Those Cassabaw Days (10 page)

“Cardamom.”

She laughed, and the sound wasn’t annoying, or chastising, or superior.

It was simply a sound of amusement.

“No problem, I had to use Google to find it once upon a time.” She moved up the aisle, grinned and grabbed a bottle of brown powdery stuff. “It’s a spice.”

Hadn’t thought to use Google.

Use a rifle? Hell, yes. He could’ve done that, no hesitation. From three hundred yards. But use Google?

Civilian life supremely sucked.

Matt watched Emily sway toward him, with her long tanned legs, slim hips and the dimple in her cheek pitting even deeper. He scowled and glanced down at the list.

“I have an extraordinary idea,” she said as she handed him a small piece of paper and a hundred-dollar bill from her purse. “I’ll get the rest of this list if you pretty please run next door to the home-improvement store and pick up the hose and fixtures for my washer and dryer?”

Matt didn’t hesitate to nod. “Deal. Meet you out front.” Without another word he turned and strode from the store.

* * *

E
MILY
WATCHED
M
ATT’S
hasty retreat and couldn’t help but laugh. Knowing he wouldn’t take long in the home-improvement store, she hurried through and gathered the rest of the items. By the time she paid and pushed the loaded cart outside, Matt was waiting by the curb with the truck running. The moment he saw her, he hopped out and met her at the bed of the truck. Wordlessly, he began loading her groceries.

“Thanks,” Emily said, shading her eyes from the bright sun. The heat clung to her bare legs and arms; humid and delicious and invigorating.

“Yep,” he replied curtly. Sunglasses now hid his gaze, but she felt sure he’d given her a brief glance. And although back to one-word replies, she sensed a notable ease in him as they drove back to Cassabaw Station. There’d been a delicate shift in the awkwardness that had been there previously; it seemed just a teensy bit less. If anything, it was a start. Back home, Matt pulled into her winding drive and stopped at the porch. A man on a mission, he unloaded the groceries into the kitchen, grabbing several bags at a time with each hand. Emily had made only one trip to his two. Finally, he put the hose and fixtures for the washer and dryer in the mudroom, set the receipt and change on the old kitchen table and headed for the door.

“I’ll be working on the Jeep if you need anything,” he said quietly, then left.

“Thanks again!” she hollered behind him. Emily waited, listening, but Matt said nothing more. Still, a smile pulled at her mouth. She had no idea why, but there it was. She began putting away the groceries.

Inspecting the cabinets, Emily ran her palm against the aged but sturdy solid oak door fronts. She had plans to paint and refresh the entire kitchen and wanted to start on that as soon as possible. With Matt’s help everything would be in order much faster.

Once the groceries were all put away, Emily started on the washer and dryer. Within an hour she’d disconnected the small, ancient set Aunt Cora had used and reconnected her new efficient set. After a quick test, both worked perfectly. No leaks. Satisfied, she began on the rest of the house.

Just as she was about to tackle dragging the mattress set onto the bed frame, Emily heard Matt’s voice call from the living room.

“I’m back here, Mattinski!” she hollered.

In moments he ducked into her bedroom. In a single swipe his gaze took in everything, and without a word he moved to the box spring, grabbed it and slung it onto the bed frame. He followed suit with the pillow-top mattress.

Emily hurried to the opposite side of the bed and pulled it straight. “Thanks,” she said.

Matt regarded her, his ever-present scowl fixed into his handsome features. “Thought I’d hook your washer and dryer up.”

She just couldn’t help the grin. “Follow me, Mr. Malone.” She sashayed by him, and in the mudroom, turned and faced him. She swept her hand toward the appliances like a game show hostess presenting a prize. “Done.”

Matt’s expression was stone-solid, but she noticed the slight shift in their green depths. From dark moss to a brighter algae shimmer. “Impressive.”

Emily beamed and patted the washing machine. “Thank you. One of my finer hidden talents.” She moved to the living room, and Matt followed. “My grandfather taught me a few mechanical things. How to change a flat tire, or the oil in my car. Fix a leaky faucet, or unclog a drain.” She shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her. “All the necessities a single girl might need.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Matt grunted. “Not bad.” He glanced around, and Emily watched his gaze rake over the items crammed in the modest room until they settled back onto her. “You need anything else moved?”

Emily thought about it. “Actually, yes.” She pointed to a tallboy she’d planned on using to set her record player on. “Can you help me set that in the corner, over by the hearth?”

Matt nodded, walked over, bent down and grasped it, efficiently lifting it alone. “Oh,” Emily said. “Thank you.”

Turning, she found one of the boxes containing her collection of vinyl records and moved to hoist it, but Matt grabbed it simultaneously, their hands touching. Face-to-face, his eyes held hers, both of them frozen in the moment. Her skin warmed where they touched, and she felt a blush creep up her neck. “Thanks,” she half laughed, and it came out soft, whispery.

“No problem.” Still, their gazes were locked, steady. Finally, he cleared his throat and as they put down the box, he lifted one record out, just far enough to read the title. “Ben Selvin and His Orchestra.” He looked at her and slid it back, then picked up the box again. “Jep has that one.”

Emily lifted the record player and smiled. “He probably has most of what’s in there. Took me years to find them all.” She smiled softly. “He got my mom hooked on them, remember? She’d play those records all day sometimes. I guess it’s why I love the vintage music so much.” She looked at him. “Reminds me of her. Carefree. Spontaneous. Loving life.”

In the corner by the hearth, Matt set down the box of records, took the player from Emily’s arms and set it on the highboy. “Sounds like you.”

She smiled wide. “It does, doesn’t it? Thanks again, Matt,” she said. “For everything.”

He studied her, then nodded. “I’ll have your Jeep finished up by tomorrow.”

“Okay.” The shock of a brooding Matt was starting to wear off, she thought. Now she almost expected it—as much as she expected his to-the-point answers. “Great. I’ll have Wi-Fi by this evening so I’ll get lumber prices for the dock and start getting material quotes for the Windchimer.”

After a quick look around, Matt shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and inclined his head. “I’ll be getting back to it, then.” He eyed her shin. “Keep an eye on that.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” she replied.

With a short yet intense glance, he turned and let himself out. Emily followed to the screen door. “Thanks again, Matt Malone!”

Without a backward glance, he threw his hand up and waved. At the entrance to the trail between houses, he bent over, grabbed a machete he’d propped against the base of a big pine tree and disappeared into the maritime thicket separating their homes. As Emily stood at the door watching she could hear the swipe of the blade as he thinned out the path. And couldn’t help the pull of her lips into a full-blown smile.

Already she was looking forward to seeing him again.

* * *

L
EANING
AGAINST THE
doorjamb Emily inhaled deeply, letting her lungs fill completely before allowing the breath to slowly escape. Her gaze raked over the Quinn property; the magnolias, the tall pines, the mossy live oak trees. A cloud of dragonflies wafted over the marsh, the sun penetrating their clear lacy wings as though they were stained glass. Light pierced the canopy of trees, cascading tiny illuminated flickers to fall against the ground like so many shimmering fireflies. Every one of her senses kicked in; she drew in each unique scent of pine bark, magnolia bloom and the ever-present brine of the salt water. The cacophony of cicadas, the mad mocking caws of blue jays and some other undefined seabird, filled the humid warm air. A slight breeze picked up and lifted the loose strands of hair from her neck, and she closed her eyes.

This was hers now. Hers and Reagan’s. And a sense of belonging filled her, almost as though water had been poured into her, taking up every ounce of space inside her body. It was unlike anything she’d experienced in so, so long. She knew the very day that feeling had ended.

The day she had to leave Cassabaw.

As well as her best friend.

Her eyes moved to the path that led to the Malones’, and again, Emily smiled. With a burst of energy she stepped back inside and set to work organizing her belongings. By late afternoon the internet service was up and running, and after eating a quick sandwich she decided to make the Malones a couple of peach pies.

Her grandmother had been Queen of the Perfect Blue Ribbon Pie Crust and had blessedly passed that delicate and sometimes sketchy art form down to Emily. Within minutes the pies were assembled, each with a lattice-top crust, and in the oven. While they baked Emily looked up lumber prices, writing down all of her quotes in a small notebook. The money she and Reagan received from their parents’ life-insurance policy was tucked away drawing interest. Their grandparents had left them each a substantial amount, as well. Between that and her own savings she’d have plenty of funds to use for upgrades and repairs for the café and river house. At least that was one aspect she needn’t worry about.

Before long, the pies were done and cooling on metal racks she’d placed on Aunt Cora’s table. After a quick shower, Emily changed into one of her favorite vintage day dresses, yellow with an empire waist and little cherries. She pulled her straight wet hair into a quick braid. Slipping her feet into her navy flip-flops, and her notebook in tow, she armed herself with hot pads and carried the peach pies out of the house to the Malones’.

By now the sun had started dropping low over the marsh, and the slight breeze from earlier had picked up and now brushed Emily’s skin as she walked. She noticed the thicker areas of maritime brush—overgrown scrub palms, the mass of green, suffocating kudzu twining through and around everything it could grasp on to—and saw that Matt had cut through it with his machete.

As soon as Emily broke through the trail she saw Jep in his baby blue coveralls, perched in a rocker on the front porch. He peered and squinted in her direction, as though trying to figure out who she was. He leaned forward, pushed up with his hands on the arms of the chair, stared hard, then sat back and gave his rocker a push. “’Bout time you got over here, missy. You’re as pretty as a picture. What’d ya bring me?”

Emily climbed the steps to the wide veranda. She held up each pie and gave Jep a grin. “Thank you. Dessert?”

“Now you’re talkin’.” He rose, lowered his head over one tinfoil-covered pie and sniffed. He turned an aged but clear emerald eye on her, one bushy white brow raised. “What kind are they?”

“Your favorite,” she answered proudly. “Peach.”

“Peach?” Jep asked. “I like lemon.” He inclined his head to the front door and moved to open it. “Peach’ll do, though. That there’s Matt’s favorite. I remember a time when that boy ate a whole pie in one sitting.” He gave a grumbly laugh. “He’d sneak it off the kitchen table and hightail it up that plum tree down by the marsh.” He laughed again. “Come on in, missy. You can put them down in the kitchen.”

As Emily followed Jep through the river house, she shook her head and smiled.

Matt had purposely told Emily Jep’s favorite pie was peach. Just so she’d make it.
It was Matt’s favorite.

While grumbly and brooding on the outside, somewhere deep, deep inside of her hardened ex-marine best friend, a mischievous prankster still lurked. He was simply cocooned in a thick silken wrap of grump.

And, apparently, someone who just might want to be nurtured.

She somehow found that very, very appealing.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
S SOON AS
Matt stepped through the front door, voices wafted down the hall from the kitchen. Jep. His dad. And Emily. Pausing, he listened.

“So, Emily,” his dad began. “What do you think of your old best friend? Changed much?”

“Hell, yes, he’s changed,” Jep interjected. “Frowns a lot. A big damn grouch. Donkey’s ass most of the time.”

“Dad,” Owen chided.

“Well, he is.”

Emily’s tinkling laugh came at him down the corridor. “I remember his quick laugh,” she said. “I miss that. But, we were just kids. All kids laugh a lot, I suppose.”

That made Matt flinch. She missed his laugh? Was he that much of an ass now?

“The corps gave him an edge, that’s for sure,” Owen said. “It usually does. Jep here used to say the same thing about me after I joined the Coast Guard.”

“That was true enough,” Jep agreed. “Grumpiest goat you ever did want to meet, right there. So are you staying for supper, missy?”

“Oh, thanks, Jep, but I was just going to visit the cemetery for a bit, you know? Then just have a salad and try to get some appliances ordered.”

Matt strode into the kitchen, and all eyes turned to him. Emily beamed, the dimple in her cheek sinking deep.

“Hey, Matt,” she said.

He gave her a nod. Noticed how her eyes sparked. Remembered how she’d smelled earlier when they’d grabbed the same box in the living room. Like vanilla and flowers.

“Cemetery. I get that. But salad? And what else?” Jep asked.

Emily laughed. “Nothing else. Just a big ol’ loaded salad.”

Jep’s bushy brows pinched together, making the deep lines around his eyes crease. “Loaded with what?”

“You know, lettuce, tomato, avocado...” She started ticking items off on her slender fingers. “Cucumber, radish, corn, bacon, cheese.”

Jep’s confused expression of disgust and horror almost made Matt bust out laughing.

“Sounds like grass and hedge clippings. You know what eats grass and hedge clippings, missy?” Jep asked her.