The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson Page A

had, of course, shown up at the worst possible moment, she jerked her hand out of Aretha’s grasp to cover her mouth as she sought the air that had turned thin.
    Aretha’s eyes filled with concern. “Are you all right, honey?”
    She nodded, then shook her head. The floor jolted, and she stumbled against the movement. It couldn’t all be in her mind. “Restroom?” she asked between her fingers.
    â€œRight inside the back room. Go on. You’re whiter than a sheet.”
    Marie ran to the room, flipped on the light, and sank to the floor. The cool porcelain of the pedestal sink felt good on her forehead as she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She closed her eyes and the world went black, the ringing in her ears blocking out even the sound of Aretha’s worried voice.
    In about five minutes they would check on her and find her passed out on the bathroom floor.
    Perfect.
    Seth would pick her up, holding on to her until she awoke. Until she promptly had another attack from being that close to him.
    Just perfect.
    That scenario didn’t work in her imagination, and she certainly couldn’t let it play out in real life. Pushing her feet beneath her, she grabbed the sink to pull herself up. The oval mirror on the wall said exactly what Aretha had. Panic had robbed her of all color.
    Splashing water on her face helped a little, and she sipped from a cupped hand until she could swallow normally.
    Then came the knock on the door.
    â€œAre you all right?” Not Aretha.
    Taking a shaky breath, she turned the knob and faced Seth. “Much better.”
    His eyebrows furrowed, his lips tight. He didn’t believe her.
    â€œReady to go?”
    He stared at the top of her head as she staggered past him, hoping she could ignore the rope around her chest until they got back to the Red Door.
    â€œAretha’s just finishing ringing up your antiques.”
    â€œMy what?”
    He didn’t bother to answer, and she saw why when she reached the counter. Aretha smiled as she wrapped the ship in a bottle in brown paper and tucked it into a cardboard box.
    â€œMr. Sloane here has already taken your typewriter out to his truck. And I have the compass, lighthouse lamp, and ship right here for you.” She motioned to a second box. “We took the liberty of selecting a few classics to get your book room started. And he said you were to have that blue and green quilt. That was your favorite, wasn’t it?”
    Marie’s chest loosened as her gaze traveled between Aretha and Seth. It finally settled on Seth’s grumpy grin. “If Jack says you get antiques, then who am I to put a stop to it.” He picked up the box of books. “Besides, you have pretty good taste.”
    â€œNow you just come back here when you’re ready for more.” Aretha patted her hand. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I have another little gift for you.”
    â€œFor me?”
    â€œFor all of you.” Aretha’s smile broadened as Seth’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. She pulled a thin paper bag from under the counter and laid it on top as though it containedthe crown jewels. “After you left this morning, I remembered that I had a photo album of The Crick—that’s what most of the locals call this area—from almost seventy-five years ago. And what house do you think was featured in one of the pictures?”
    Marie’s heart stopped for a long second as she held her breath. It couldn’t possibly be the Red Door.
    But it was. There was no mistaking the gabled roof and wide porch. Even in black and white, it was Jack’s inn. Except it wasn’t entirely in black and white. Someone with a steady hand had painted the front door. Red.
    Her stomach lurched as Seth leaned over her shoulder to get a better view, his mouth open and eyes narrowed. “So it was red back then?”
    â€œIt sure seems that way.” Aretha looked