The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson Page A

of course.” Marie let herself be pulled into a quick hug, fighting the urge to push away. This was good. She should practice letting people touch her again.
    As long as it wasn’t Seth.
    â€œI didn’t expect to see you here.” Caden’s bright eyes flashed toward Seth, then to Father Chuck, who earned a quick nod and a wider smile as he excused himself to prepare for the service. “You didn’t come back to the shop yesterday, so I assume you found Aretha’s.”
    â€œYes. Thank you for the directions. I did.” She waved a hand over her shoulder toward Seth. “We found some great pieces.”
    â€œI’m so glad.”
    An awkward silence settled over them before Marie’s childhood training kicked in. “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? Caden, this is Jack Sloane. He owns the Red Door Inn.”
    Caden and Jack shook hands vigorously as she smiled. “Is that what you’ve named it? The Red Door?”
    â€œWould seem so.” Jack chuckled.
    Caden’s cheeks, rosy from the morning breeze, drooped. “But the door isn’t red, is it?”
    Jack all-out hooted at that. “Not yet, my dear. Not yet.” As he wiped his eyes, he continued, “This is my nephew Seth. He and I have a lot of work to do on the old house before we open.”
    Caden waved at Seth, flashing her teeth at him. “When will you open?”
    â€œIn May.”
    The smile faded, leaving Caden with scrunched-up eyebrows. “May? That’s two months away.”
    Jack nodded with a wide grin while Marie pressed her hand over the stone rumbling in her stomach. Why did Caden seem worried that they wouldn’t be able to get the doors open in May? Of course they could get the inn ready. Right?
    â€œWell, I’m sure it’ll be lovely.” Caden nodded towarda row of redheaded little boys and girls standing at the stairs leading up to the front door. “Would you like to sit with us?”
    â€œAre they yours?” Marie clapped a hand over her mouth. If her mother was still alive, she’d have been mortified. A lady didn’t say things like that. She didn’t act surprised at the thought of having half a dozen kids.
    The other woman’s laugh filled the churchyard. “Oh, no. They’re my nieces and nephews. That’s my brother and his wife over there.”
    Flames brushed from Marie’s collarbone up to her ears. “Of course.”
    â€œSo, would you like to sit with us?”
    Marie stared at Seth, who had twisted toward his uncle, his shoulders pulling tight against his button-up shirt. Those shoulders probably took up more than their fair share of a church pew.
    â€œThat would be very nice.”
    But as they settled into the wooden pew, worn smooth over the years, those imposing shoulders were right in front of her. Jack turned and gave her a smile, but she could only glare at the back of Seth’s head as it blocked her view of Father Chuck.
    Why was he always in her way? And he was far too close for anyone’s comfort.
    A little finger poked her leg, and she glanced at the child sitting next to her. With red braids and freckles dancing across her nose, she was as close to a living version of Montgomery’s fictional orphan as Marie had ever seen.
    â€œI’m holding the hymnal, so you’ve got to turn the pages.”
    â€œWhat?”
    The girl shook the book in her hands, yellowed pages flapping as the melody from the piano began to fill the square room. “It’s two pages. You have to turn the page when it’s time.” Her little eyes squinted hard as if she wasn’t sure Marie was up to the job.
    â€œAll right.” She leaned toward the girl and lowered her voice, but it still filled the silence in the split-second pause before nearly one hundred people began singing.
    Every eye within a two-row radius spun toward her.
    Every eye except the ones right in front of