Those Cassabaw Days (27 page)

“I know, honey. For what it’s worth I think he regrets the hell out of that decision.”

Emily nodded. “Thanks for letting me know. You’ll be there tomorrow, won’t you?”

Nathan nodded, and rose. “You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She’d thought Matt wouldn’t have, either.

When the cab pulled up, Trent stepped out, and it slowly pulled away. Nathan walked Emily over.

“Trent Hughes,” Trent said, introducing himself to Nathan with a handshake.

Nathan gave a nod. “Nathan. Malone.” He inclined his head. “Childhood friend from next door.” He looked at Emily. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” she said, and started for the Jeep.

“You look adorable,” Trent said, sliding into the passenger side. He reached over and lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Seafood or seafood?”

Emily gave a wan smile at Trent’s attempt at a joke. “Seafood it is,” she said, and started toward The Crab Shack.

The ride was silent—on her part, anyway. Trent chatted and talked and oohed and aahed over the quaintness of Cassabaw. Once at the restaurant, and they were seated, he looked at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Emily smiled. She couldn’t tell him the real reason. But another reason charged to the forefront. A very real concern.

“I’m one man down tomorrow.” She laughed. “On opening day.”

Trent cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

Emily sighed. “Well, I had someone lined up to help me with, well, everything. Now they’re gone.” She sighed again. “So it’ll just be me and two employees.”

Trent’s thoughtful expression, pulling his perfectly shaped brows into place, almost made her smile. “Nonsense. I’ll help you.”

Emily gave him a side-angled stare. “Really?”

Trent grinned. “Absolutely. What do you need me to do?”

Emily pondered. She was stuck, really. Matt was supposed to help with the cooking—everything. They’d planned to run opening day together.

Now it was just Emily, Sean and Anna. Would that be enough? She could use Trent’s help.

With a resigned breath, she told Trent exactly what he was in for.

And, much to her surprise, he was game.

She sighed. “I don’t want to seem like I’m using you, Trent. I can handle this.” She looked at him. “This doesn’t change my mind about you and me.”

Trent merely grinned. Confident. Arrogant. That handsome smile that won so many over. “I aim to work on that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

W
HEN
E
MILY’S ALARM
went off at 3:00 a.m., she’d felt as though she’d just fallen to sleep.

Technically, she supposed she had. So she climbed into the shower, braided her hair, pulled on the sweet little thirties chiffon dress with poppies, a cute era-styled hat, dabbed on a little lip gloss, put on her sandals and headed to the Windchimer. With the doors opening at 6:00 a.m., she wanted to make sure she had plenty of time to get things started and ready to go.

She and Trent, that is.

Sadness washed over her, knowing Matt was missing the opening. Some of the gloss of it dulled, without him.

When she pulled into the back lot of the café, she parked the Jeep, and walked along the side of the building to the boardwalk. She pulled up short.

The insulators were lit in the outdoor seating. A flag with a vintage mermaid print flapped in the early-morning sea breeze rolling off the Atlantic. The front door was cracked open, and an old tinny melody poured from the gramophone’s brass horn. Slowly, she crept up the veranda and stepped inside.

The insulator lights in the rafters cast a low ginger glow to the dining hall—and especially over the single table in the center, lit with a candle. Two plates with silverware awaited...someone. She glanced around, taking in the Gatsby-themed splendor of the Windchimer, but seeing nobody.

“Hello?” she called out. “Er, anyone here?”

A figure emerged from the darkened archway leading to the very back. Stepping into the light was Trent, wearing a long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to the elbows. Suspenders. A pair of vintage trousers. And one of those soft period hats.

He looked as Gastby-like as the café as he walked up to her. “Breakfast?”

Emily grinned and nodded. “Where in the world did you get that outfit?”

“An epiphany,” he confessed, and stepped around to the room-length griddle behind the penny counter. He glanced over his shoulder. “I visited an antiques store in King’s Ferry yesterday. Would you like to help prepare the first meal?”

“I absolutely of course would, good sir.” She reminded herself to truly thank Trent later on, for saving her skin.

Trent handed her a white apron; he draped one over himself.

And together, they prepared the first new meal at the Windchimer.

Apple-cinnamon pancakes and sausage—with a superlarge and chilly glass of chocolate milk. Thin-sliced apples cooked to a soft tenderness inside the cinnamony pancake batter, and covered with melted butter and maple syrup.

“Good?” Trent asked, shoving in another mouthful. “I pulled it off your menu.”

“I think I have died and gone straight to holy Heaven!” Emily confessed. “I didn’t think you liked to cook, Trent.”

As he ate, he kept his gaze trained on Emily. “I don’t, really. It’s a skill I don’t have much use for, but I do have it. Besides. I thought it might win me points with you.” He winked, and she just rolled her eyes.

Sean and Anna, the two college kids hired for the summer, arrived by 5:30 a.m. Emily ran over a few last-minute things, and by the time 6:00 a.m. rolled around, coffee was on several burners, basic pancake batter made and set aside, and sausage and bacon simmered on the griddle. They were ready. The doors opened.

The first customers piled in at once, and it was absolutely no surprise at all that Emily found the Malone men, plus Mr. Wimpy, Ted, Putt, Sidney and Dubb right behind them. They all gave Trent a strange look when she’d introduced them all. Being from a political family, though, Trent knew exactly how to shine up to them. She could see on Ted’s face, though—he didn’t like Trent. It was almost comical.

With the vintage music playing in the overhead sound system—since the gramophone didn’t have the capability to play continuously—Ted and the others nodded their approval.

“Looks good, gal!” Mr. Wimpy exclaimed. “You sure did this one up right!” He cocked his head. “Now tell me you got squirrel on that menu.”

“Gross! No squirrel, now!” She laughed half-heartedly.

Jep came over and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “Girl, everything looks grand! Including you.” He winked. “I’m sorry my middle grandson is such a bald donkey’s ass. Don’t know where the hell he went off to. But if I was a couple of decades younger, why, I’d give these young’uns a run for their money with you.”

“You sure would!” she agreed, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Jep’s cheeks reddened.

“Boy, look at this place,” Eric said. Nathan was right beside him. “Lookin’ good, Emily!” He kissed her right on the mouth with a big resounding smack.

“You are out of your mind,” she told him, and then received a hug from Nathan.

“I see you already have an extra hand?” He inclined his head to Trent.

Emily gave a wan smile. “He insisted on helping out.”

“Everything’s perfect, darlin’,” Owen said, suddenly beside her. “Everything.”

Emily worked side by side with Trent for the breakfast crowd—which ended up being a much larger crowd than she thought possible on Cassabaw. She was happily surprised to see Mr. Catesby had actually shown up, frown in tow, but he’d given her a slight grin when she sat in a booth with him for a few minutes while he ate his breakfast.

She knew the Fourth drew more customers in than what normally would be there, but she didn’t mind. Not at all.

Everyone loved the ambience of the café, and Emily could tell the patrons really enjoyed being there. The food was simple fare but delicious. Trent hustled the crowd, too, and Emily knew then why he was bound for a career in politics. He could appeal to any and all. Well, all except Ted.

The breakfast crowd turned into an even bigger lunch crowd—with barely a lull in between the two. Trent was a good sport about everything. He and Emily both cooked, called out the patrons’ numbers when their meal was ready and they’d come to one area at the end of the penny counter to pick it up. Sean and Anna saw to patrons’ requests and bussed tables when they left. They were fast, hard workers and helped opening day go off without a hitch.

Lunchtime sandwiches were a huge success. From tuna on rye to all sorts of deli—including Jep’s own famous Reuben—all served with chips or salad. Emily had made ahead cheesecake, chocolate layer cake and blueberry-cream-cheese pound cake.

There wasn’t a scrap of it left after the doors closed.

Ted, Wimpy and the others returned for lunch, along with their wives, and they’d all oohed and aahed over everything.

By the time the last patron left it was 2:00 p.m. Sean and Anna finished their final chores and left for the Fourth festivities. Trent closed the door and slid the bolt.

Emily clapped and jumped where she stood, and the hem of her chiffon dress floated with the movement. “We did it!” She leaped and threw her arms around Trent’s neck. “Didn’t we?”

He pulled back, and those eyes, so familiar to her, locked with hers. “Yes, we did.”

She thought for a moment, he’d kiss her again.

Emily stopped it before it happened. “Trent, thank you again. You really, really saved me today. And we’ve still got face-painting, if you’re up for it.”

“Right, right. Face-painting.” He grinned at her. “Will it win me any points?”

Emily sighed. “Trent.”

“Hey, just asking.”

As they readied to leave, Emily couldn’t help but miss Matt. It was he who should’ve been here, with her. They’d worked on the café so hard together. The penny counter. Everything. It felt hollow without him.

When she and Trent finally stepped out of the Windchimer, the sounds of the Fourth of July greeted them. Somewhere up the main boardwalk, a bandstand played traditional Fourth music. Kids ran around, bare-chested with boogie boards and water noodles.

An absolutely perfect gorgeous Fourth of July, except that Matt Malone had left without a word.

She felt hollow inside now that the mad rush had ended. Hollow and cold and sad.

Trent helped Emily set up the face-painting station on the boardwalk in front of the café. Even better, he sat and allowed a six-year-old to paint his face.

Unfortunately for Trent, the six-year-old was a girl.

So Trent got a nice big butterfly on his cheek.

The afternoon and evening passed, and together they sat in the sand and watched ginormous fireworks explode over the Atlantic. She’d treated Trent to one of Hendrik’s hot dogs, which, to Emily’s dismay, he’d barely touched. When she’d stopped for a funnel cake, he’d declined that, too.

She and Matt would’ve eaten every crumb.

The differences were so stark between the two. All of Emily’s quirks seemed to be the things Matt liked most about her. Whereas with Trent? He thought them quaint. She felt he liked the idea of them together, more than being together. It was their history pulling at Trent, nothing more. Only he didn’t see it yet. But she did.

Yet something was missing. For Emily, anyway.

Rather, someone.

Matt’s leaving—his abrupt departure, without even a goodbye—burned deep inside of her. It’d hurt for him to miss her grand opening.

Was that something a friend would do?

Somehow, she sincerely doubted it. Would she be able to do this? Stay on Cassabaw, run the café, without Matt by her side?
Is it our history pulling at me?

“Emily?”

She turned to Trent, whose handsome face was streaked by the light of the falling fireworks. “Hmm?”

“Can I stay on for a while? I can help with the café until you find proper employees.” His face grew serious. “I promise, I won’t be pushy.”

She smiled. “You were fine today, Trent. And I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“That’s the thing,” he said, and grasped her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m offering. Please?”

Emily looked at him. “I don’t want to lead you on, Trent. I don’t want to take your help, knowing...right now I’m just not open for a relationship. Do you see?”

To her surprise, Trent’s smile widened. “I do see. All I’m asking is, you give me a chance.”

“No strings attached,” she warned. “And although insignificant to you, I’ll pay you. I’m not asking for handouts.”

“I’d rather slice open my wrists slowly...with a butter knife, than accept money from you.” He held out his hand. “But, it’s a deal. I’ll help you out for as long as you need me to. No strings attached.” He shook her hand, and he winked. “But if my charm wins you back in the process, well...” He shrugged. “Win, win.”

Emily just shook her head and smiled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

O
VER THE NEXT
several days, business was hopping at the Windchimer, and Emily drowned herself in it. It seemed to be the only thing that kept her mind off Matt. Trent worked by Emily’s side in the kitchen and helped keep things running smoothly.

Trent, as promised, was bone-doggedly determined not to give up on Emily. Even when she confessed to having an interest elsewhere, he wholeheartedly believed she would realize they
belonged
together
. In Trent Hughes fashion, he was a gentleman, of course, but showed up every day at the café for breakfast, then again at lunch. He sent her flowers. He sent her Godiva chocolates.

But Trent didn’t know her heart lay in the center of a funnel cake, not commercial candy and flora and fauna from online vendors. To be frank, the café had been so busy over the Fourth weekend and several days afterward, that she’d not given a whole lot of thought to Trent and his extended stay. He’d helped her that first week. Tremendously so. But she wasn’t feeling any other emotion toward her ex-boyfriend except...gratitude. She’d told him more than once, but he insisted she just
open up to him
. Somehow, she couldn’t.