Cindy Miles - Those Cassabaw Days

“Ma’am, the front door was open and—”

“Whoa!” With her heart in her throat, Emily spun around, and backed up until her rear end bumped against the sink. Fear and adrenaline surged through her veins as she gawked, wide-eyed.

The man was a beast. Heavily muscled. Close-cut hair. He just stood there, like a solid rock. Muscles flexed at his jaw. An emerald gaze stared right back at her.

Then, Emily looked—hard. Dark hair—although buzzed short. A scar through his brow over very familiar eyes. She’d know those eyes, and that scar, anywhere, no matter how long it’d been. “Holy moly, I can’t believe who I’m looking at.” Then she simply shook her head in shock and gave a light laugh. “Well, you’ve grown. I still really love the color of your eyes, Matt Malone. They remind me of the green mossy algae that sticks to the sand at low tide.”

Something Emily deemed as confusion flared in Matt Malone’s eyes. Then, they widened. “Emily Quinn?” he asked. His matured, slightly deep and raspy voice filled the small kitchen.

Emily moved then and gave her old best friend a hug around the neck. No longer lanky, his body was warm, thick and hard as solid stone. “You remember!”

Then, she backed up and couldn’t help but stare some more. Matt Malone had really, really changed quite a lot in fifteen years.

Well over six feet, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, Matt loomed over her. He had the same long dark lashes that framed those trademark Malone eyes. Although his hair was shorn, the cowlick remained just off the center of the hairline near his forehead, and was as obnoxious and untamed as ever. The gash through his brow still stood out, like a brilliant bolt of lightning, just as fresh as the day Emily had given it to him when she tripped him during a race to jump off the dock. It now gleamed silver, intriguing. Gangly had turned into lean. Confidence, maybe arrogance, wafted off him in waves.

His black T-shirt was just snug enough that she could see his chiseled chest and biceps. Muscles flexed at his unshaven cut-in-stone jaw as he studied her. How had her prank-playing, skinny little childhood friend turned into this man?

Then his handsome face hardened. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Emily blinked, stung by his brusque, sharp tone. Hard, somewhat cold, Matt’s eyes did not welcome her. Not at all.

What had life done to her old best friend?

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY. QUINN. W HAT the hell? Matt couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do a damn thing but stare. She was the last person he’d expected to find. Green mossy algae?

“I live here now,” she began. She seemed...unchanged. Bouyant. Beautiful. But he saw the flash in her eyes at his sharp tone. “Can you believe it? After all these years. And what are you doing here?” She cocked her head to the side and looked up, studying him, so it seemed, her strawberry-blond ponytail sliding over her shoulder. Her face drew closer, her gaze narrowed. “Why do you look so cantankerous?”

Matt Malone stared into the soft hazel eyes of his childhood friend.

Not a kid anymore. But apparently still as unfiltered as before.

His face pulled into an even deeper frown. “I’m not...that.” Even as a kid she’d used words no other kid did. Seemed to be a trait she hadn’t lost. Taller than most girls, but not as skinny as she used to be. Same long tanned legs. He spotted some ink on her shoulder. A tattoo. Free spirit. She’d had that same spirit as a kid—that was for damn sure. Apparently, she’d never lost it, either. He was glad of that, for some reason.

Her head tilted more. “Matt? Why are you here? And how did you get here so fast? I just spoke to your dad a few minutes ago.”

He cleared his throat. “I just got home. Dad sent me over. Said it was an emergency. I took the path.” Running his hand over his stubbled hair, he drew in a slow breath and exhaled. “They didn’t tell me it was you.”

Emily hadn’t taken her eyes off him, waiting for his answer, he guessed, so he hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets and studied her hard. This was Em . They went way back. Back before Iraq, Afghanistan. Just...Emily.

“It’s been a damn long time, Emily,” he finally said. “You look...different.”

Without thought, his eyes dropped to her breasts, which were pushing against the material of her shirt. Those definitely weren’t there the last time he saw her.

Emily’s giggle made Matt snatch his gaze back to hers. “Well, I hope I look different,” she said.

Her smile widened, and her eyes softened. She still had that deep dimple in one cheek. As a kid, he remembered thinking it was kind of weird. Maybe not so weird anymore.

“Since I was only twelve when we last saw each other,” she added. Her gaze moved over him, and she crossed her arms. “You sure look different, too, Matt Malone.” She pointed at his arm. “I used to have bigger muscles than you.” Her lips quirked. “And I see that scar never faded.”

Idly, his finger grazed the mark through his left brow. “Nope.”

“Forever proof of my victory that day on the dock.” The laughter was still there in her voice.

Matt pursed his lips to keep a straight face. Which was a new sensation for him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Emily’s lips curved up.

He could hardly believe he was standing here, in her old kitchen, talking to her.

Just then, her cell phone screeched. She pulled it from her pocket and looked at the caller. She glanced up. “Sorry, just a second.”

Matt nodded, and waited.

“Hello,” she said as she answered the call.

Matt looked at her and jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the open front door, indicating her Jeep. She understood and nodded, and while she continued her conversation he wandered over to the doorless driver’s side, popped the hood latch and moved to the front. While he peered at the engine, he couldn’t help but catch pieces of Emily’s discussion with the estate attorney as she walked outside. She smiled, nodded and thanked him for sending out a cleaning crew.

She ended the call, stuck her phone into her back pocket and rested her forearms against the Jeep’s fender. “So, any idea what’s wrong with it?” Her ponytail slid over her shoulder.

“Why don’t you start her up and let me listen to it?”

“Okay,” she said. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she turned the key. The engine sputtered a few times, then started. After a little more inspection, Matt stepped around the hood.

“All right, you can turn it off.”

She did, and slid back out. “Well? I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

He rubbed his hand over his head and looked at her. Her eyes were wide, soft. “Might be your alternator.”

“Oh, man,” she said. Then, her brow lifted. “Your dad signed you up to be my fix-it man and mechanic. You still up for the job?”

Matt rubbed his chin and studied her. “Yep. Won’t be cheap, though.”

Emily fake scowled, with her brows slashing together. “Your dad said not to let you charge too much or else.”

God, the way her face screwed up into that silly frown, it made her look twelve again.

“I’m the cheapest you’ll find. But you’re going to need a loaner car for a few days until I can order the parts and get the job done.”

She smiled. Instant relief softened her features. “Deal. I’ll call my insurance company right now.” Pulling her cell from her back pocket, she started to tap the front of it.

Matt stilled her hand with his. Her skin felt soft beneath his fingers. Soft, and warm. “Nope,” he said. “You’d have to go to King’s Ferry to pick one up. You can use Jep’s old truck for a few days.”