by Liz Johnson
His muscles tensed against her back. “For a while there at the beginning when you had attacks, I thought you were dying,” he said.
“For a while, so did I.” She closed her eyes as his heartbeat slowed to a more normal rhythm. “I hated them. I felt so weak, so defeated. Like it was God’s cruel reminder that Derek had won. Over and over. So I kept telling myself that God didn’t hear me, but I still called out for him to rescue me with every attack. Because even though I told myself he didn’t care, I desperately wanted him to.”
“And what have you decided about that?”
A gull swooped low, landing on the beach and digging for a leftover treat. “Just that God longed to give me good gifts. What came before got me to right here, right now, and made me more thankful for them than I could have been before. After all, he gave me a family I never expected, Jack and Aretha, Caden, and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she suddenly recognized she’d been about to name him as her sweetest gift. At least he couldn’t see the blush covering her face at that angle.
He cleared his throat. “I’m not a perfect man.”
“Oh, really?” She laid the sarcasm on a little too thick.
“Hey, you didn’t have to agree so quickly.” He bobbed his shoulder, bouncing her head, but she found her spot again, safely tucked into his side.
“I was kidding. Go on. Tell me about your imperfections.”
Now it was his turn for a bit of teasing. “Well, there are so few of them. And they’re hardly noticeable. So you’re a very lucky woman.”
She wrapped her hands around his waist, pulling him close as his heart kicked into overdrive.
She’d done that. She’d made his pulse race like an express train. It stole her breath. Not a panic attack or anything resembling fear. Just shortened breaths caught up in the hope for what might lay ahead of them.
His hand moved in slow circles on her back, and she lifted her head to kiss the underside of his smooth jaw, the scent of aftershave still clinging to him.
“You shaved.”
He nodded, catching her chin where it was tilted toward him. “I promised I would.”
A roller coaster couldn’t have made her insides fly apart faster. He’d made that promise after their first kiss. About their next kisses.
She’d hoped. She’d come to this spot hoping for at least one more kiss. And maybe more. She didn’t know what the future would bring or what exactly she was ready for.
But she was definitely ready for one more kiss.
He was too. That simple fact sent her falling against him, knocking him into the sand, and half lying on top of him. “What were you expecting, Seth?”
His grin was slow and crooked, and he leaned up until only inches separated their lips. He cupped her cheeks with his hands, his breath fanning her face. “Nothing. I wasn’t expecting anything. I was just praying you’d give me a second chance.”
“I’m not going to lie.” Her words were barely a whisper, and the way his gaze had zeroed onto her lips, he was probably reading them. “I was expecting ice cream.”
He licked his lips. “I forgot my wallet.” His words were serious, but she could see the humor flickering in his eyes.
“Never stopped you before.”
“The kid at the ice cream shop refused me a second chance. You won’t be as cruel, will you?”
She shook her head and touched her lips to his. Like lightning touching a pine tree, her world exploded, and she jolted back.
Seth’s expression matched her own surprise. But he quickly recovered, tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling. “I guess that’s a yes to the second chance?”
“I suppose.” And just to make sure he didn’t have to doubt it, she kissed him once more. The sand under her knees shifted as she lost herself to the tender touch of his hand on her back and the whispered brush of his knuckles along her jaw.
This was what it felt like to be cherished.
Heart swelling, she closed her eyes against the sweet torture of being so near to this man who made her lose her breath in the best possible way. When she finally pulled away and nestled into his neck, he smelled of salt and lumber and the inn they both loved.
“And just how many second chances do you think you’re going to need, Seth Sloane?”
“I don’t know, but I sure hope they all come with kisses like that.”
She did too.
Seth squeezed Marie’s hand, tugging her closer to his side.
She shot him a look of frustration that made him laugh and reached with her free hand to snag another cream puff off of Caden’s silver tray. “These are so good,” she sighed, popping the whole thing into her mouth. She groaned in delight. “It’s like she took cooking lessons in heaven.”
He laughed again, bumping into Caden’s mom and Aretha, who were appraising the antique furniture and decorations in the dining room. Aretha winked as though seeing them hold hands was something new.
“You’ve done an amazing job with this old place, Marie.” Caden’s mom—whose name he could not remember—nodded in appreciation at the framed seascapes along the walls.
“I wish I could take credit for it, but nearly everything in the Red Door is from Aretha’s store. She’s the one with excellent taste. I just borrowed from it.”
Aretha glowed, pushing her hands out and passing the compliment on.
“I especially love the Montgomery Suite upstairs. The quilt with the quote about dreams is amazing.”
His heart skittered, praying that during the endless tours no one had noticed what he’d left in that room.
“Thank you. That was a fun day—finding all those quilts.” Marie tightened her grip on his hand, and he knew the memories she recalled. The auction. The time in his truck. The first time he’d ever opened up to her.
He’d been halfway in love with her even then but too inane to realize it.
As the women wandered off, Marie hooked her arm through his. They leaned against the wall, watching their friends mingle and mix. A large group, led by Father Chuck, lined the antique buffet, taking hearty helpings of Caden’s treats.
Marie pushed to her tiptoes and leaned on his shoulder. “I knew that was going to be popular. Just wait until the guests arrive next week. It’ll be perfect.”
“Yes, it will.” Just like her.
He smoothed her hair from the top of her head down to her cheek and leaned in to kiss her lips. At the last second, he decided their audience might not appreciate such a display, so he pressed his lips against her forehead, a promise of things to come.
Just as he pulled back, Jack stepped to the front of the room, raising his hands and calling for their attention. A hush fell across the crowd, smiling faces all turned to his uncle. By his side, Aretha buzzed with anticipation and excitement.
“You know I’m not a man of many words. So I’ll keep this brief. Just want to thank you for coming out tonight and for what you all have done to make my Rose’s dream a reality.”
Marie slipped away, ducking into the kitchen and returning before Jack had even gotten to the next line of his speech.
“I know she’d be proud of this place and the people who work here. Caden, we’re so happy to have you on board.”
Her round face crinkled into a smile.
“And Seth and Marie, come on up here.”
Marie led the winding way, never letting go of his hand. It was a mystery how someone so small could fill him with such joy, but he’d follow her until he figured it out.
“You know none of this would have happened without you two.”
“I hope you mean that as a good thing.” The room roared at Marie’s quip, and she grinned at them. “Seth and I wanted to give you something, Jack. The Red Door means so much to both of us, and we wanted to remember whose dream it was in the first place.”
Jack’s brows folded together as he accepted the paper-wrapped package she held out. With shaking hands, he pulled off the string and paper to reveal the photograph of the
home three-quarters of a century before. The brass plaque ran along the bottom of the glass.
In a whisper, Jack read the inscription. “In memory of Rose, who prayed that hearts would find healing in this home. Rose’s Red Door Inn.”
Tears welled in Jack’s eyes as he leaned over to show it to Aretha. She didn’t try to contain her emotions, her hands covering her mouth as drops rolled down her cheeks.
“We thought the inn should be named after the woman who inspired it,” Seth said.
“Thank you.” The words weren’t loud enough to hear, but Seth felt them as Jack slapped him on the back and pulled him into a hug. “I’d have wanted a son like you.”
The back of his own throat suddenly felt scratchy, and he had to turn away to pull himself together. Rose’s prayer had been answered. God had already healed at least three hearts here.
Much later, after the house was nearly empty and only the very best of friends still lingered, Seth whispered in Marie’s ear, “I want to show you something.”
Her eyebrows arched, but she didn’t ask any questions, just followed him to the stairs that led to the back bedroom—the Montgomery Suite.
“Where are you kids off to?” Aretha’s teasing voice caught them just at the foot of the staircase. When they turned, Jack was hurrying to catch them.
“I’ve been meaning to ask what your plans are.” Jack’s voice was gruff, still plagued by the emotion of the night.
Seth shrugged and Marie shook her head. “We haven’t had much time to talk about it yet,” she said.
Jack held on to Aretha, looking down at her as she nodded her encouragement. “We’ve been talking.” He lifted the back of Aretha’s hand to his mouth, kissing it until she nearly glowed. “We love the Red Door—Rose’s Red Door—but running an inn and an antique shop doesn’t leave much time for newlyweds—”
Marie squealed, wrapping her arms around Aretha’s neck and holding tight. “You’re getting married? When?”
Aretha tittered with delight. “This summer.”
Seth chuckled, pulling his uncle into a hug. “I should have guessed. You two have been thick as thieves lately. When did you decide?”
“Last night. When you’re our age, there’s no time to waste. Why put it off?” Once extracted from the embrace, Jack wrapped his arm back around Aretha’s waist.
“I’m so happy for you.” Marie sighed, holding her folded hands under her chin as her gaze traveled back and forth between them, pure joy in her smile. But it was the look in her eyes that made his stomach jump.
She wanted that for herself. She wasn’t ready now. Maybe she wouldn’t be ready very soon. But down the road. Someday.
Someday she’d wear white and walk down an aisle.
What nearly bowled him over was realizing how much he wanted to be the man waiting for her. And he would wait for her, right by her side. No matter how long it took.
Jack winked at Marie. “Since our sweet girl was hiding a Wharton MBA under a coat of paint—”
She covered her cheeks. “I tried to tell you. I tried to help.”
“I know you did. I just wasn’t ready to hear it. I knew there was more to you than you let on. You’re one impressive young lady.” With a wrinkled hand, he squeezed her elbow. “Since you both love this place as much as we do, and since you’ve got that fancy education . . . Well, your dad, he was wrong. This is the perfect place for you to use all that learning. And we couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Marie’s eyes turned watery, her bottom lip trembling as she leaned into Seth’s arm.
“That is, if you want to. We’d love for you and Seth to run the Red Door and take over all the day-to-day functions. It’ll be Seth’s inheritance someday anyway.”
Marie bit her still quivering lip, hope flickering in her eyes like the sun reflecting on Rustico Harbor.
“We need to go to Boston at some point this summer.” The grip on his arm tightened, and he patted Marie’s hand. He wasn’t going to let her face anything there alone. “But we’ll talk about it.”
“Of course,” Aretha said. “You know where to find us when you decide.”
The older couple wandered off, hand in hand, leaving him right where he wanted to be. Alone with Marie.
“I heard him bragging on your MBA to Father Chuck during the party. He couldn’t be more proud if you were his blood.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and she ducked her head. “The thing is, my dad was never really proud of me.”
She hadn’t said much more about her dad since that afternoon on the beach, and the tremor in her voice made him want to punch the man. Instead he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her to his chest. “He wasn’t?”
She shook her head until her ear settled in the center of his chest. “It was more about the prestige of having a Wharton graduate with the Carrington name. It was a status symbol among his friends, proof that his family was smarter and richer and . . . Well, I love Jack for caring like he does.”
She stepped back, shaking her shoulders as though she could brush off every hurtful reminder of her dad. “So what is this thing you wanted to show me?”
He led her to the suite, around the foot of the bed, and to the antique writing table she’d made him carry from the auction. On top of the table sat her beloved typewriter. And in it a fresh sheet of paper.
“I left you a note.”
She bent over to read the lines.
Dear M,
I was afraid to love you. I’m not anymore.
S
As she straightened up, a slow smile spread across her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his waist and licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m not afraid either.”
He leaned forward until their foreheads pressed together and his breath stirred her hair. “What is it about this place?”
“I don’t know, but there sure is something special beyond the red door.”
1
There was only one thing better than the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls in the morning. The taste of freshly baked cinnamon rolls in the morning.
Caden Holt pulled a pan of piping hot sweet rolls from the bottom of her double oven, breathing in the intoxicating aroma and tapping the golden-crisp top of a roll to the rhythm of her favorite Broadway soundtrack. Her mouth watered and her toe tapped as she slathered a bun with her signature cream cheese icing. The white glaze oozed down the side of the treat, and she caught the errant drip with her knuckle. Closing her eyes, she licked her finger clean before tearing off a corner and popping it in her mouth.
A tremor swirled down her back as sweet, sweet sugar exploded in her mouth, everything good and right with the world.
It only took three more bites to finish off her usual morning treat—after all, she had to make sure breakfast for the guests was up to par—and she immediately regretted devouring it. All that was left was a drop of icing on the scalding pan. But a chef didn’t fear heat. She’d gotten second-degree burns from less worthy causes.
After peeking over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone in her sanctuary, only the morning sun for company, she touched her finger to the tip of her tongue, scooped up the dribble, and licked it clean.
The sweets this morning would certainly pass muster, but she hadn’t even started on the main dish. While breakfast desserts were her favorite part of a meal, she didn’t work at a bed-and-breakfast pastry. As the executive chef of Rose’s Red Door Inn, she was expected to make a full meal to start every guest’s day off right.
Muted footfalls and hushed voices trickled from the floor above, promising that said guests would soon be poking their noses into the dining room, looking to fill their empty stomachs.
But for the next thirty minutes, she had the kitchen all to herself. Utterly, entirely, blissfully to herself. And the original London cast of Mamma Mia!
Lisa Stokke belted out her solo through the speakers tucked into the corner of the counter between a fully equipped stand mixer and canist
ers of the essentials. As Lisa’s voice rose, Caden turned a wild pirouette that would have had her forever banned from the Great White Way—not that she’d ever been there, or on any stage for that matter. She slammed into the kitchen island and bounced off the refrigerator, grabbing the edge of the counter to keep from tumbling all the way to the floor.
Her foot caught on the corner of a cabinet, and she laughed out loud as Lisa hit her high note and Caden hit her low point. Arms flailing as she fell, Caden scrambled for anything that would help her stay upright. She managed to grab hold of a single sheet of white printer paper hanging from the silver clip on the refrigerator. As soon as she tugged it free, her rear end hit the floor and she lost her grip on the page, which—aided by the fan in the far corner—slithered between the fridge and the nearest cabinet.
“No. No. No.” She shifted to her knees and crawled toward the black hole that had swallowed that morning’s instructions.
Caden’s boss, Marie, always left a list of special guest instructions on that clip. Food allergies. Gluten sensitivities. Young guests with picky palates. It all seemed innocent enough until one guest the previous summer had failed to mention his peanut allergy upon registration. Caden’s famous peanut butter and jelly French toast had nearly sent him into anaphylactic shock. He was one forkful of deliciousness away from a serious emergency when his wife noticed his hives and rushed him to the hospital in Charlottetown. He’d made a full recovery and joked later that he’d married his wife for her observation skills.
But the memory still made Caden’s insides squirm.
Food had such a strange and wonderful power. Wielding it made her feel simultaneously significant and vulnerable, fearsome and fragile.
To do her job well she needed the piece of paper glaring at her from the depths of the crack between wooden cabinet and stainless steel appliance. The unmoving refrigerator stood like a sentinel, refusing to budge from its guard. She tried to reach the page anyway, poking her chubby fingers into the crevice, but they didn’t make it much beyond her fingernails. Maybe if she could just slide the fridge over.