Free The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson Page B

cool edge. What had been typed on this machine? Had someone written a book or a story on it, hoping to replicate the literary magic of L. M. Montgomery’s island tales?
    â€œSo where do you want to start?”
    Seth’s question jerked her from the image in her mind of Maud Montgomery’s protégé at work on a masterpiece, her story taking shape one keystroke at a time.
    â€œWhat do you think about making one of the rooms into a book lover’s retreat?”
    His brows knit together. “Doesn’t that kind of limit the type of guests we could invite?”
    â€œOh, it’s not just for people who love books. It’s for anyone who needs a retreat, but we’ll use pieces like this typewriter and maybe an old secretary desk and lots of old leather-bound books.” Her voice rose with each word until she rested her folded hands under her chin. “Can’t you just picture it?”
    His grimace told her that he most definitely could not picture it.
    But she could make him see it. “Stories are part of the island’s heritage. We could theme every room around part of the history. Like the ocean and lobster fishing and . . . and . . .” Clearly she needed to do a bit more research on PEI.
    â€œAnd potatoes.”
    â€œPotatoes?”
    â€œSure. There’s a potato museum toward the West Point Lighthouse. I think Irish immigrants brought them over a hundred years ago.” His face remained completely passive as he pointed in the general direction of the museum. “I think a potato room is a great idea.”
    â€œWell, that’s not exactly . . .” She bit her lip and stared at her hands. He couldn’t be serious. What color brown would the walls be? Would the mattress be lumpy and the comforter made out of potato sacks? And they’d have to put pitchforks in the corner next to the bed.
    Laughter erupted from somewhere deep inside him, rattling the glass panes of the hutch that he leaned into for support. The guffaws kept coming. “Did you think I was serious?”
    She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. When it was clear he didn’t believe her, she walked away in the direction Aretha had gone. The older woman was bound to like her idea and could certainly give her more background on the island.
    Seth’s laughter followed her from aisle to aisle, rubbing every one of her nerves raw. How was she supposed to know about the grand history of potatoes? All she knew about the island she’d learned from reading about a redheaded orphan.
    That didn’t give him the right to tease her. The most he knew about the ocean was probably surfing the Pacific. At least she’d been born and raised on the Atlantic seaboard.
    Well, he could tease her all he liked. Her idea was a good one. She’d always had an eye for trimming a house. At least that was what her mother’s best friend and interior designer Georgiana McWilliams had always said. When Georgianahad decorated their beach house at the Cape, she’d asked Marie to help.
    Seth might be too thickheaded to know it, but he and Jack needed her.
    At least Jack knew it.
    As she approached the counter where Aretha stood, Seth’s chuckles finally died out.
    Aretha hung up her phone, a broad smile wrinkling her features. “Did you find some things you like?”
    â€œI was thinking about using writing-related pieces for one of the rooms.”
    â€œHoney, I have the most beautiful Underwood typewriter.”
    Marie nodded enthusiastically. “I saw it. And I was thinking about some vintage books and maybe an old wooden secretary to go with it. Any ideas?”
    â€œPlenty, my dear.” She led the way to a wooden bookcase along the far wall. The edges of the shelves had been worn smooth from years of borrowing and returning books. Many of the books still sat there, just waiting to be loaned out once again.
    With a tentative