Those Cassabaw Days. Cindy Miles

door. On the passenger’s side, he climbed in, reached over and killed the engine. “Now you start it.”

      Emily did as he asked and pushed in the clutch, then started the engine. Although the engine felt a little stiff, she shifted into First and started down the shady drive. At the end of it, she pulled out onto the two-lane, picked up speed and shifted into Second, heading for the boardwalk.

      “Not bad,” Matt remarked. “Hit Third.”

      It took a little muscle, but Emily shifted once more. The gear grinded a bit, but caught and they continued on.

      “Eric’s right. This thing is a beast,” she said, giving Matt a quick look. “But I’m grateful to have it. Thanks.”

      Along the road, the dusk shadows lurched beneath the canopy, and the salty late-May breeze blew in through the opened windows. Matt’s presence beside her filled the cab of the old truck—he was almost crowding her and she felt a fluttering in her stomach. He had this smoky voice that she liked listening to. And that profound, brooding stare unsettled her—or rather, her reaction to it did.

      “You remember Miss Mae Kennedy? She still lives there,” Matt said, pointing out a coral-colored cottage with a white concrete seahorse mailbox as they moved through the little neighborhood.

      “She’s the lady who was friends with your mom in high school, wasn’t she?” Emily asked. “She used to make those chocolate cupcakes with white frosting and bring them over to your house, every single week.”

      Matt’s gaze stayed on the house as they passed it. “Yeah, she did. I stopped by to see her after I got here.” He looked at her. “I don’t remember my mom, Em. Only in pictures. I remember yours, though.” He quieted for a moment. “She laughed a lot. Like you.”

      Downshifting, Emily rolled to a stop at the intersection and held Matt’s gaze in the hazy light of dusk. Matt’s mom had died of cancer when he was four, leaving Owen and Jep to raise three small boys. Eric had just turned a year old.

      “Yeah, she did. I remember her, too,” Emily answered. The ache she always got when she missed her parents settled into the pit of her heart.

      “It still hurts,” Matt said pointedly.

      Emily nodded. “Sometimes. It’s like someone is squeezing my insides in their hand.” The light turned green, and she started forward. “I was so angry for a while. Like they left me on purpose or something. But I have mostly good memories. I choose to focus on and remember those. They’re fun, and they make me feel happy.”

      “So what does being here do?”

      Emily followed the curve, and the gray Atlantic coastline came into view. She sighed.

      “I’m not sure yet, Matt Malone.” She glanced at him, and he regarded her closely. “I’m sort of winging this whole alone thing. But right now it feels...right to be here.” It felt right that Matt was here, too.

      Wordlessly, he nodded.

      The backside of the Windchimer came into view, and Emily slowed and pulled the truck into the small parking lot behind the café. The old Chevy’s door squeaked as she opened and closed it, and Matt rounded the truck and stood close to her. Again, she felt crowded, as if Matt’s body took up all the space and air surrounding her. The sounds of the surf breaking, gulls crying and a lone wind chime tinkling in the wind infiltrated Emily’s senses nearly as much as Matt’s presence did. It threw her into sensory overload. She breathed in the sea air.

      “Well,” Matt said. He rubbed his head with his hand, then dragged his fingers across his jaw. He glanced behind her. “Let’s go check it out.”

      Even in the fading light of dusk, the way Matt studied her so thoroughly made her aware of, well, everything. He’d always had that quality, though. Almost a commanding characteristic that made people pay attention closely. Even as a kid, he could speak to her, and she’d feel compelled to listen.

      She gave a nod. “Okay, let’s go.”

      They crossed in silence to the wooden boardwalk leading to the beachfront, where sea oats waved in the constant coastal breeze. The Windchimer faced the ocean along a boardwalk of several other establishments. It was brightly painted in a soft pink with white concrete columns, and a swirling mural along the side of the building that depicted sea turtles, mermaids and sand dollars. A long wood-planked covered deck, housing several tables, had a beautiful view of the sea and pier.

      A loud clap of thunder boomed over the water. Emily jumped. Big fat plops of rain smacked her skin. Matt was silent as his gaze fell on her, then dropped to her mouth and lingered there before he raised his eyes back to hers.

      “I, uh, guess we’d better get inside,” Emily said, fishing the key from her pocket.

      “Yep,” Matt agreed.

      As she pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, Matt flipped on the light switch and a soft amber hue fell over the café’s interior.

      “Let’s go,” she said, and excitement flushed her. “I’ll make a list of supplies while you make a list of repairs.” She turned and pressed her lips in a tight line. “Okay?”

      Lightning flashed through the storefront windows, followed a few seconds later by a thunderous boom. The rain fell in buckets now, a fast, turbulent sea storm. “Storms are magical mantles of fairy wrath, don’t you think?”

      “Yep,” Matt finally answered. Without another word, he walked to the back of the café and began his inspection.

      Emily watched her now grown-up best friend, who filled out his jeans in a way that made her pause. Narrow hips. Broad shoulders. Confident swagger. He wasn’t the same Matt Malone from before. She wasn’t the same Emily. Not kids, but adults. Each with pasts.

      Which just might be the problem.

      Or, not.

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