Those Cassabaw Days (6 page)

“I’m not sure yet, Matt Malone.” She glanced at him, and he regarded her closely. “I’m sort of winging this whole alone thing. But right now it feels...right to be here.” It felt right that Matt was here, too.

Wordlessly, he nodded.

The backside of the Windchimer came into view, and Emily slowed and pulled the truck into the small parking lot behind the café. The old Chevy’s door squeaked as she opened and closed it, and Matt rounded the truck and stood close to her. Again, she felt crowded, as if Matt’s body took up all the space and air surrounding her. The sounds of the surf breaking, gulls crying and a lone wind chime tinkling in the wind infiltrated Emily’s senses nearly as much as Matt’s presence did. It threw her into sensory overload. She breathed in the sea air.

“Well,” Matt said. He rubbed his head with his hand, then dragged his fingers across his jaw. He glanced behind her. “Let’s go check it out.”

Even in the fading light of dusk, the way Matt studied her so thoroughly made her aware of, well, everything. He’d always had that quality, though. Almost a commanding characteristic that made people pay attention closely. Even as a kid, he could speak to her, and she’d feel compelled to listen.

She gave a nod. “Okay, let’s go.”

They crossed in silence to the wooden boardwalk leading to the beachfront, where sea oats waved in the constant coastal breeze. The Windchimer faced the ocean along a boardwalk of several other establishments. It was brightly painted in a soft pink with white concrete columns, and a swirling mural along the side of the building that depicted sea turtles, mermaids and sand dollars. A long wood-planked covered deck, housing several tables, had a beautiful view of the sea and pier.

A loud clap of thunder boomed over the water. Emily jumped. Big fat plops of rain smacked her skin. Matt was silent as his gaze fell on her, then dropped to her mouth and lingered there before he raised his eyes back to hers.

“I, uh, guess we’d better get inside,” Emily said, fishing the key from her pocket.

“Yep,” Matt agreed.

As she pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, Matt flipped on the light switch and a soft amber hue fell over the café’s interior.

“Let’s go,” she said, and excitement flushed her. “I’ll make a list of supplies while you make a list of repairs.” She turned and pressed her lips in a tight line. “Okay?”

Lightning flashed through the storefront windows, followed a few seconds later by a thunderous boom. The rain fell in buckets now, a fast, turbulent sea storm. “Storms are magical mantles of fairy wrath, don’t you think?”

“Yep,” Matt finally answered. Without another word, he walked to the back of the café and began his inspection.

Emily watched her now grown-up best friend, who filled out his jeans in a way that made her pause. Narrow hips. Broad shoulders. Confident swagger. He wasn’t the same Matt Malone from before. She wasn’t the same Emily. Not kids, but adults. Each with pasts.

Which just might be the problem.

Or, not.

CHAPTER FOUR

A
S
E
MILY TOOK
inventory and inspected the interior of the café, she knew one thing for certain: the Windchimer possessed an old-time charm, just like Cassabaw Station. While it no doubt needed a cosmetic overhaul, the ambience emanating from within the 1920s establishment excited her. The layout worked; a long bar with stools that had seen better days stretched from one side of the café to the other. Behind it was an equally long cooking area with butcher-block counters, an old refrigerator, an even older double gas stovetop, a griddle and an oven. Long open cabinets hung overhead, along with a pot rack.

She slowly walked through, taking in the seating area. The twelve tables were made of solid wood, and were fairly sturdy. Lowering into several of the chairs and giving each a good wiggle, she was happy to realize they were pretty steady, too. Taking several photos with her cell phone, she opened her notepad app and quickly tapped in her plans.

When she looked up, Matt was watching her. Despite the stone-like unreadable expression he wore, she blew a loose piece of hair from her eyes and grinned. “Well, I can definitely make this work. This aqua-and-white checkerboard floor tile is so art deco and is beyond gorgeous. It’s just the vintage look I want to keep.” She rose and pointed to the cooking area. “I don’t think this place has been upgraded since the seventies, though. Those old appliances need to skedaddle. I’ll replace them with stainless steel. New cookware.” She smiled, and began to hop from tile to tile. She looked over her shoulder. “Classic white dishware. To start with.”

Matt gave a nod. “Dishwasher is shot to hell. Pantry shelves are sagging and need replacing. Probably need to install a new wash sink. Faucets all leak. The wood flooring around the sink and chest freezer is boggy. It all needs to come up.”

“Okay, I’ll work that into the budget.” She tapped it into her notes and nodded toward the back. “I want to install a long stainless-steel work counter in the back. New stools for the bar.” She grasped one of the chairs and shook it. “I haven’t checked all of these yet but they seem to be made of solid wood and pretty stable. I can use these, although I’ll probably paint them.” She glanced to the ceiling. “The exposed beams I love. And these old milk-glass light fixtures.” She looked at him. “I definitely want to keep them, but the wiring needs inspecting. Can you do that, too?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yep.”

Emily gave him a skeptical glance. “Are you sure you’re up for this job? Might be a long one. And you’re going to fix my Jeep? Dock? Dock house? River house?”

Those trademark Malone eyes never wavered. That mouth didn’t smile. “I can handle it.”

She studied him for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “Okay,” she said, and took Matt’s hand in a shake. His long, strong fingers wrapped firmly around hers, and she found she liked the way it felt. “As soon as we have quotes we’ll go over costs of repairs and upgrades, then your salary.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He moved past her and headed out the door.

“Where are you going?” Emily asked.

“Rain’s stopped. Need to check the exterior for repairs before it gets dark,” he said curtly.

Emily sighed. Matt was all business. Maybe after a while he’d loosen up a bit. “Good idea.” She followed. “I’ll inspect the outdoor dining.”

Emily had just stepped through the café front doors when voices caught her attention. The sun now peeked through a cloud-riddled sky, and a breeze wafted through the air. As she moved onto the wooden deck she saw five much, much older men gathered around Matt at the edge of the boardwalk. Two of them had canes. One shook Matt’s hand, another slapped him on the back. Pulled into a parking space close to the boardwalk sat a young man in an extended golf cart. He smiled and nodded at Emily. Curious, she stood back and watched the exchange.

“Son of a gun, boy, it’s good to see you back,” the one shaking Matt’s hand said. He was stocky, not as tall as Matt and wore a pale blue bucket hat. “Was just asking Jep about you a couple of weeks back.”

“Yeah, buddy boy, it’s about time you got your skinny marine ass back home,” another one said. He talked fast, loud and confidently. “Turn around and let us take a look at ya. Make sure you’re in one damn piece.” He was stockier than the others, with a barrel belly and a buzzed flattop. He wore old-style black framed glasses, and he turned his head toward Emily and sort of jumped in surprise. “Hot damn, boy. Who’s the dame?”

All eyes turned on Emily, and before she could say anything, Matt did.

“Guys, this is Emily Quinn. She used to live next door to me growing up.” His gaze met hers briefly. “She just moved back and is the new owner of the Windchimer. Emily—” he pointed at the one in the bucket hat and the loud one “—these are the Beasts of Utah Beach. Wimpy and Ted Harden. They both stormed Normandy on D-day.” He inclined his head. “Those two are Sidney and Dubb Christian, and the little guy there is Nelson Clark. Navy. Terrors of the Pacific.” Matt looked at Emily. “All brothers except for Nelson. He’s Wimpy’s brother-in-law. We call him Putt. A tail gunner.”

Emily smiled at the tough-looking group of eightysomething-year-old warriors. “Very pleased to meet you all.”

“So you’re Cora’s great-niece, eh?” Wimpy said. He smiled and shook her hand with his big calloused one, and the corners of his blue eyes crinkled. “You look just like your daddy, gal. We’re neighbors. Me and the wife live just up the river.”

“The rest of us live just up the way.” Putt pointed. “Seaside Home for Vets. Resident nurse is a dish,” he said with a wink. “That there’s our driver, Freddy.” He inclined his head to the guy in the golf cart. “He breaks us out from time to time.”

“When are you gonna get busy and open these doors again, gal?” Ted asked. “This here’s our rendezvous, see?” His grin was wide and full of mischief. “A place we meet to get some good grub, talk a little baseball and check out the skirts on the beach when the wives ain’t lookin’.”

Dubb stepped forward. He wore an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. “Don’t mind Ted, Emily. He still thinks he’s a hotshot twenty-two-year-old tank head.”

“So can you cook, little lady?” Sidney asked. His eyes were so blue they seemed like sea glass. With a head full of wavy white hair, Emily figured he’d been pretty good-looking in his day. “Me and Putt here like your aunt Cora’s apple-cinnamon pancakes.”

“With cane syrup,” Putt added. He grinned, displaying a slight gap between his two front teeth.

Emily laughed. “All right, fellas,” she began, and answered Sidney. “Yes, I can cook, and I’ll make sure apple-cinnamon pancakes are on the menu. Gunner,” she said to Nelson, “I’ll stock up on cane syrup.” She looked at Ted. “You with the flattop. Hopefully I’ll get her opened and serving breakfast and lunch within the month.”

“Good. Just in time for the Fourth of July Shrimp Festival,” Putt said. “You know about that, right? Cora used to run a face-painting station here for the kids every year.”

She looked over her shoulder at the solitary wind chime hanging from the rafters. Rusty, about to fall. “There’s a good bit of work to do first.” She turned back around. “But yes. I think I can have it up and running by the festival.” She winked. “And I’ll definitely continue on with Aunt Cora’s face-painting station. Mr. Wimpy, it’s nice to be neighbors. I’d love to meet your wife.”

Wimpy barked out a laugh. “Well, it’s good to have you back here on Cassabaw, Emily. I’ll let the wife know you’ll be stopping by.”

“You know the Festival of Kites is in three weeks,” Sidney said with a grin. The sea breeze caught his white hair and tousled it about, making him look more boyish than older. “You don’t want to miss it, I guarantee. Sort of the official opening of summer.” He smiled. “It’s quite a sight. We make it every year as long as the ol’ heart can stand it.”

Emily grinned back, noticing the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that, would I?”

“So is this your girl, Matt Malone? You bringin’ her to the Kites?” Ted asked. He looked at Emily and wiggled his bushy brows. “Or is she up for grabs?”

Matt’s eyes met Emily’s and lingered. “Not my girl,” he answered. “My boss.”

The old warriors laughed and whistled. “Well, now,” Wimpy offered, “you’ve got yourself a fine carpenter, that’s for sure.”

“So, up for grabs?” Ted asked. “Malone here ain’t much of a lady’s man.”

“I am certainly up for grabs.” Emily laughed. “But only for handsome Beasts of Utah Beach and the like.” She winked. “I’m selective, you see.”

Ted’s grin split his weathered face in two.

“And since you fellas seem to be steady patrons here, any ideas for upgrades?” Emily continued, thinking that veering the conversation away from her and Matt would be a good thing, especially since Matt seemed so uncomfortable with it.

“Ceiling fans,” Sidney suggested, and pointed to the rafters. “When the air is still it gets hotter than Hades out here. Makes my asthma flare up.”

Emily nodded. It was a good idea. “Done.” She tapped it into her notes.

“How about a radio. So we can listen to the ball game?” Putt added.

“Can you add squirrel to the menu?” Wimpy asked. “Squirrel and grits.”

Emily glanced at Matt. His mouth didn’t smile, but his eyes did.

“Grits, yes. Squirrel, Mr. Wimpy,” she said. “I just...no. No squirrel. Definitely a radio.”

The old guys all laughed, and Dubb tipped his cap back a bit. “Well, as long as you get Cora’s recipe for her shrimp po’boy sandwich, I’ll be good to go.”

“You don’t mind if we sit here and drink our coffee in the mornings?” Dubb asked. “Least till you open?”

Emily smiled. “Not at all. Help yourselves, anytime.”

“I knew I liked her,” Dubb said as the men shuffled up the deck and gathered around a table in the corner. Finding their seats, they began chatting about the Braves’ season.

Emily just grinned and continued her inspection. When she looked up, Matt had disappeared around the back of the building, checking for any exterior damages she supposed.

Matt’s brusque behavior disappointed her. Growing up, they’d talked about anything and everything—even at an age when boys and girls really weren’t supposed to be so close. They had been. She knew things couldn’t pick up where they’d left off—they’d been children then. So many years, so much...life had passed between them. They were grown now. Different people. Right?

Somehow, she hoped things would change.

After an hour, Emily had inspected every inch of the Windchimer. There were more upgrades than actual repairs, so that was a relief. Still, she had her lists, and combined with Matt’s it was a tall work order.

“It’s going to be tight to have it finished by the Fourth,” Matt said, climbing the deck to stand beside her. Their visitors had packed it in for the evening, leaving Emily and Matt alone.

“Well,” Emily said, pushing her hair behind her ear. “The faster we get on it, the sooner it’ll get done. Right?”

“Yep.”

She shoved her iPhone into her back pocket, climbed the veranda and turned to lock up the café. She let the screen door close, and then looked up at Matt. She noticed how the setting sun had left purple-and-red streaks in the sky above the ocean, and how the colors reflected against his gruff skin. Without thinking, she reached her hand and grazed his jaw. “Since when can you—”