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.

She didn’t turn toward him, even as his boots scraped the floor. His warmth surrounded her as he drew close. His breath stirred the strands of hair that had escaped the knot at the nape of her neck. Closing her eyes, she held every muscle in check, fighting the temptation to fly apart.

His fingers wrapped around her arm, cupping her elbow as he leaned so close that she could feel his lips moving against her ear. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk.”

She nodded, unable to offer anything else in response.

“When I look at this mess, I think about how glad I am that you’re here. How much I like your smile and your bossy notes.” Chills swept down her spine as he swallowed. She took a deep breath but only managed to inhale his scent, the smell of earth and lumber and the island. “The Red Door wouldn’t be the same without you. I don’t think I’d be the same either.”

Eyes still pinched closed, she turned her head in the direction of his voice. The rough pad of his thumb swiped across her cheekbone, and she nearly dropped everything in her arms. Taking a shaky breath, she opened her eyes, then slammed them closed again as his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth. Like silk ribbon in the wind, her stomach danced at his caress. A strong arm slipped around her back, the other hand tucking into the hair above her ear.

He pulled back, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Me too.” Her words were hoarse, like they had to fight to make it out of her throat. But she didn’t have to say anything else when he swooped down again, pressing his lips against hers.

She dropped the weight from her arms and turned to meet him. His lips were at once soft and urgent. Gentle and persistent. Light and fire. The arm around her waist tugged her closer to him until there was nothing between them but the pounding of her heart. The breadth of his shoulders both dwarfed and protected her.

Blood rushed through her veins, thrumming at her neck, eclipsing every memory from the scene in the closet.

Stretching to her tiptoes, she leaned into his kiss and clung to his shoulders. Without them, she’d have lost all balance. Even with her hands firmly knotted into his shirt, she was falling onto a cloud.

Then the front door slammed closed and the cloud popped.

She jumped out of Seth’s embrace, standing in spite of trembling knees. Rubbing at a raw spot on her chin, she stared at his lips. His perfect, pink lips.

“We brought lunch.” Aretha’s voice carried through the house, but her footsteps didn’t follow.

Seth blinked several times, a Cheshire-cat grin already in place. While he kept a couple feet between them, he rubbed a particularly sore patch on her cheek with his thumb. “You’re kind of red.” He combed his fingers over his whiskers. “I’ll shave next time.”

The words rang in her head. A promise, at once terrifying and exhilarating.

Next time.

Dear Lord, let there be a next time.

“You kids coming to eat?” Jack stuck his head into the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”

Seth broke from his statued stance first. “Yes. We’ll be right there.”

Marie slipped off the work gloves and rubbed her palms over her cheeks. “How bad is it?”

Seth put a hand on the small of her back as she stepped past him. “Hey, maybe they’ll be so focused on each other they won’t notice.”

She pushed his arm, eliciting only a laugh. He held open the door for her, and she plastered a smile into place, ignoring Aretha’s curious glances and knowing smile.

The sun was still an hour from setting as Marie opened a can of paint in the backyard. Candy-apple red dripped from the lid, and she stirred it with a wooden stick until it was smooth and even.

“Where do you want this?” Seth’s voice came from the opposite side of the front door, only his hand visible on one side as he balanced the door on a dolly.

“Right here.” She pulled a sawhorse up alongside another, and he laid the door in place.

“Why didn’t you get Jack to help you?”

Seth brushed his hands together. “He’s on the phone again. And I didn’t want you to lose the light.”

“Thanks.” She smiled as she ran a damp rag over the door. “The insurance assessor again?”

With his hands on his trim hips, he squinted back at the house. “I don’t think so. But whatever it is, it isn’t good news. Jack was stomping and growling.”

She hesitated before dipping her brush into the paint can. “What else could it be? Everything that could go wrong already has.”

“Not quite.” His words were low and filled with dread, and they sent a needle of fear piercing through her stomach.

Pushing it aside, she swiped red paint down the front door in even, smooth strokes. The white disappeared behind the brilliant red, and she smiled.

The inn was getting its namesake.

“You know what Jack told me the first time we talked about the red door?”

She glanced up to find him staring at her, following the movements of her hand as she methodically applied even, clean stripes of paint. “What’s that?”

The memory brought a smile to Seth’s face, and he dropped his hands from his hips. “He told me red doors are a sign of welcome, an invitation. Years ago during harsh Canadian blizzards, red doors helped stranded travelers find safety and protection from the storm.”

Her hand stilled, her lungs forgetting how to breathe. Somehow Jack had known at the very beginning how much she needed protection from her own storm. He’d offered her a red door in every sense of the word. And now he needed her help.

Oh, she’d given him her time and sweat. She’d stayed when she thought she should go.

But could she give him the thing he needed most—the money to get the doors open on time?

She could solve all of his worries. She could fix his problems with one call to her bank. One conversation and Jack wouldn’t have to worry about anything but what to serve for breakfast on the first day.

And she’d have to face her father.

But perhaps—with Seth and Jack by her side—she could handle that.

Seth seemed oblivious to the dilemma his words had prompted, so she turned back to her work. She might not have to do anything. If the insurance assessor came back with good news and a fast check, they’d have what they needed to fix all that had been destroyed.

Halfway through her next brushstroke, the back screen door rattled and closed with a crack. Jack marched down the steps, his movements tense and face tight.

“That no-good, lying son of a gun.”

Seth looked at her with raised brows, and she could only lift a shoulder and shake her head.

“Jack?” she started cautiously. “What happened?”

He paced the length of the door, head bowed and hands clenched. “I took his word. He said he’d be here. No need for a contract. No need for anything formal. A handshake and his references were good enough. And now this.” He swung an angry hand toward the house, his face a mix of pain and fury.

Seth stepped in front of the older man, blocking his path and putting his hands up to calm the angry rant. “What’s going on?”

“He’s ruined everything.”

“Who?” Marie said.

Jack turned to her, the steam escaping from his tirade as his shoulders slumped. His bushy brows hung over his eyes, shadowing the pain there. “Jules Rousseau.”

“The chef?”

He nodded.

Seth’s face turned into a younger version of Jack’s, his features twisted with indignation. “That no-good, arrogant—” When he glanced at her, his words abruptly ended. “What are you smiling at?”

She pushed the corners of her mouth down with a thumb and forefinger, but her lips wouldn’t stay put. This wasn’t the disaster they thought it was. If only they could see that this freed them up to find someone better.

Someone who knew and loved the island. Someone who could spoil them all with her pastries. Someone already invested in the inn.

“What are you thinking, girl?” Jack said.

“Only that now you don’t have to pay an exorbitant salary for a man you never really needed.”

“But we don’t have a chef.” Seth scrubbed a hand down his face. “We can’t open a bed-and-breakfast with no breakfast.”

“Right. We need a chef who can make breakfast shine. Someone who bakes sweets so intoxicating that your guests can’t wait to get out of bed. Someone used to making meals large enough to feed a houseful. Someone with talent and skill and a love of local produce.” She nodded slowly, urging them to see the image taking shape in her mind. But they both stared at her like she was trying to get them to understand a foreign language.

“We already know the perfect person for the job.”