Cindy Miles - Those Cassabaw Days

“You’re sure he won’t mind?” she asked.

Matt shook his head. “That old dog lives on the water. He’s out on the trawler with Dad and Nathan every day.” He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling at her like an idiot. “He won’t even miss it.”

The uneasy lines by her eyes and mouth relaxed. It almost completely transformed her face. Funny, how worry did that to a person. He’d seen enough of it to know.

“That would be so supergreat,” she said. “Thanks, Matt.”

“No problem,” he answered.

“And did Owen tell you about the fix-it part of the job?”

“He said you had a crater-sized hole in your dock.”

Emily’s laugh hadn’t changed too much over the years. Not too loud, or obnoxious, but definitely infectious. “Yeah, that’s true.” She turned her head toward the marsh, and Matt studied her profile. Slender neck, straight little nose, firm jaw, full lips. And not a lick of makeup on. Little Emily Quinn had grown into a natural beauty.

“I’m afraid the whole dock needs repairing.” Her eyes returned to his. “And the dock house. And from what the estate attorney said, minor repairs need to be made to the house and to the café.”

Matt lifted a brow. “So you’re taking over the Windchimer?”

A bright smile lit up her face. “Sure am.”

“I guess you’re moving back to Cassabaw?” Stupid question, Malone.

She glanced at the house, and back at the marsh before answering. “I am.” Pride shone in her eyes. Made her smile widen. Made his damn heart lurch.

“For good?” he repeated.

Emily’s eyes softened again and she glanced around before returning her gaze to his. “I can’t see myself ever leaving again. This is home.” Her slight shoulders lifted. “Always has been, I guess. It just took me a while to remember that.”

A breeze came in from the marsh and brushed Emily’s ponytail off her shoulder, exposing the tattoo.

Matt rubbed his chin. “You’re going to be a busy girl, then.”

She cocked her head. “I sure hope so. And what about you? I didn’t see you at Aunt Cora’s funeral.”

Matt rubbed his jaw and shrugged. “Wasn’t here. I’m on a day-by-day agenda at the moment.” What it really depended on was whether his ex-commander proposed any special-op missions to him. Matt missed the corps. Missed his role in it.

“Well,” she said, fidgeting with the charm on her necklace, “now that I’m lined up with who Owen Malone claims is the best mechanic and fix-it man around Cassabaw, I’m all set.” She nodded at the house. “The power will be turned on by five this afternoon. The truck will arrive tomorrow with all of my stuff.”

Matt fought a grin. “Stuff, huh?”

That barely there laugh left her throat and shot straight through him, leaving his insides feeling...weird.

“Yeah, all my spectacular stuff. I need to take inventory at the café, order supplies and check on repairs.” Her hazel eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re up for all this? I mean, do you have other work planned on that day-to-day agenda of yours? Your dad said you were in the marines?”

Emily probably thought he was some sort of loser drifter. He didn’t know how much of his special-ops past Owen and Jep had told her, but the less she knew, the better.

“Been in the corps since I turned eighteen. Two tours in Iraq, two in Afghanistan. The last one left a load of shrapnel in my shoulder from a blast. Was just released a few weeks ago.” That’s all she’d need to know about his military history.

“God, Matt—I didn’t know. I mean, Owen didn’t say you’d been injured.” Her gaze moved over him, and her eyes softened again. She chewed on her bottom lip and leaned a little closer, as if she wanted to touch him. Instead, she hugged herself. “Looks like we made it back home together then, huh?”

He met her gaze and held it. “Looks like it,” he responded.

A quiet stretched between them. Beneath the shade of the trees, the breeze grazed the back of his neck. The brine of the marsh ran through his lungs, and it reminded him of simpler times. He ran his hand over his head, breaking their trance.

“Well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “We’ve got work to do.”

“We do!” A spark lit her eyes. “What to tackle first? I guess you’ll want to go over everything and then give me an estimate?”

Matt grabbed the hood and closed it. “Yep. But I need to take your Jeep for a spin, see what’s up, then get it over to our place and on the lift so I can see what’s going on with it.” He glanced out over the way he came. “Let’s drive it on over and you can bring Jep’s truck back.”

The smile she gave him was brilliant, full of hope, full of light.

“Sounds like a plan. Are you all mechanics now, too?”

He shrugged. “We’ve always done our own mechanic work. Trawler, trucks, cars. Started working on a project in high school with Jep and Dad. An old Nova. Never finished it.”

“Do you still have it?” she asked.

“Under a tarp in the shop.”

Her smile was wide. “Well, you should definitely finish that project, now that you’re home. There’s good money in classic-car restoration.”

“I guess so.”

“So did you cut through on our old path to get here?”

“Yep,” he answered. “The brush is overgrown, a lot of vines and oyster shells in the lane. I’ll take a machete to it as soon as I can.” He moved to the driver’s side, and Emily climbed in on the passenger side. How crazy was it that after fifteen years they were riding in the same vehicle?

As Matt started the engine after several tries and put the Jeep into Reverse, Emily giggled. He backed up, then paused. “What?”

“It’s so weird to see you driving,” she said, echoing his own thought. Then, she reached over and punched him in the arm. “Matt Malone.” Again, the dimple.

As he shifted into First, he shook his head and he couldn’t help the tug of his lips. “Emily, I’ve been driving for twelve years.”

“You used to smile and laugh so easily,” she said. “Such a hot dog, doing anything it took to make other people laugh.” From his peripheral, he watched her turn her head to stare out the window as they moved down the gravel drive. “Growing up just plain sucks.”

His eyes fell on her now, and to the ink he’d noticed earlier on her shoulder. He couldn’t see all of it, but it looked familiar. Flower petals or something, floating away. Farther down her arm, he noticed another tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Before he could stop himself, he grazed it with his fingers. “What’s that?”

As they bumped down the driveway, Emily turned her wrist and lightly touched the number inked into her skin with a long, delicate finger. “It’s the year my parents were born.”

Matt nodded as he braked and shifted gears at the road. Pulling out onto the two-lane highway, the Jeep sputtered as it tried to catch a gear. Finally, it did, and he picked up speed and shifted again. “What about the other one?” he asked.

Emily’s hand moved to her tattooed shoulder. “It’s a dandelion. My mom’s artist mark.”

He nodded. “I thought I knew it from somewhere. Cassabaw’s welcome sign.”

As Matt pulled into the Malone driveway, his damned eyes found Emily again. At once, questions flooded his mind. Did she have a boyfriend? A husband? He didn’t think she’d had kids. As he watched, her eyes followed the drive, taking in the sight of the big stilted river house Jep’s father had built over a century ago. Sitting beneath a canopy of aged pines and live oaks draped in Spanish moss, it was much like the Quinn place, only a lot older. He’d missed it.

Matt studied Emily, from her ponytail to her shoulder, and farther down those long, tanned legs. Jesus.