Those Cassabaw Days

CHAPTER FOUR

AS EMILY 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—”

Matt’s hand shot out like a bolt of lightning and grabbed hers, stilling the movement. They exchanged shocked glances, and without a word he dropped her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Emily finally said. The awkward moment didn’t pass quickly enough. “I—”

“It’s all right,” Matt said quietly. His gaze shot above her head, to some distant spot behind her. “Quick movements and me don’t mix, Emily.”

Emily blew out a sigh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A feeling of embarrassed confusion washed over her. She was just going to ask him when had he been able to grow stubble. For now she supposed it’d be best if she just dropped the question. “Well, I’m finished here. I suppose we should head home. I have a copious amount of drudgery to complete.” Without waiting for his answer, she moved past him and headed to Jep’s old truck. By the time she’d climbed behind the wheel and stuck the key in the ignition, Matt was already in the passenger’s side. Silently, she turned over the engine and started home.

Matt didn’t say a word after leaving the Windchimer, and the moment she stopped the truck his door was opened and he was jumping out of it. She gave Matt a surprised look when he met her at the door.

“Repairs, right? Or did you want to go over that tomorrow?” he asked.

“No,” she said, and closed the truck door. “Absolutely, now’s fine.” She started up the lane, the humid air sticking to her bare arms and neck. “Come on in.”

Matt’s long strides carried him past her, and he pulled open the screen door while she stuck the key in the lock.

“Thank you,” Emily said and hit the lights as she stepped inside. Matt followed, the screen door creaking as he let it close. Setting her iPhone onto the kitchen table, she pulled out a chair and nodded to Matt. “Have a seat.”

He did, and she took one herself, pulled her feet up and sat cross-legged. Opening the notepad app on her phone, she looked at Matt. Seeing his face, with that off-center cowlick at the top and that scar through his eyebrow, made a smile creep across her lips.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. He tipped his chair back, watching her.

Emily shook her head. “I just can’t get over the fact that I’m sitting in my old kitchen with my old best friend.” She gave a soft laugh. “It’s just so crazy, don’t you think? After all these years? Do you remember when we—”

“I’m not that kid anymore, Emily,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m...just not.”

She didn’t let his gruff dismissal scare her. Instead, she softened, and felt a little sad about it. Somehow, she hoped a little of the old Matt Malone lay buried beneath all that hardened exterior. “Well,” she said with a confident grin, “maybe you should be more like that kid, instead of sharp-tongued cantankerous ol’ Matt Malone.”

Matt’s gaze stayed steady on hers; it didn’t waver, and he didn’t smile. He sort of had a perma-frown stuck on his face. But before he had time to respond, Emily blew out a gusty sigh. “Okay. So. Let’s get down to business here.”

Matt relayed all of the repairs he’d discovered while going through the café. Emily tapped it all into her notes. “Okay. I’ll research materials and have the list ready for you in the next day or two. Then you can determine your fee.”

“Fair enough. I’ll let you know about the parts needed to fix your Jeep,” he said. Rubbing a hand over his hair, he pushed away from the table.

“Sounds good.”

He strode to the door, and Emily followed. “I’ll check out the dock at low tide tomorrow.” He opened the creaky screen door and pushed it open, then looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s a lot of work. It won’t be a cheap repair. Materials won’t be, either.”

Emily leaned against the frame, propping the screen door open with her bare foot. “Yeah,” she said as Matt sauntered into the shadows, making his way to the old path they took as kids that ran between their houses. For a second she saw the skinny boy she once knew, running home for supper. And then before her eyes his shape grew, expanded, took on the form of the broad-shouldered ireful man he’d become. “I expected as much. See ya tomorrow.”

His deep, raspy voice drifted from the darkness. “Yep. Night, Emily.”

She moved out onto the porch and eased down onto the old swing. Despite the repairs, the work and the cranky once-best friend who lived next door, Emily knew that all of her previous decisions had led to this. College. Work. Trent, and their breakup. A new life. A new start. And it suddenly felt right.

For once, Emily sensed she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.