Those Cassabaw Days (17 page)

Matt’s going to kiss me, and I want him to...

Matt closed his eyes and they crinkled in the corners, as though he struggled with some unknown demon, and his brows furrowed. With a deep breath, he slowly caught her gaze. “Yeah, I know it, Emily Quinn. Know it all too well.” He gave a wan smile then, and grazed her cheek with his knuckle. “You’re good at that, you know?”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat; she could barely draw in a decent breath. “At what?” she asked huskily.

He drew his hand back and shoved both hands into his pockets, as if to trap them there. “Making them believe when they thought hope was gone.”

In the moonlight, they both stared silently at each other until Matt glanced away and cleared his throat. “I’m gonna get outta here now,” he said with a shaky laugh.

“Okay,” she replied, just as shakily.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“You can count on it,” Emily answered. She didn’t really want him to go. Didn’t know what was happening between them. And for the first time, she kept her thoughts to herself and let him walk away into the darkness. “Night, Matt.”

“Night, Em.”

Emily sat there, baffled, breathless and dizzy with...she didn’t know what with. Sat there in the shadowy husk of nightfall, until Matt’s footsteps faded away, and she was left sitting on the veranda amidst the canopy of Morgan’s Creek.

Alone, once again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

M
ATT LAY IN
the shadows of the room he’d grown up in, on his old bed from high school days. A single shaft of light pierced the darkness and inched toward him across the blue, black and red plaid quilt that his grandmother had made over seventy-five years ago.

Jesus. Emily Quinn had gotten to him.

When she spoke, the words came straight from the pit of her heart. Anyone with the least lick of sense could see that. She understood him, the pain from his past, despite how little he’d told her. She hadn’t intruded, hadn’t dug deeper. She’d simply...accepted.

Who did that? Who ever accepted a person at face value, without question? Without judgment? He could count less than a handful—all of them his comrades.

Digging his finger and thumb into his eyes, he rubbed there, sighed and then grasped the back of his neck and continued to stare into muted darkness.

He’d almost kissed her. He’d wanted to, badly. It’d taken every bit of strength not to slip his hand around the curve of her neck, pull her mouth to his and just...taste. See what it would feel like to have Emily’s body pressed against his...

“Jesus Christ, Malone,” he muttered to himself, and flipped onto his side.

Home less than a month. And after fifteen years of carrying on without her, he couldn’t get Emily off his damn mind. Shitty timing, to his way of thinking. She was nursing a broken heart, was back home trying to start over. She still thought of him as her old best friend. Trusted him. And what’d he do in return? Fantasize about kissing her. Touching her.

Then possibly leaving her behind?

Had he imagined that spark between them? He didn’t think so. There’d been a current between them. He’d felt it; he knew Em had, too. The way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way the tiny laugh lines around her mouth eased and her lips parted... No, he hadn’t imagined it.

Something stood between them. Something other than a long-ago friendship Matt didn’t want ruined. Something more than his indecisiveness with the direction of his life, or the lack of wanting to drag anyone—especially Emily—down in his search for it. More, even, than his knowing that he may very well be gone once summer was over.

He just didn’t know what
it
was.

He may never know...until it happened.

* * *

E
MILY
AWOKE THE
next morning refreshed, crammed with excitement.

Her thoughts slipped right back to the last thoughts she’d had before falling asleep.

Of Matt Malone.

After Matt’s semiconfession about just how bad things had been while on his tours of duty, something had flared between them. She’d felt it; seen it in Matt’s eyes. If she hadn’t known any better, she’d thought he might kiss her.

And she’d wanted him to. Badly.

Funny how, even though they’d been chatting, and it was long into the night and the bugs had grown dense and she’d stifled more than one yawn, she hadn’t wanted him to leave. She liked his company. And when he opened up a bit, she truly enjoyed his conversation.

Although his iron-clad wall had chunks missing, it was still there. She was going to knock that sucker down, come hell or high water. As her dad used to say.

The Festival of Kites had finally arrived, and while she’d never attended one, she’d been told by Mr. Wimpy and his gang, and by Hendrik as well, that it was not an event she’d want to miss.

The kites were a given—a spectacularly wonderful display of color, artistic design and stealthy in-flight maneuvering—but the food served by the many establishments was described to her as being out of this world. Everything from Hendrik’s famous hot dogs to fried grouper bites and funnel cakes. Not quite as grand, Jep said, as the Shrimp Festival, but pretty darn good.

Not to mention that the entire community of Cassabaw turned out for it, just like back in the days before satellite TV, and the internet. It was nice. Quaint. And the thought of it excited Emily.

Almost as much as the thought of attending it with Matt.

Well,
almost
attending it with Matt.

Planning on putting in a few hours at the café, Emily donned her work clothes and started drilling holes for the LED lights in the glass insulators.

Matt had made it there before she had, and had begun installing the long stainless-steel counter near the back. Every once in a while Emily would glance over; each time she did, Matt was busy at work, his dark head bent down. His mind on his job. What had she been hoping for? A casual glance to find him staring at her?

Well, heck, yeah. That’s exactly what she’d hoped for after that near-kiss the night before.

But it didn’t happen.

As a matter of fact, by the time Emily had wrapped up her hole-drilling for the day, Matt had disappeared.

Mr. Wimpy and his fellas had come by, though—mostly just to make sure she remembered to attend the festival. She’d sat outside with the men and had coffee while they chatted about the latest roster moves the Atlanta Braves had made and talked about buddies from the old days. Friends with crazy nicknames, like Shorty B and Sparky James and Iron Ray and Juke the Luke. They’d all left early to get ready and gather their womenfolk, although Ted had asked if he could escort Emily, as well. Mr. Wimpy had thumped him on the back of the head and told him to leave Matt’s girl alone.

They’d all razzed her a little. In good fun, she supposed.

It still made her wonder what it would be like to be Matt’s girl. The thought made her insides flip a little. Made her smile without thinking about it.

Just before two o’clock Emily finished up her work at the café and hopped in her Jeep to hurry home for a quick shower and change of clothes before the kites took to the air. She’d already promised Ted a dance at the pier.

That
she could hardly wait for.

Cassabaw had transformed since she’d been at the café working. A huge banner that read Welcome to the Cassabaw Festival of Kites spread directly across the island’s main road as it crossed over the marsh. Each lamppost along the road had an old-fashioned box kite with streamers of red, blue, yellow and green tied to the top that flapped in the wind. Tourists walked the sidewalk to the beachfront boardwalk. The sun bathed everything in gold, and exhilaration pulsed through the air. Emily could feel it.

Back home she jumped in the shower, shaved her legs and applied her favorite warm vanilla sugar lotion, then chose a vintage sleeveless floral sundress that buttoned all the way down the front and came to just above her knees. With her hair finally dry, she pulled it back into a messy bun, dabbed on some lip gloss, slipped on a pair of white sandals and headed to the festival.

As she parked the Jeep in the lot of the café, she immediately noticed it was empty. Which meant Matt had either not returned, or had parked elsewhere. Deciding to take a stroll down the boardwalk, she made her way around the side of the Windchimer and started walking.

The beachfront was packed. She walked along, taking in the sights, the scents, and from the pier the music from a local jazz band wafted over the warm air. A smile played across her face as she encountered strangers who’d shown up to enjoy the festivities, and in truth, she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

“Well, now, if this ain’t the prettiest sight I’ve seen all day,” a voice said from behind.

When Emily turned, Eric Malone, in his Coast Guard uniform, strolled up beside her. With him, another rescue swimmer. He looked about the same age as Emily, maybe a little older. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sun-baked brown hair, shorn close to his head. Handsome.

“Hey, Eric,” Emily said. She grinned at his friend and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Emily.”

The guy broke into a crooked, cocky smile. “Is that so?” He shook her hand, and it was large, warm and rough. “I’m Jake.” With her hand still in his, he eyed Eric. “Been keeping this one to yourself, Malone?”

They dropped hands and Emily gave Eric a punch in the arm. “Gosh, you look handsome in your Coast Guard uniform.” She inclined her head. “We’re old friends. Neighbors,” she explained. “I’ve just moved back to Cassabaw.”

“Yep, she’s reopening the Windchimer,” Eric stated, and winked at Emily. “Matt’s doing the remodeling.”

“Well, if that isn’t the best news I’ve heard all day.” Jake smiled broader, and his eyes softened as they locked onto hers. “Welcome back to Cassabaw.”

Emily gave him a broad smile. “Thanks,” she said, and cocked her head. “I really like the color of your hair. It looks like wheat.”

Jake blinked, then his grin widened so much his teeth showed. “Wheat, huh?”

She gave an affirmative nod. “Definitely wheat.”

* * *

H
URRYING
PAST THE
many vendors lining the boardwalk as people darted in and out of the shops, Emily made her way to Jep and Owen, who sat perched in the sand in a pair of folding chairs. Both turned in their seats when she approached.

“Well, it’s about dang time,” Jep muttered grumpily. He wore a Coast Guard cap on his head and a pair of dark sunglasses hid his green eyes. “Where you been, missy?”

“Hey, Emily,” Owen said gently. “Don’t mind him. He’s just mad because he hasn’t had at least two of Hendrik’s hot dogs yet.”

Emily stretched her eyes. “Are those the best things or
what
?” she said to Jep.

A faint smile pulled at his mouth. “A girl after my own heart.” He looked skyward. “Just now getting the kites goin’.”

Emily looked in the direction he stared, and sure enough, the beginning of the first kites appeared overhead. Up and down the stretch of beach, every color and shape and size of kite filled the air. Soon no less than a hundred flew.

“Now, that’s a damn sight, ain’t it?” Jep said. “Why, I used to run up and down this very beach, back before all this fancy stuff was here.” He waved his hand toward the pier. “With a homemade kite my da made me from an old linen apron. That thing would soar, I tell ya.” He sipped something from a white Styrofoam cup.

“That sounds like enormous fun,” Emily offered. “I bet you were a cute little thing, wearing knickers and suspenders, huh?”

“You bet your sweet patootie,” he chuckled.

Emily gave his cup a sly look. “Hey, whatcha drinking?”

Jep grinned at her. “Cola.”

She smiled in return.

“So where is your middle son?” she asked Owen. “I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“He’ll be along directly,” Owen said. “We left him and his brother working on Matt’s Nova. He’s good at it—restoration.” Owen sighed. “Sure wish he’d find himself, that middle boy of mine.”

“You and me both, son,” Jep added.

Emily watched the kites for a while with Jep and Owen, then excused herself when her stomach started rumbling. Ever since she’d passed that funnel cake vendor, she’d been craving one of the deep-fried, rolled-in-powdered-sugar concoctions. She bought one, and strolled along the boardwalk as she ate, enjoying the music and the sugar rush.

“Hey.”

She turned, and Matt was suddenly there. Her stomach plummeted at the sight of him. Dressed in a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, a pair of well-worn jeans, he was beyond handsome. Towering over her, his gaze moved from the funnel cake to her nose. “Hey!” she returned. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You’ve got sugar on your nose,” he said, his gaze lifting to hers. “Seems to be a common thing with you.”

She shrugged and took another bite. Pretended his curious stare didn’t make her tremble inside. “Well, don’t try and wipe it off now. I’ll just get more on it before I’m finished here.” She chewed, and her eyes rolled.

“Good?” he asked, then surprised her and grasped her arm gently, tugging her off the boardwalk and onto the sand.

“It is like—” she thought for a moment “—a gooey, fried, sugary, gilded coaster of pure...rapture.” She knew he found her choices of adjectives beguiling. “How was that?”

He thought a moment. “Eccentrically mesmerizing as always,” he answered. She detected the slightest bit of humor in his voice. “Besides that ball of sugar, did you eat yet?”

“I haven’t,” Emily responded, and held up the waxed wrapper filled with the remaining funnel cake. “Want some?”

He stared down at her, one brow quirked up. “You’ve licked all the sugar off one side of it.”

Emily shrugged and took another bite. “Such a baby,” she joked. “What’d you have in mind?”

Matt nodded down the boardwalk a ways. “BBQ shrimp and hush puppies.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh, that sounds fabulous. I’m starved.”

“I’m not surprised.” Without looking at her, and without saying a word, Matt held out his proffered arm and inclined his head in the direction of the shrimp vendor. Emily smiled and slipped her hand through and grasped his bicep.