20
But I never went to culinary school.”
Marie patted Caden’s hand. “What you do in the kitchen is nothing short of miraculous. The first time I ever tasted your cinnamon rolls, I said I was sure that’s what an L. M. Montgomery short story would taste like. Remember? Your treats taste like red-dirt roads and jagged red cliffs.”
Caden’s eyes grew wide, and she looked to Jack, who sat across the table, for help.
He chuckled. “Not like dirt. Think she means your cooking tastes like island food should taste.”
Marie nodded, holding on to Caden’s arm, her smile growing. “You’re an amazing talent, and we love working with you.”
“I think you mean my dad. He’s the one with the training. He went to school for it.”
“We want you. We want your talent and your generosity. Your willingness to experiment. If your dad can spare you from the bakery, we want to hire you as the executive chef at the Red Door.”
Caden’s lips twitched in an attempted smile, but her eyes were still filled with uncertainty. “There’s a big culinary school in Charlottetown. Don’t you want someone who knows how to handle a kitchen?”
“Yes. Which is why we want you.”
Jack nodded his agreement, really only at the table for official purposes. After all, it was his inn and his future. And he’d told Marie to do whatever it took to get Caden to take the job. He’d negotiate the contract when it was time.
“What about your New York chef? Doesn’t he want that double oven?”
Jack harrumphed deep in his throat, and Marie smiled. “He decided to take another job in New York City, which is for the best. I’m pretty sure that his specialty would have been snooty eggs and tiny portions.”
Caden cringed. “I don’t cook like that.”
“I know. That’s why we’re glad he’s not coming.” Marie bit into her bottom lip, her mouth watering at the very memory of the first time she’d eaten one of Caden’s sweet rolls. “Think about what a bed-and-breakfast is supposed to be. It’s a home away from home. A place where your first meal of the day is a special treat, not something that you have to pick at. Guests want something that tastes great and will give them the energy to hike into Prince Edward Island National Park and walk along the beach. And we want something that will keep them coming back to the Red Door year after year. Breakfasts should feel like you’re at home. Only better. That’s what the food you make tastes like to me.”
Caden chewed on a fingernail, her usually happy features pinched in thought.
“In fact, I think your cinnamon rolls are the reason that Seth started tolerating my presence.”
With a little chuckle, Caden said, “I need to think about it.”
Seth slid the newly painted red front door into place, angling it until the hinge pieces fit together. A low whistle split the air. He spun to see Jack and Marie walking up the road, and the momentum of the door nearly toppled him.
“Looks great.” Jack’s voice carried past the neighbors on their front porch, who waved brightly.
“The inn is coming along,” the middle-aged man called.
“Sure is.” Jack’s chest swelled, his shoulders back and head held high despite the gutted kitchen and an uncertain future.
The meeting with Caden must have gone well.
When they reached the front porch, Seth asked, “So? Did she take the job?”
Marie’s grin split her face. “She’s going to think about it and let us know, but I’d stake good money on her taking it. You should have seen her eyes light up at the offer. She kept saying she wasn’t qualified and there had to be someone better, but we know we can trust her. She cares about this place or she wouldn’t have helped us paint cabinets and sent over so many goodies to keep us going. Besides, Aretha swears to her skills, and I don’t know anyone who would argue with Aretha.”
Her words bubbled like an overflowing fountain, her face shining even in the shade.
His fingers ached for the feel of her skin, his heart hammering at her nearness. She maintained a safe distance between them, but all he could see were her pink cheeks and the gentle curve of her neck.
And he had to touch her.
He leaned against the door to keep it in place and reached to brush his fingers down the side of her neck into the hollow where it met her shoulder. Her entire body trembled, but she smiled at him.
How was it possible that someone like Marie could feel for him even a fraction of what he felt for her?
His stomach bunched then soared. Writhed then quivered. And he was consumed by the memory of their kiss. Why on earth had he denied himself the acute pleasure of holding her against his chest and inhaling her fragrance even once? She was kind and smart and beautiful.
And he’d never have known her if Reece hadn’t taken everything.
She’d emptied his accounts, his wallet, even the pockets of his jeans.
But she couldn’t take his future. And with every passing day, he was pretty sure that Marie was going to play a big role in that.
Jack cleared his throat loudly, pointing back and forth between them. “Something going on here that I should know about?”
Marie laughed, and Seth shrugged. “Nothing to worry about.”
His narrowed gaze said Jack didn’t entirely believe them, and he homed his finger in under Seth’s nose. “Be careful, boy.”
After he walked away, mumbling something about Aretha being right, Marie grabbed his hand and laughed up at him. “Do you feel sixteen, or is it just me?”
“Oh, it’s not just you.” He dipped his head to press his lips to hers, but stopped just shy. Were they at this stage? Was he free to kiss her anytime he liked?
That could end up being more often than not.
She leaned in, resting a hand over his speeding heart. But instead of the kiss he hoped for, she whispered against his lips, “Were you able to work on Jack’s surprise?”
“Jack’s surprise? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
She blushed and looked away. “Well, not the only thing.”
The door shifted, and he had to lean away or drop the whole thing. Blasted door. He’d much rather invade her space and watch the inevitable pink seep from under the collar of her sweater, up her neck, and make the apples of her cheeks glow.
“Were you?” she prodded, tugging on his hand. “Able to work on his surprise?”
“Are we in a rush?”
Her smile faded, leaving only remnants of joy where it had been. “I think he could use some good news. I think it’s been a hard week, and I want to give him something wonderful, something that reminds him why all of this is worth it.”
Why did she care so much? What was it in her heart that melted at the sight of an old man losing a personal battle? He’d wondered the first time she’d mentioned the frame for the old black and white picture of the Red Door.
Reece wouldn’t have cared a lick about a man’s failing business. Marie worked night and day to help save it.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what he had thought was so special about Reece.
He pushed the door back into place and pulled one of the hinge pivots from his pocket. “Will you put this in the barrel of the bottom hinge there?”
She knelt down and slipped it in place. Then took the top one and slid that into place too. She stepped inside as he swung the door all the way closed.
“I finished the frame while you were talking with Caden. And I ordered the glass from a guy I know who’s also going to do the brass plaque like you asked for. Just write down what you want it to say, and we can have it in plenty of time for the grand opening party.”
When he spoke the words, he felt so much more certain that they would have a grand opening. That the insurance company would pay out and the kitchen would be fixed, the doors would open, and Jack’s venture would be a success.
“Thank you.” She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down until she could reach his lips with her own. She smelled of berries and cinnamon, like Caden’s kitchen. And she tasted like heaven, warm and pliant in his arms.
He’d build her a hundred picture frames if that was his reward.
Marie was elbow deep in dirt and flowers, her shins and knees caked with mud, when the phone rang that afternoon. She jerked out of the muck, stumbling up the steps and leaving dirt clods in her wake.
As soon as she was inside the door, she called out, “Is it Caden? Did she call about the job?” But no one answered her. The house felt empty as the phone rang again. She snatched it up. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Jack Sloane?”
The grouchy voice did not belong to Caden.
“I’m not quite sure where he is right now. Can I have him call you back?”
“This is Jeff Tate.”
From the insurance company. She scribbled his name and number onto a piece of paper on the kitchen counter, her hand shaking. This call was the difference between triumph and collapse.
“I work for Jack. Can you tell me what the decision is?”
“No. Have him call me immediately.”
“I will.” The other end of the line clicked in her ear, and she set the handset back in its cradle.
She called for Jack but still received no answer. A quick circle of the house confirmed she was all alone. The truck was still there, but Jack and Seth had disappeared. They’d mentioned picking up a few supplies in town. They’d probably walked to the grocery store. Or to see Aretha.
She didn’t try to squelch her smile as she settled back on the dirt, planting the rich peonies and colorful irises that Jack had brought back from a nursery on the east side of the island. Aretha hadn’t said anything about going on the drive with him, but the minute he invited her along, she’d closed up her empty shop, poured a little more food into Chapter’s bowl, scratched behind the cat’s ears, and hurried to meet him.
Jack deserved to be happy. He’d been on his own for a long time. Marie knew the feeling, and he’d rescued her. He might have been lonely too. But she’d been desperate for affection. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed it until he took her under his roof and opened his heart to her.
She’d wondered if it was the island’s special brand of magic that had healed her heart and cured her attacks, but maybe it wasn’t the island at all. Maybe it was just the love of a father. Maybe feeling safe was a by-product of being loved.
He’d offered her everything he could give and trusted her to help him with his dream.
And she could help him. If Jeff Tate had called with bad news, she could step in.
A vision of her father—red-faced and yelling, as he’d been the last time she’d seen him—danced across her mind’s eye.
“Do you know what your son did to my daughter? Do you know what would happen to your precious reputation if that became public knowledge?” He’d held the phone away from his ear, glaring at it like the little piece of plastic itself was his enemy. “I’m offering you a fair price for land that you’re not even using. What’s that land going to be worth when your name is dragged through a long court case and splashed across every tabloid in New England?” He had paused, letting a seething breath out between tight lips. “Agree to a deal now, and I’ll convince her not to press charges.”
The memory made her stomach ache, and she heaved just as she had that evening when she peeked through the narrow opening into her father’s study.
What Derek had done was inexcusable.
What her father had done was worse.
She’d run away, afraid to stand up to him. Afraid to face him down. Afraid to tell him that she wouldn’t let him use her like that.
Could she do it now? With Jack and Seth beside her, could she tell him what he’d done was wrong and she wasn’t going to be party to his blackmail schemes?
If she gave Jack the money that her mother had left, she’d have to.
“Marie.” Caden’s voice singsonged from across the street as she climbed the stairs from the boardwalk.
Marie wiped the back of a dirty hand across her eyes, swiping away any wayward tears, and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Caden.” It was more of a croak than a greeting, but the other woman was still crossing the street and far enough away that she might not have noticed.
“I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Really?” Marie leaned back on her heels, nodding toward the whitewashed step. As she rubbed her hands together, the scent of earth wafted around her. “What’s going on?”
Caden plopped down on a step, hugging herself and leaning forward. “I need to talk to you about this job.”
“Do you want it?”
“No—yes—I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed a palm to her forehead. Her blond bob hung in a loose curtain over her round cheeks, and Marie jumped up to sit by her friend.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m the person for this job. I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t have the experience that you’re looking for.”
“This inn doesn’t need experience. It needs you. We want you.” She reached out a muddy hand but pulled it back before she left dirty handprints on Caden’s arm.
“It’s just that I’m supposed to take over the bakery from my dad someday.”
“Oh. If he needs you, that’s all right. Is he retiring soon?”
“Not for another ten years or more, probably.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
Caden turned her head, her pale blue eyes filled with the pain of uncertainty.
Marie sighed, folding her hands over her lap. “It’s okay if you don’t want the job.”
“Yes, but I do want it.” She stared toward the row of pine trees and the sun-kissed inlet beyond. “I want to take it, but I don’t want to disappoint you. What if I don’t have enough recipes or enough knowledge? What would happen if I couldn’t live up to your hopes or people didn’t like my food?”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”
“But I couldn’t let Jack down. If I take it and fail, then I’m not just letting him down. I’m letting down my mom and Aretha, who believe in me and want me to succeed. And moreover, I’d be letting my dad down. He’s taught me everything he knows about baking. If I fail at this, then I’ll fail him. How could I hold my head up if I fail at the only thing he’s ever wanted for me?”
Marie shook her head. “What is it with fathers and daughters? Even as adults we can’t help but want their approval. Why is that?”
Caden shrugged. “I don’t know.” Cradling her chin in her hand, she leaned her elbow on her knee. “Maybe we’re just wired to want that affection, to want that affirmation.”
“But it seems like your dad really loves you.”
She jerked her head up. “Oh, he does. My dad’s the best. But it doesn’t mean I don’t crave his blessing. You know how Father Chuck always talks about God as a father. It’s the same thing.”
“What do you mean? The same what?”
She pursed her lips to the left and wrinkled her nose. “We all want the gifts, right? The good things that God has for us. We want God’s blessing. His approval. Maybe we want the same things from our dads. Their approval and their blessing, because we know that good things come with those.”
“Maybe with your dad. Not so much with mine.” She hadn’t meant to sound so acidic, but the words rang with years of anger and pain.
“What do you mean?”
Marie dismissed the comment with a wave of her mud-stained hand. “Nothing.”
But Caden wasn’t buying the brush-off. “What happened with your dad? You never talk about your parents. I guess I assumed they were gone.”
“My mom is. She passed away when I was seventeen. But my dad is alive and well and causing trouble wherever he goes.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
She forced a smile. “It’s all right. How could you have?” Brushing mud from her pants leg and trying for all the world to think about anything other than her father, she said, “So, what did your dad say when you told him about Jack’s job offer?”
She pinched her lips together. “He said he’d support me no matter what, and that if I really wanted it, I should take the job.”
“You have his approval no matter what, but you’re still afraid of disappointing him.”
Caden’s head bobbed. “Stupid. I know.”
Why did Caden insist on beating herself up? “It’s not stupid.” She swallowed, stalling for time and praying for anything to say to encourage her friend. But there was only one thing she could say. “At least your father is worth trying to impress. What’s stupid is knowing that your father is an underhanded liar and still wanting to impress him.” Her throat tried to close, but she fought through it until the words could come again. “I left Boston because I’d been trying to please my dad for years. After my mom died, I craved his attention, longed to meet his approval. And then I overheard him on the phone with a business associate, leveraging what was best for me into a deal on some land he wanted to develop.”
Pale blue eyes narrowed in on her as Caden laid a hand on her arm. “What happened to you?”
Marie looked away, blinking at the tears that seemed intent on moving in. “It’s not really important right now. But trust me when I tell you that I know how much we daughters want to please our dads. And if I had a dad like yours or Jack, I would still be trying to make him happy.”
“I’m glad you left. I’m glad you came here.” Caden bumped her shoulder and winked. “I think Seth is too.”
Time to change the subject. “So, what about this job? What if it started on a temporary basis? What if you could give it a test drive and decide if you even like doing it? You have plenty of time to try out recipes and plan a schedule before we open.”
If we open.
She banished the thought as soon as it popped into her mind. They would open. On time. They wouldn’t leave travelers stranded or guests hungry. She couldn’t leave Jack to flounder. They’d open. Whatever she had to do.
“And if it doesn’t work, you’ll look for someone from the culinary school?”
“Sure. No contracts. No pressure.”
“All right then. You have a deal.” Caden stuck out her hand to shake, but Marie held up muddy messes.
They were still smiling from their perch on the front steps as Jack and Seth plodded up the street, Jack with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped. When the men reached the end of the walkway, Marie called out to them, “We have a chef.”
Jack lifted his head, looking between the two women. “We don’t have money for a kitchen.”
Her stomach hit the ground, her ears ringing.
Jeff Tate hadn’t come through.
And now the money from her mother’s trust—and facing down her father—was the only way to save the Red Door.