The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson Read Free Book Online

the most eligible bachelor to arrive on the North Shore in five years.
    And if she could help the poor girl at the same time, well then, all the better.
    Setting the rack back to rights, she nodded toward the front of the store. “Perhaps we should look around for a—what did you call it?—a theme piece.”
    Marie followed her up and down the aisles until they discovered a framed map of PEI from the early twentieth century.The thick black line of railroad tracks ran almost the entire width of the island, winding between streams and inlets, marshes and bluffs. The pinks, yellows, and greens of the map had faded over time, leaving it softened, romantic.
    â€œCould this find a place in your inn?”
    With a tender touch, Marie traced the intricately designed, brushed silver frame. When she finally spoke, her voice was hushed in wonder. “Oh, I think it would be stunning in the dining room under the chandelier.”
    â€œPerfect. Then it’s yours. A gift.” Aretha carried it to the front counter, where she could wrap it up.
    By the time Marie reached the other side of the divider, her face was pained. “I can’t accept it.”
    â€œYou said it would fit your dining room, right?”
    â€œYes, but it’s too much for a gift.”
    â€œNonsense.” She taped two pieces of brown paper around the frame and slid it into a bag. “Consider this a welcome present from one islander to another—with a condition or two.”
    Marie’s mouth dropped open, eyebrows disappearing beneath a curtain of dark bangs. This time the girl wouldn’t miss her wink and accompanying smile.
    â€œNow you can take all your money back and prove Seth wrong. Am I right?”
    â€œI—yes. I’m sure. But what conditions?”
    â€œHow about you ask Jack about those quilts and bring him back to see them.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure he’d love them. I’ll ask him to stop by as soon as—”
    The squeak of the front door cut her off. Aretha called out a morning greeting to the tourists who walked in, theirgait stilted, unsure. With a wave the tall man dismissed her assistance. “We’re just browsing.” Which translated roughly to, “We spent all our money on our bed-and-breakfast.”
    No use looking for a potato in a cornfield. She couldn’t make their money appear no matter how pristine her inventory.
    Holding out the bag with Marie’s map, she leaned in. “Now, tell me more about Jack.”

    Marie picked up speed, her feet matching the rapid intake and exhale of her breath as she clutched the paper-wrapped gift to her chest.
    At least it wasn’t another panic attack. While her lungs worked quickly, they weren’t hindered by the band that always accompanied the unbearable episodes.
    Glancing over her shoulder, she half expected Aretha to run after her, saying she’d made a mistake. The store owner couldn’t possibly give away her inventory. Even if their agreement had included a promise to recommend Aretha’s store for all of the inn’s antique needs. And as many details about Jack as she could come up with.
    It had been too easy.
    Aretha had been too accommodating, too eager to give the piece away.
    How thick were the attached strings?
    Marie stopped just steps from the bakery, and not just because the scent of Caden’s treats demanded to be savored. It would be best to turn around and return the map. Then she’d owe no one anything.
    The sweet aroma of baked cinnamon and apples swoopedpast her, carried on a gust of wind that rattled barren tree branches, and she shut out everything but the accompanying goose bumps. That fragrance couldn’t be extracted from this moment any more than the ocean could be removed from the island shores.
    Anytime she smelled fresh-baked apple pie or applesauce, she’d return to this spot, to this instant.
    The moment when she turned back, thinking the worst