’s not?”

  “I should have seen it. I should have checked it.”

  “I don’t see how you could have had any idea that the pipe was weak.”

  He was silent a long time, so she just kept stacking damp wood in her arms. Finally he sighed. “There are water stains on this pipe, like it’d been leaking for a while. Not a lot. But enough. I should have looked for this kind of damage. It could have saved us all of this.” He sat up, sweeping his hand around the littered room.

  Balancing her chin on the stack in her arms, through tight lips she teased, “And then what would we do for the last few weeks before the grand opening?”

  As she’d hoped, his chuckle followed her all the way through the laundry room. They both knew there had been more to do than time to do it before the inn was ready to officially open its doors. And that had been before the pipe burst.

  When she returned, he was sitting in the same spot, his elbow resting on a bent knee. Paint spots adorned his long, powerful legs, and his gray T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. The bands around his biceps stretched under the cut muscles. He stared at her, following her path across the room. A wave of heat completely unrelated to the weather shot through her, stealing her breath in a most pleasant way.

  Why did he insist on stirring things in her that made her dream of a real future and a forgotten past? Her therapist had told her that eventually she’d meet someone she could envision a healthy relationship with. That eventually the hope for her future would begin to help the old wounds heal. But Seth? He’d been so sour, so angry. Until he hadn’t been. And always he’d protected Jack, loved and cared for his uncle in a way she didn’t know men could.

  Swallowing quickly, she fought to break the silence. “Have you seen Jack?”

  “He and Aretha went to fix us some lunch. They’ll be back soon.” The lid of his toolbox closed with a metallic clang, but she refused to look at him. When she stared into his eyes, she wanted nothing more than to stay there forever. When he smiled, she remembered being a breath away from his lips. And his three-day stubble only made her miss the little scar on his chin.

  She had to think about something else. Anything else.

  “Jack and Aretha have been spending a lot of time together this week.”

  “I guess.” He drew out the last word as though stumbling and tumbling over the thought.

  “Don’t you think they make a cute couple?”

  “I don’t think Jack’s interested.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. It was just quick enough for him to see. But also quick enough for her to take in his stance. He’d pushed himself to his feet, his legs shoulder-width apart and arms crossed over his chest.

  She hadn’t had a panic attack in weeks, but the rhythm of her heart picked up and her vision narrowed. He had the power to affect her like no one else.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He rubbed a hand across his wrinkled eyebrows. “They’re not . . . Aretha’s just a friend, and Jack still loves Rose. He told me so.”

  “Of course he still loves Rose. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room in his heart for someone else. He’s still young—” She paused for a moment, ticked her head to the side, and held up a rocking hand. “Well, young-ish. He’s got lots of life left, and I get the feeling he’s a little less lonely when she’s around.”

  “Why would he be lonely? He�
�s got us, doesn’t he?”

  She scoffed in his direction—this time careful to only look at his boots, which did nothing of significance to her breathing or heartbeat. “Are you going to hug him like Aretha did a few days ago?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time. He was probably remembering the scene that they’d walked in on after the insurance assessor had left. “Well, I’m not sure that’s the point.”

  “Well, what is then?”

  More silence from him, the only sound in the room the scrape of wood against wood.

  He sighed. “I don’t know. He still loves Rose.” His voice went up on the last word.

  “Is that a question?”

  “No.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “It’s just that Rose hasn’t been gone all that long.”

  “It’s been over a year, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but she was the love of his life.”

  Marie adjusted the boards in her arms, chancing another look into his face. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t love again.” Seth’s features twisted as if he didn’t like it one bit. He just didn’t have an argument against it either. “It’s been a rough week, and in the midst of tearing this room apart, I’m enjoying watching two people that I love find some happiness in spite of it all.”

  “Point taken.”

  She turned back to the trash pile, reaching for another handful to carry out to the truck. “When you were cutting out drywall and pulling out insulation, didn’t you ever see something good in this fiasco? Wasn’t there anything good about that pipe bursting?”

  “I’m glad you stayed.”

  The low baritone of his voice made her hands shake, and she kept her back to him so he couldn’t see the blush already creeping up her neck.

  He cleared his throat, but the intensity in his words didn’t change. “There’s nothing good about this mess. It’s going to be backbreaking labor to finish before the first of the month. And we don’t even know if we have the money to complete the project. Everything about that morning is a nightmare. Except that it made you stay.”

  The back of her eyes burned and a lump clogged her throat. No man had ever said such kind things about her. Certainly never to her.