23
Seth straightened his polo shirt, tucking a loose tail into the waistband of his khakis and making sure his collar laid flat. He hadn’t been this cleaned up and put together all week. After all, there’d been no time between painting the front porch, touching up the blue exterior, setting up the guest rooms, and overseeing the remodeling crew in the kitchen. Actually, Caden had done a fair amount of that—telling them exactly where she wanted her permanent island, showing them how high she wanted the shelves.
And with her help, they were going to open on time.
Well, with Caden’s help and Marie’s money.
Which had come with no strings. Just as she’d promised. She hadn’t asked for her name on the deed or a percentage of the profits. They’d only had to worry about the finishing details. And there had been plenty.
But no matter how busy they’d been, Seth had found more than enough time to think about Marie, to imagine what she was doing, to wonder if she was missing him as much as he missed her. And he’d thought about what Aretha said.
She’d been right, of course. Even if it had taken him almost a week to come to terms with it. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, he’d fallen in love with Marie. But instead of treating her like the woman he cared about, he’d acted like a wounded rhinoceros, stampeding over her heart.
Now he only had one option—try to make up for it.
Licking his lips and taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door of Caden’s bungalow. It was more guesthouse than stand-alone, but Jack had assured him that this was where she lived. And where he could find Marie. The porch light flickered on, breaking the evening darkness.
After a short pause, the blinds in the window next to the front door flicked, showing just a glimpse of Caden’s blonde hair. It took another ten seconds for her to open the door, and instead of inviting him in, she stepped onto the cement stoop, crowding his space.
“Hi, Seth.”
She didn’t play coy, pretending she didn’t know why he was there. But she wasn’t going to make this easy on him either. He tugged at the top button on his shirt and swallowed, his mouth as dry as Palm Desert.
“Is Marie here?”
“She’s sleeping right now.”
It was only eight o’clock. The sun had disappeared for the night as he’d strolled down the road, playing out what he would say when he saw her. He wasn’t any closer to scripting his words, but he wasn’t sure time was going to be much help.
“Is that code for she doesn’t want to see me?”
Caden looked away and pulled on the sleeves of her sweater. “She’s hurting right now. But she told me what you said to her dad.”
“I think that was awesome.”
“The guy’s a jerk. He doesn’t realize what an amazing woman she is. Take it from someone who’s been stupid enough to do the same. He’s going to regret it someday.”
Caden nodded, putting a hand on the doorknob behind her.
“All right.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I guess I’ll try to catch her another time.”
As he turned to go, she tapped his arm. When he turned back, she whispered, “Church. Tomorrow.”
“She’ll be there?” Marie hadn’t made an appearance at the service the week before. He knew. He’d watched and waited for her.
Caden nodded and winked before dashing back inside.
Thirteen hours. He had just thirteen hours to figure out what he was going to say to her and how he would say it. That was more than enough time to drive himself crazy.
He stabbed his fingers through his hair and yanked on it as he walked up the inn’s front steps. Falling into one of the red Adirondack chairs Jack had put on the porch, he crossed an ankle over his knee.
“That you, Seth?”
“Yes.”
Jack appeared behind the screen door and leaned on the frame. “How’d it go?”
“She was sleeping.”
“At eight o’clock?” The timbre of Jack’s words echoed Seth’s own hunch.
“I know. But she’s going to be at church in the morning. She can’t avoid me there.”
“When are you going to talk to Aretha?”
Jack hung his head, the light of the early moon making his white hair glisten. “I don’t know yet.” He looked in Seth’s direction. “We’re quite a pair, me and you. You came to the island running from love troubles. I think I was hoping to forget how lonely I’ve been since your aunt Rose passed. And now look at us.”
“You feel as lonely as you were back then? Right after Rose died?”
Jack hummed from somewhere deep in his throat. “I guess not. But it’s probably because of you and Marie.”
“Are you sure about that?” He’d never been one to analyze someone else’s feelings, but Marie had been right. Jack was ten times happier since meeting Aretha than he’d been when Seth arrived. And it wasn’t just because Seth had been so sour.
Jack stared at the nearly full moon as if it had answers that couldn’t be found on earth. “I never figured I’d meet anyone I liked as well as Rose. Never figured I’d meet anyone like Aretha. She’s not your aunt. She’s different.” He scratched his cheek, his whiskers rasping beneath his fingernails. “She has so much life, always bouncing around getting things done. You know her husband left her almost forty years ago?”
“I didn’t.”
“She told me that’s why she opened the antique store. She needed something to keep her from thinking about him all the time, and she’d always liked vintage things. See, something like that could break a woman. Her husband leaving her like he did. Shoot, I knew the cancer was taking Rose from me, and it still almost broke me.” Jack ruffled his hair, scratching behind his ear, never leaving the support of the door frame. “I’ve been doing this all for Rose. Made a clean mess of it too.”
Seth chuckled. The old man wasn’t lying. He didn’t have a head for the hospitality business or much knowledge of the market. He didn’t even have the construction skills or the eye for design to put the finishing touches on the house. But he’d barreled forward because this inn was Rose’s dream.
“What is it that you want, Jack?”
Jack smacked his lips together, the noise reverberating off the porch’s white support beams and ceiling.
“I guess I want to know that my life isn’t over. I thought maybe it was, but it’s not. I’ve got more to offer than just my memories of Rose. And I want to share this next phase with someone else.”
Seth pushed out of his chair. This was all getting a little touchy-feely for him, so he slapped Jack on the back as he entered the house. “Go get her.”
Jack frowned, nodded, and stalked off the front porch and down the street, his form disappearing between streetlights and picking up speed as he approached the three-way stop and Aretha’s house just beyond.
In his room, Seth changed into something more comfortable before picking up a brown paper–wrapped package on the foot of his bed. He opened it to find the finished gift for Jack, the glass and brass plaque in place. The old image of the house nearly glowed in the mahogany frame, and he ran a finger over the plaque, Marie’s idea.
She would love it. The perfect gift for Jack, and they’d hang it in the dining room. Somewhere that everyone would see it. He needed to show it to her. But first he had to apologize.
If she wouldn’t speak to him, would she read a note? Maybe the old typewriter had one more letter in it.
He moved a stack of boxes to make room to sit in front of the black machine. As he scrolled a fresh sheet of paper into place, he closed his eyes and waited for the words to come. But they didn’t.
He’d been afraid to trust again. The scars had been too deep for him to see how God could give him another shot at love. But he had, and Seth wouldn’t waste it. “God, I need your help. Don’t let me blow it again.”
And then the words came in sharp, rhythmic beats against the page, each filling the sheet with his deepest hope. With every fading black line, he prayed that the typewriter would hold out. Just long enough to tell her the truth.
He loved her.
Dear M,
I read in a book once about a man who wrote a letter of apology. And the girl took him back.
I wish I had his words. But somehow I can’t find them. So I’ll give you the only ones I have.
When I met Reece, I thought I’d met the woman I would marry. She was everything I’d ever hoped to find. And when she left me, I realized that everything about her had been a lie. She’d constructed a pretense so perfect that within weeks I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
When you first arrived, I thought I was protecting Jack from the same fate by pushing you away. Except I couldn’t ignore how you cared about him. And when I realized that my feelings for you were beginning to resemble what I’d felt for Reece, I feared the same deception. I wanted to kiss you so much that day in the closet. But you were already finding a place in my life that I couldn’t imagine filling again.
I was terrified. And I was angry with myself. I should have been the one to help Jack when he needed it. He’s my uncle, but because of my own stupidity, I don’t have a nickel to give him.
At the first hint of what I thought to be a betrayal of my trust, I turned on you.
I have been a fool and the worst kind of man. I should have protected you. Instead, I left you to fend for yourself because I was so caught up in the pain of my own memories and anger at my own mistakes.
I don’t want to be that man. I want to be deserving of you.
Will you let me try?
Yours,
S
P.S. The frame is finished. Meet me at my spot? I’ll show it to you. I’ll be there until the sun goes down. I promise I’ll pay for the ice cream this time.
Aretha smiled when her doorbell rang.
She stood from the chair in front of her television, and Chapter jumped down, flicking her tail as if to say she wasn’t very happy about losing her seat. “Get used to it, girl.” She chuckled as she opened the door.
Jack didn’t even wait to be welcomed in. He just stepped past her and began pacing the living room, scratching his head and mumbling to himself.
“Please. Won’t you come in?”
He looked up in confusion and promptly resumed his shuffled steps. “There’s something I need to say to you, Aretha Franklin.”
She turned off the news that she’d been watching and sat on the edge of her seat, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt with flat palms. “What is it, Jack Sloane?”
He pointed toward the Red Door, never stopping his pace. “We don’t just invite you over to bring us food.” His words were benign, but his voice shook, almost as if he were angry.
“I know that. I volunteered to bring you meals.”
“Right.” He stopped, clearly confused that they were already in agreement.
“Right. So that’s one thing.”
Now she was confused. “What is?”
He pinched his eyes closed and rubbed his forehead, the lines around his mouth growing even deeper. “Here’s the other thing. It’s just that I’m not usually someone who likes to talk a lot.”
“You could have fooled me.”
He shot her a look, and she stemmed her smile with pursed lips, thankful she’d just put on a touch of lipstick. She smoothed a hand over her hair, making sure the ends curled under just as they were supposed to.
“I don’t usually talk so much. Don’t usually have that much on my mind. But ever since I met you, I can’t seem to stop. Between you and Marie, you’ve got me thinking about things and wondering what my life is supposed to be like. I only had a plan to get the inn open. Now that’s about to happen, and I don’t know what’s next. Running a bed-and-breakfast? I don’t have a clue about how to do that.”
“Because it was Rose’s dream.”
“Right. It was all her idea, and she would have loved the inn, but she’s gone. And I’m in that big house.”
“You have Seth.” She shrugged. “And if he plays his cards right, you might have Marie too. Plus it’ll be full of visitors soon enough.”
“That’s not enough.” He stopped pacing, his shoulders rising and falling, but his gaze level on her face.
She sat up a little straighter, trying to breathe and pushing all the hopes that this man had stirred in her somewhere deep inside. She’d said her piece, and he’d taken his sweet time to think about it. It was time for him to step up or walk away.
She’d been through that once, and she prayed that Jack was a better man than her husband had been.
“The thing is, you’re alone too.”
“Well, I have Chapter.”
He dropped his head toward the gray tabby winding its way through his legs. “Right. A cat. But you don’t have anyone to talk with. Anyone to share ideas and laugh with. And truth is, we’ve been doing a lot of that these last couple months.”
“That’s true. We have been.”
He rubbed flat palms together before making fists. They were big hands. Strong and callused from years of manual labor. A mechanic who opened his own shop. Aged with spots and little white hairs at his knuckles, his hands were still capable.
“Do you hear what I’m saying?”
She shook her head, pulling back from an image of those hands holding hers, caressing her face. “I’m sorry. What is it that you’re trying to say?”
He paced a little more. Sat in the chair opposite her. Stood again. Marched. Then sat back down.
“I wasn’t this nervous at twenty-five.”
His words surprised her, and she took pity on him. She pushed herself to her feet, stepped in front of him, and held out her hands. He grabbed them like a lifeline, squeezing until she smiled.
“Jack, don’t be nervous. Just tell me what’s on your heart.”
“You are.”
She gasped. How was she supposed to respond to such a simple declaration? But she didn’t have to. He wasn’t done.
“For as foolhardy as those kids can be, Seth and Marie have both asked me what I want. And I realized tonight that what I want most is a second chance at life. Didn’t even realize it until I was halfway in love with you. But I guess God knew what I needed.”
“And Rose?”
He put a hand over his heart and took a loud breath. “She’s always going to be here. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to be here.” He motioned back and forth between them with his finger. “I asked God to help me honor her, and I do that by living. You’re my answer to prayer.”
Tears filled her eyes, and his face turned blurry. She reached out anyway, finding his cheek despite her temporary blindness. She smoothed a thumb over his wrinkles, and he leaned into her hand.
“That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me. I like being an answer to prayer.”
“I like you.”
She blinked, setting the tears in her eyes loose. As they ran down her cheeks, he leaned in, kissing them away. His lips were soft and warm, filling her heart with a need she’d thought long since forgotten.
“Please don’t cry. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what was right in front of me.”
“I’ll stop.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Kiss me for real.”
He met her condition with flying colors, pulling her close and sealing their deal in one easy motion.
Marie jumped as Ruby Holt poked her in the ribs. “Turn the page,” she whispered.
This was becoming far too much of a habit, and if she didn’t start paying attention to the hymn singing, Ruby would take the book away. At least she hadn’t torn a page in the hymnal yet that morning. Which was quite a feat given the set of eyes that had been staring at the back of her head the entire service.
At least it felt like he’d been staring.
She’d have been staring if she were sitting behind him.
As it was, the tingles going down her spine the entire service and the letter tucked into her pocket had been more than enough to distract her in her weekly hymnal-holding duties, and Caden’s little niece had learned nothing about patience and understanding since they first shared a pew nearly two months before.
Marie had barely had a chance to read the letter after Seth slipped it in her hand as he passed her on the lawn beneath the giant tree dressed in purple leaves. No words, no explanation. Just a gentle smile, his hand on hers, and an envelope tucked into her fingers.
She followed him with her gaze until he disappeared into the church behind Jack and Aretha, who were holding hands like they were on their way to the prom.
She’d had to hurry to make it into her place on the Holt family pew before Father Chuck began the service. And when she sat down, Seth had sat directly behind her.
It hadn’t taken more than a quick scan of the letter—typed out on the trusty Underwood—to know exactly what it meant. What Seth wanted.
He wanted a second chance.
All she wanted was a chance to think things through without the weight of his gaze on her shoulders.
From his place at the front of the room, Father Chuck finished leading the hymn, and her duties were paused for a brief moment.
“Before we close the service with one of my favorite hymns, I want to remind you of a wonderful promise from the book of Matthew, chapter seven, verse eleven. ‘If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!’ God isn’t a vending machine to ask for the things that we want. Rather, he gives us what is best. He works the things of this world for the good of those who love him. He’s the fountain of every blessing, the loving Father who longs to give us sweet gifts.
“Turn in your hymnals to number 273 as we close the service.”
She began flipping pages as fast as she could, automatically curling into the inevitable jab if she didn’t get there fast enough. At least the hymn had made it onto one page.
The pianist hammered out a quick introduction, and the church took a collective breath before launching into the first lines. “Come, Thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace.” The rest of the church continued on, but her voice fell silent. The first line rolled around in her mind over and over again until she could see the words on the backs of her eyelids. The fount of every blessing. Like the blessings fathers longed to give their daughters.
Her entire life she’d only been able to see God as distant and uncaring. If he was her heavenly Father, he must be like Elliot Carrington.
But what if he was like Jack Sloane? Intent on loving and blessing her, even when she had nothing to give him in return.
She swept a glance down the row to Caden, who gave her a quick smile. And then there were Aretha and Jack, snuggled together sharing a hymnal across the aisle. And Seth, his rich tenor joining in the chorus that swelled until it seemed the sanctuary’s windowpanes would burst.
All of the terrible times had brought her here. To the island she loved, the home she’d hoped for, the blessings of a family she’d always wanted.
And a love she’d never expected.
On the third verse, the pianist stomped his foot and pounded the keys, and she joined in as the words rang through the ceiling beams.
“O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.”
Her voice trailed off, tears coming to her eyes. She didn’t have a clue what a “fetter” was, but the goodness they sang about—she knew a thing or two about that. And it would keep her coming back to him over and over.