The Red Door Inn (13 page)

“I think some of it is just for sale.” Her blood rushed through her veins as she peeked into the first stall to find hangers and stacks of bright quilts in every color palate she could imagine. “We're coming back to this one,” she said.

“All right.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gait relaxed as he strolled down the first aisle.

“Seth Sloane!” The voice was as recognizable as her famous singing counterpart. Aretha bounced from one of the stalls at the end of the row and clasped Seth's hand with a firm grip. “Did you come alone? Where are Jack and Marie?”

“Hi, Aretha.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Marie's here. But Jack is running other errands. We're the Red Door contingent today.”

Aretha leaned around Seth's shoulder, checking to make sure he had his facts straight. Marie waved the hand that still tingled from the brief contact with Seth in the truck and managed a stiff smile. “It's good to see you.”

Aretha held out her hand, the palm facing down and fingers slightly curled. Marie reached out to grip the wrinkled hand, surprised by the strength of the squeeze as Aretha hauled her in for a hug.

“Sweet, sweet Marie. I'm so glad you made it.”

“Well, I'm not going to let that buffet go to anyone else.”

With a wink and a tug, Aretha whisked them into the
crowded confines of her booth. “I didn't think you would. And for about three thousand, I think you'll get it. But the auction doesn't begin for another hour.”

Seth hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “We figured we'd look around a bit. Decide what tables would go with the buffet.”

“Smart. Was that your idea, Marie?”

She could only look at her hands, not daring to meet Seth's gaze for fear she'd burst into laughter. Aretha had all but confined him to the halls of stupidity, and either he'd missed the comment or he didn't intend to defend himself. “We also need to sign up for a paddle number. Where's the registration table?”

“Oh, honey.” The word rolled from Aretha's lips about as slow as the real deal straight from the comb. “We don't do paddles here. Your raised hand is your word.”

Her father's friend, Gary Stinson of Sotheby's, would have fallen flat on his back. “You're kidding, right?”

Gray hair bobbed back and forth. “No need for it. We stick a hand in the air and make just enough noise to be sure we get noticed.”

Marie still wasn't convinced that the older woman wasn't teasing her when another customer—a paying customer—strolled in to look at the merchandise. “We'll talk to you a bit later.” Marie waved.

Aretha winked. “Good luck, kids.”

“Kids?” Seth's voice carried only far enough to reach Marie as they neared the end of the aisle. “I haven't been called a kid since . . . well, since I was a kid.”

He was looking for a reaction. A smile or a chuckle, but his whisper was too personal, too close. She angled her steps
away from him, putting a few extra feet between them before giving him half a grin.

She needed a little space. Just some breathing room. “I'm going to go check out the pieces up for auction and make note of what might work for—” She stopped herself before ending with the word “us.” After the reminder in the truck, she didn't need to get attached to anything else. “The inn.”

“Are you okay?”

She swallowed, then nodded with an overenthusiastic smile in his direction. “Yes. Doing great.”

“All right. I'm going to take a look at the booths in the other aisle. I'll let you know if I see anything.”

“It's a plan.” She spun and darted toward the tents where items were lined up behind a fence. A small crowd milled around rows of chairs to the side, waiting for the auction to begin.

She slipped in at the fence line next to a woman who was near Aretha's age but without any of the spunk and attitude. They exchanged polite smiles as Marie pulled a notepad and pen from her purse.

“That's a very nice armoire,” the woman said, indicating a wooden closet in a medium shade. Its intricate scrollwork seemed at odds with its depth and width.

“It is.”

“You in the market for a piece like that?” The woman's gray eyebrows rose, her stare hard and unblinking.

Marie leaned toward her and lowered her voice until it was barely a whisper. “I might be.”

“It may go out of your price range.”

Auctions were synonymous with head games. This woman just wanted to know who her competition was. But she'd played her hand too early. Now it was clear she wanted that
armoire, and she was going to put up the money to get it. In effect, she was warning other buyers not to bid her up because she intended to win the antique regardless.

“Maybe.” Marie shrugged, letting a hint of a smile lift her lips. “But probably not.”

As she walked away, she laughed at herself. She wasn't interested in that kind of bulky furniture. Pieces like that clogged the open feeling of a room.

When she reached the corner of the fence, Marie spotted her buffet.

And she spotted someone else surveying the same piece.

The man wore a blue coat over a white shirt, gray peppering his temples and neatly trimmed goatee. He too jotted notes on a piece of paper in his hand, while his gaze roved and caressed the edges of the century-old item.

She squinted at him, hoping even from fifty feet away that he'd get the hint and move on to other pieces on the block.

He didn't.

The even grain of the wood and scrolled brass knobs of the drawers belonged at the Red Door Inn. She'd already envisioned them against the long blue wall of the dining room, where every afternoon Jules Rousseau would offer his éclairs and beignets. And guests would find a reason to return to the Red Door in the warmth of the afternoon for a cool cup of lemonade and a sweet.

Well, the Jules Rousseau part was new, but the plan hadn't changed.

Guests of the Red Door deserved an afternoon treat. And they deserved to pick it up on this piece of furniture.

She wasn't going to walk away from the prize without a fight.

“What are you looking at? See anything you like?”

She jumped at Seth's words, the pages of her notebook flapping in the breeze. “I'm—” Well, it probably wasn't wise to confess that she'd been giving the evil eye to another bidder. “I'm not sure.” She surveyed the whole lot in three seconds and pointed at a square table with four chairs. “What about that? The detail on the back of the chairs complements the hardware on the buffet.”

He nodded, squinting hard as he shifted to look back and forth between the items. “Sure. If you say so.”

“I do.”

He cocked his head so his ear almost reached his shoulder, his gaze settling over her like morning fog on the bay. “You're kind of feisty today, aren't you?”

His words spread warmth through her insides. “Am I?”

He chuckled. “Well, it looks like the chairs are starting to fill up. Maybe we should find seats.”

She followed him toward the horseshoe-shaped setup, only glancing over her shoulder at her rival once.

The first several items on the auction block were of little consequence to them, the mind-game player's armoire and a set of end tables. Seth gave her a nudge when the nineteenth-century tables were announced, but she waved him off. He raised his eyebrows.

His lips were almost to her ear when he whispered, “Wouldn't they look good in the living room?”

She gulped at the lump rising in her chest and managed to respond, “The Red Door doesn't have a living room. It has a parlor.”

The look he shot her suggested he thought she had lost any good sense, but she let it roll off her shoulders as she
straightened in her chair, catching another glimpse of the man in the blue coat. He stared at his hands, apparently bored by the tables.

The winning bidder let out a whoop and the matching end tables were whisked away.

“Next up is a cherrywood sideboard or buffet made by craftsmen right here on the island.”

Marie looked around the head of the person in front of her and caught her challenger staring at her. Instead of backing down, he nodded his head to her.

Her stomach flipped, and she squeezed fisted hands in her lap, her breath catching as she waited for the opening bid.

“You'll get this. It's okay to breathe.”

She glanced in Seth's direction and then followed his arm from his shoulder down to where his hand rested over hers. She gently pulled her hand out, stretching her fingers and burying the unwelcome sensations that came with his touch. There wasn't time to think about that. Especially not now. She had three thousand dollars that said that piece was hers. And if she was lucky, she could get it for less.

“We'll start the bidding at twelve hundred.” The auctioneer's voice filled the tent like a ringmaster. “Do I have a bid at one thousand two hundred?”

Marie stared down the blue coat, waiting to see who would take first blood. Who would be the first to get to three thousand.

“Twelve hundred.” In the first row, a tiny woman with an enormous hat held up her hand, nearly sending Marie sprawling on the ground.

“Where did she come from?” The words barely slipped through her clenched jaw.

Seth didn't pick up that the tightness in her words might be a reason not to respond. “The Deep South, if her accent is any indication.”

She glared at him as the ringmaster called for the next bid, and she slipped her hand into the air without even looking toward the podium. “Thirteen hundred.”

“One thousand three hundred from the young lady in the fourth row.”

Before the auctioneer could ask for another bid, a deep bass voice that could only belong to the man across from her called out, “Two thousand.”

“Twenty-one hundred.” From the woman in front.

“Twenty-two.” Marie left the facilitator in the dust. If she waited for him, her key rival could jump the bid again. Better to keep control, keep the bids steadily climbing.

“Twenty-five hundred.” This from an unknown, two seats down from Seth.

Her palms turned damp, and she rubbed her legs. The hat lady shot a venomous look over her shoulder, but the new addition to the party just crossed his arms and smiled like he couldn't care less.

But Marie could. She needed that buffet for three grand. She'd been counting on it, picturing it, planning on it, for more than two weeks. And if she went back to Jack empty-handed, she would give him a reason to send her on her way.

He might not recognize it as such right away. But it was only a matter of time before he realized that she wasn't delivering on the promises she'd made. She had to have this buffet.

Her breath hitched, the well-known band settling into place around her lungs. She froze. Maybe if she didn't move, the symptoms would go away. But the dizziness seeped in,
and she wrung her shaking hands until they were clammy all over.

Dear God, if there was ever a time she needed to be clearheaded, this was it.
Please don't let this happen now.

Seth put his hand on her arm again. “Hang in there. You've got this.”

“Twenty-seven.” The number died on her lips, so she fought for whatever air she could find, pinched her eyes closed, and tried again. “Twenty-seven hundred.”

“Twenty-nine.” Her blue-coated competitor sat calmly, a smug smile settling onto his face.

She raised a clenched fist and said, “Three thousand.”

That was it, her last chance at the piece. She just needed everyone else to have the same limit she did. She couldn't afford to go any higher.

“Thirty-one.”

S
eth squeezed Marie's arm as the jerk across from them sent the bid over three grand. Like a deflated balloon, air escaped from her lungs in one rush. She met his gaze, sadness flickering in her eyes. She swallowed and took a loud breath that didn't quite seem to stick, as she immediately gulped at another.

The self-satisfied fool flaunted his win with a cocky grin, and a rush of indignation washed over Seth. Marie wanted that piece. And she deserved it after the late nights she'd put in repainting the disaster room, the long hours she'd spent kneeling in the dirt preparing the flower bed, and all the times she'd put up with his sharpness.

He elbowed her as the auctioneer called, “Going once.”

“Do it.”

Her eyes flashed. “We won't have enough money to get the other things we need.”

He stared straight into her eyes, willing her to see that he understood how much she needed this win. “It'll be enough. Do it.”

“Going twice!”

He pushed her arm into the air, and her blue eyes flashed once more—this time with a fight he hadn't seen before—before she upped the bid. “Thirty-two hundred.”

Their competition flung his arms to his side and sat up, his face twisting with a glower that could have wilted a tulip. “Thirty-three.”

“Thirty-three fifty.”

Seth held his breath, tension building in his muscles, roiling and fighting for an escape. Marie wiggled in her white folding chair beside him, her whole body trembling like an idling car. Like she might fly apart if someone didn't hold her together. No one else seemed to notice, so he wrapped an arm across the back of her chair, around her shoulders.

She seemed to settle down to a dull hum as the auctioneer looked to the other bidder. And if having an arm around her helped Seth feel more grounded too? Well, that was just an added perk.

“That's three thousand four hundred to you, sir.”

The man nodded. “Thirty-four hundred.”

Seth glared at him, but before he could squeeze Marie's shoulder, she said, “Thirty-five.”

His gut twisted like a washcloth being wrung out as the silver-haired man at the podium began his final count. “Going once.”

Marie sucked in an audible breath, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“Going twice.”

The jerk scowled.

“Sold to the young lady in the fourth row!”

Marie's hands flew to her mouth, but they couldn't cover
the smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. He pulled her into his side for a split second before she wiggled free.

“Thank you.” Her words were soft, and he saw in her eyes something he couldn't remember seeing there ever before, almost as though a fence had been taken down. As though she was beginning to feel comfortable with him.

He hadn't even known that was missing. But now that he saw it, it was clear. She'd kept a distinct distance between them. He'd just been too focused on keeping her at arm's length to notice.

Today was different. This was new. And it was good. They'd moved to a new stage, a new level.

It would certainly make living under the same roof easier. And Jack would be happy. But it didn't change the fact that she was hiding something.

“I can't believe we got it.”

He would still celebrate with her for the moment. “Congratulations. You were great.”

She looked down, and her cheeks turned a very pretty color of pink. She always looked so embarrassed when someone praised her, as if compliments were few and far too infrequent in her life. Was that what Jack had first seen in her? He'd bet that was the thing that had tugged at Jack's heartstrings and convinced him to bring her home.

Seth couldn't fault the man.

“Thank you for—” She bit into her bottom lip, her gaze on his chin almost palpable. He scratched at the thin scar that followed his jawline, and her eyes followed his movements. “Thank you for prodding me not to give up.”

“You're the one who said we had to make a room around that particular piece.”

Her smile flashed especially bright. “And we will.” She turned her attention back to the bidding battle over another piece of furniture, content to wait. In fact, she didn't move again until the square table she'd pointed out to him earlier came up. She didn't move enough to signal anyone that she was interested, but her relaxed muscles slowly tensed, and he could sense her anticipation.

This auction seemed to be more about outmaneuvering other players than the actual antiques. And watching Marie play was fun.

Seth crossed his arms and leaned back to enjoy the show.

“Next up is a mahogany table with four chairs. Each seat features a hand-chiseled winter scene across the back. Made in 1937, this piece was owned by the Rosenthal family of Montague for seventy years.” The auctioneer looked up from his notes and wiped a white handkerchief across his glistening forehead. “We'll begin the bids at one thousand seven hundred.”

The audience sat like statues. All except Seth, who nudged Marie and nodded toward the table. This was her chance. No competition for the table. What was she waiting for?

The shake of her head was almost indistinguishable. And he sat back.
Just watch the show.

“Will someone bid at one thousand five hundred?”

The audience stirred, looking around to see who would make the first move.

“This item is still steady and includes all original parts. It will make a nice addition to any home. Who will give me twelve hundred dollars?”

The woman wearing the green hat adorned with half a dozen unnaturally colored feathers tipped it to the side, as though she was thinking about throwing her cap in the ring.

Seth chuckled to himself at the mental image of her monstrosity sailing toward the staid man at the microphone, but stopped as pain flashed across the man's face.

Still no one bid. And when the price dropped again, sweat beaded on the back of Seth's neck. He wiped it away, unsure if it was caused by empathy for the auctioneer staring at a silent audience, or the midday sun beating rays onto the canopy that held the heat under it. He lifted the cuffs of his jacket away from his wrists and tugged at the neck of his shirt.

If Marie didn't bid on the table soon, he was going to.

“Surely someone needs this dining room set. The bid is at one thousand one hundred.”

Marie raised her hand. She didn't say a word, but the auctioneer targeted in on her in an instant, pointing a finger at her.

“Thank you! Eleven hundred to the young lady there. Going once. Going twice.” He whapped his gavel on his lectern. “Sold.”

After all the pieces had been bid on and Marie had won a six-chair dining set, Seth followed her to the table to pay for their items. “How'd you get that first table for six hundred less than the opening bid?”

She shrugged, a bounce in her step. “I didn't let anyone else know how much I wanted it.”

“Jack would be proud.”

She glowed under the praise, the sun highlighting her brown hair with an unexpected halo.

“Well, well.” Aretha strolled up to them, her smile pulling taut loose bits of skin in nature's face-lift. “Well done, you two.” She stepped between them, patting Marie's shoulder
and grabbing Seth's hand. “I had no idea that sideboard would go for so much. But it's worth every penny.”

“Marie promised me that we can build a whole room around it,” he said.

Aretha's gaze traveled back and forth between them. “She's quite right. Listen to this one. The design genes are strong in her.”

“Thank you.”

The older woman clapped her wrinkled hands. “Now tell me how things are going at the Red Door Inn. Are you on schedule for a May first opening?”

Seth's eyebrows pinched. It was a valid question, just not one he had an answer to. “I hope so, but Jack's been pretty tight-lipped about how he thinks things are going.”

“And he keeps going off on secret errands,” Marie chipped in, pinching the skin at her neck several times. “You don't think anything is wrong, do you?”

Seth shook his head. Jack was made of sturdy stock and knew how to run a business. If there was trouble, he'd tell them. “I'm sure he's fine. He's probably just worn out. He's been working on the inn since long before you and I showed up.”

Rubbing her hands together, Aretha nodded. “I'm sure you're right. It's a lot of work starting up a business.” She raised her eyebrow, then winked at Seth. “Maybe I should stop by later this week with some homemade food. That might boost his spirits a little.”

Marie stepped up as the line moved forward. “I think we'd all appreciate it. There isn't much time for making meals.”

Aretha snapped to attention, her finger catching under Marie's chin. “Are you not eating?” Then she swooped on
Seth, her finger wagging and her tone matching his grandmother's. “You need to keep your strength up. Why aren't you taking care of yourselves?”

With a gentle touch, Marie pushed the finger down. “We
are
eating. Lots of protein and vegetables. But sometimes we get busy and don't have time to cook a warm meal. That's all.”

“That's not all.” Like a general commanding troops, she said, “You tell your uncle that I'll be there tomorrow night with dinner, and I'll expect to eat at the table you just bought today.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

As Aretha marched off, Seth turned back to Marie, whose face exploded with laughter. “I think she means business.”

Marie nodded. “Undoubtedly.”

After paying for the pieces they'd purchased and lining up a time to load them into his truck, they wandered the stalls, ending up at the one with the handmade quilts.

“Isn't this one beautiful?” She looked at him and he shrugged.

“It's blue.”

“It's nautical. It'll go perfectly with the compass we bought at Aretha's. Don't you think?”

He wasn't educated enough in this area to be of any use. Although they had made a pretty decent bidding team.

“Sounds good.”

She picked out two others and told the owner which ones she wanted. He was almost finished wrapping them up when she wandered toward the back of the booth, where a black and white stretch of fabric peeked from behind another bedspread.

“I'm just going to look at this one.” She pulled the quilt free, her eyes caressing the black and white pattern and the words stitched about two feet from the top.

“What's it say?” Seth asked as he helped the seller squeeze three quilts into a clear plastic bag.

“‘You may tire of reality but you never tire of dreams.'”

The proprietor looked up. “It's a quote from Maud Montgomery. From one of the short stories in her book
The Road to Yesterday
.”

Marie beamed. “We have to have this. It'll be perfect in the room with the type—” Her words just stopped, and she stared at Seth as her nostrils slowly flared and her eyes grew large.

Had she suddenly remembered his message on the typewriter? Was she embarrassed by it? Embarrassed for him to know she'd seen it? She wasn't having any trouble maintaining eye contact, but she swallowed several times in a row.

He looked around for something to do, something to distract her, but the salesman beat her to it.

“Are you all right?”

She blinked, emerging from her stupor. “Yes. I just—I must have—excuse me. I just remembered something. I'm sorry.”

“So do you want that quilt?”

“Yes.” She didn't play coy with this one, so he paid for it. After they wrapped it up, Seth carried all four quilts to the truck. Marie darted across the aisle, pointing to a small table and hollering something about a typing desk. By the time he returned, she'd bought that too, along with an armload of decorations.

“Got enough there?”

“Oh, be quiet.” She frowned at him, but her tone was
filled with humor as she held out the small desk under her pile. “Take some of this stuff before I drop three hundred dollars' worth of hominess.”

He reached for the lamp on top, but she leaned into him, handing over the whole lot before taking back a small bag of knickknacks. “You got all this for three hundred bucks? Not bad, Carrington.” He bumped her shoulder as they strolled from the grass onto the gravel lot and through a maze of trucks and trailers. When they reached his, he opened the passenger door and set her purchases in the backseat next to the quilts. As he stowed the table in the truck's bed, the auction movers approached with the large pieces of furniture.

After half an hour, the furniture was secured, each piece wrapped in padding and tarps.

“Now you'll want to drive slow, Mr. Sloane,” one of the young men said.

Seth grinned at him and held out a twenty, biting back the urge to tell him that he knew how to drive a loaded truck. “Thanks, Rob.” He turned back to Marie, opening the door for her. Resting a hand on the edge as she crawled in, he said, “I think we've done pretty well for a day, eh?”

“I think so.”

He closed her in with a solid thump and walked around the front to his side. Behind the wheel, he checked his obstructed mirror views before slowly backing out of his spot and pulling into the three-vehicle line waiting to get on the road.

As the evergreens turned into rolling fields alongside the road, they sat in amicable silence. It hadn't been like this. Ever. Not even with Reece.

An image of the tall blonde as she'd been the last time he
saw her flashed through his mind. Everything with her had been wild and passionate. Stubborn and exciting. Loud and lively. Nothing about that relationship had just been quiet.

And he'd had no idea how much he'd missed out on until this very moment.

Relationships should have excitement and vibrancy.

But two people should be able to just sit together. Silent and at peace.