The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson

Author:Liz Johnson [Johnson, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042040, FIC027020, Bed and breakfast accommodations—Fiction, Man-woman relationships—Fiction
ISBN: 9781493401734
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2016-01-28T05:00:00+00:00

14

Jack paced the kitchen, as had become his habit in the early morning hours after Marie left for her run. The girl couldn’t sleep more than three or four hours a night. If she wasn’t up late painting, she was drawing layout designs for the bedrooms. Even if she excused herself to her room early—as she had the night before as soon as Aretha left—her light didn’t turn off until the wee hours of the morning.

And somehow she was still the most pleasant person in the house.

He rubbed a hand over his hair, the other at his waist as he stalked the room. The inn was supposed to open the first of May. Rooms had been booked and guests confirmed. And they were behind and without money to pay a crew to help them get back on schedule.

He scrubbed his whiskers with his fingernails.

They had so much more than finishing touches to finalize. The shower in one of the first-floor bathrooms didn’t have any tile. The outside of the house needed to be painted. All of the kitchen cabinets needed to be finished.

He shoved at an open drawer, which groaned but didn’t move.

And apparently that drawer needed to be fixed.

Then, of course, they hadn’t started planting the garden or really gotten into the landscaping. It was too cold to do much yet, but they didn’t have a plan in place, and Marie seemed pretty sure that they needed one.

He swung open the refrigerator door, analyzing the breakfast options. Even after Marie’s most recent grocery store trip, the shelves seemed bare. Cold cereal and milk it was, despite his craving for something more akin to Caden’s sweet rolls—or scrambled eggs and biscuits.

Rose made the best biscuits, light and fluffy layers of heaven.

She’d left a recipe in her tin box. Next to the shortbread and pie crust cards.

He’d tried to make them. Once.

After she’d gotten sick.

He scratched his chin, covering his mouth and wishing the taste of strawberry preserves over oven-fresh biscuits wasn’t on the tip of his tongue.

He slammed the stainless steel fridge door closed, but the rubber seal bounced, swinging it wide again.

“Jack? Are you okay?”

Whipping around at the sound of Marie’s voice, he tried not to look too embarrassed. This was his home, after all. And if he missed his wife’s biscuits, then he was entitled to slam a door.

But the concern deep in Marie’s eyes couldn’t be missed. Even her rosy cheeks and wind-tossed ponytail didn’t detract from the very real unease.

Jack sagged against the counter next to the sink. “I’m fine.”

She nodded, but the creases in her forehead told him she wasn’t quite convinced. What did she want him to say? That he missed Rose? True. That he had started thinking he’d made the biggest mistake of his life trying to open a bed-and-breakfast? Also true. That he couldn’t stop as long as he remembered Rose?

He’d sat beside her hospital bed and promised her. He’d sworn that he’d find a home and open her inn on Prince Edward Island.

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