The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson Page A

it?”
    Jack snorted at the suggestion, but Marie wasn’t so sure that Seth had been joking. He leaned a hip against the far counter, crossing his arms and scowling at his uncle, whose finger still traced the detail of the frame.
    â€œWhere did you get this? It’s perfect. My Rose would have loved this. She loved this island so much.” Jack’s eyes glistened, and he blinked against the pools beginning to form there.
    â€œI got it at the antique store you told me about. Aretha Franklin, the owner, pointed it out to me, and I knew it would fit in this house.” Her hand hovered over Jack’s forearm long enough for her to take a deep breath before she risked touching him. Her skin burned at the first voluntary contact she’d had in weeks, and she yanked her hand to her chest, cradling it there.
    Seth, oblivious to the enormous step she’d just taken, pointed his chin toward the map. “So is that all you got? I thought you were going to look for some bedspreads.”
    Twisting a finger into the collar of her sweater, she stared at the planks of the floor. “They were a little more than I expected.”
    Jack looked up from where he inspected a tract of land. “How much?”
    â€œBetween six and eight hundred.” She managed a swift breath. “Each.”
    â€œI told you the antique store was a waste.” Seth’s words bit so hard they nearly broke her skin. Even though he addressed his uncle, the reprimand was clearly for her. “We don’t have time or money to throw away on frivolous knickknacks.”
    She reached into her pocket, pulled out all the money Jack had given her, and held the bills out to him. Seth’s jaw went slack.
    â€œClose your mouth, boy, or you’ll start catching flies.” Jack shot him a hard look. “And keep it closed unless you’ve got something constructive to add to this conversation.”
    â€œAretha gave the map to me. It’s kind of a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift, but I promised that if we need any other antiques for decorating the inn, we’ll look at her store first. And there were so many interesting things there. We can easily find one or two key pieces for each room in the house. Our paint colors and linens will accentuate them. For example, this silver frame would pop against a dusky blue, so we should look for that when it’s time to repaint the dining room.”
    Jack lifted his brows just enough to tell her he knew she was teasing him about the green walls, but he said only, “Well done.”
    Something sparked in her chest, but she couldn’t quite name it. She’d found just the right piece to start, and Jack approved. Perhaps it was just pride in a job well done, but somehow this felt different than graduating with honors from Wharton with her MBA or winning a high school swim meet.
    What she’d done mattered to someone. It was more than bragging rights to his buddies or closing another deal.
    The inn mattered to Jack. And to Seth.
    Maybe she was a part of that. Because it mattered to her too.
    â€œAnd I saw these sheets—beautiful antique linens.”
    â€œFor this B and B?” Seth cocked his head like she’d almost certainly lost her mind.
    She waved her hand to stall his train of thought. “They were hanging with the quilts, and there was a gorgeous embroidered monogram. R. D. I. And I thought . . .” She shrugged, not sure where she was going or at all how to get there. “I thought the name of the inn should be simple. Straightforward.”
    â€œThe Red Door Inn.” Jack’s eyes turned misty.
    Goose bumps erupted down her arms as her gaze locked with his. He heard the same ring of rightness in the three simple letters.
    â€œVery well done, young lady.”
    â€œAnd the bedspreads? What are we going to do about those?” Seth’s questions ripped her from the cozy world of mattering. “As far