The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson

cloudless blue sky, its call reaching far and wide and filling the unpaved lane with churchgoers. Marie leaned toward Jack and said, “I had no idea so many people lived around here.”
    The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “First Church has members from across the parish.”
    They stopped in the green grass beneath the empty branches of an old tree, joining a line of smartly dressed middle-aged women leading to a man with salt-and-pepper hair. His black clothes and white collar gave away his role at the church, but his smile wasn’t like that of any priest she’d seen at the cathedral in Boston.
    After several moments, the women dispersed.
    â€œFather Chuck.” Jack grabbed the other man’s hand, pumping it several times in quick succession.
    â€œJack Sloane.” The younger man clapped Jack’s shoulder. “Good to see you this morning, as always.”
    When Father Chuck’s eyes shifted to her, Marie suckedin a quick breath. His eyes were the color of amber. Just like her dad’s. He held out his hand, and she gave it a cursory glance, unable to shake it. That required touching this man who reminded her far too much of the past she’d much rather forget.
    â€œChuck O’Flannigan, parish rector.”
    â€œMarie Carrington.” Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears, but she didn’t attempt to try again in a warmer greeting.
    It took several seconds for him to realize she wasn’t going to shake his outstretched hand, but his smile didn’t dim as he dropped it back to his side. “What brings you to the Gentle Island, Marie?” Before she could come up with a useful answer, he turned to Jack. “Another family member helping you out? Another one of your brother’s kids?”
    Seth nearly coughed up a lung behind her, and she covered her mouth with trembling fingers.
    â€œNot quite.” Seth snaked an arm around her, brushing the side of her arm, to shake Chuck’s hand. If he noticed her jump, he didn’t let on. “Just a friend.”
    â€œA friend?” Chuck’s tone turned teasing, only missing a wink and an elbow nudge to border on church social gossip.
    Marie had wanted to ask the same question but for an entirely different reason. Friendship seemed like a bit of a stretch. Sure, they hadn’t killed each other after two nights in the same house. But that wasn’t exactly friendship. They’d gone antiquing together, but that was entirely at Jack’s prodding.
    If she had to guess, Seth wanted to be around her about as much as she wanted to be around him.
    â€œJust friends.” Seth’s tone brooked no argument or further teasing, firm and without doubt.
    All right then. Just friends it was.
    She could be friendly toward him. Well, at least nonantagonistic.
    As long as he kept his space. And didn’t insist on being alone with her for longer than a heartbeat. And never touched her again.
    He pressed a hand to her lower back, the imprint of his fingers on her coat sending fire through her stomach. He yanked his hand away like the contact burned him too, and she stepped closer to Jack, away from Seth’s touch.
    She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as Chuck and Jack chattered about the inn and renovations.
    Seth stared at the wide palms and long fingers of his hands as though they’d betrayed him. Had they? Maybe brushing against her was a reflex, something he’d grown used to with someone else.
    Well, it didn’t mean she couldn’t nip that in the bud right away.
    Putting another foot between her and Seth, Marie slid closer to Jack. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand landed on her shoulder.
    â€œMarie!”
    She spun at the singsong sound of her name, catching the raised eyebrows and curious glances of Jack and Seth before coming face-to-face with the woman from the bakery the day before.
    â€œIt’s Caden. Caden Holt.”
    â€œYes,