by Cindy Miles
“Why should that make me angry, Em?” He searched her face. “It’s your business. Right? Not mine.” He stood, rubbed his head, the back of his neck. “Seriously, Emily? The guy breaks up with you, you complain that he and his rich political family disrespect you and don’t understand you, yet the second he blows into Cassabaw you’re all over him?” He looked at her, hurt and—hell yeah—angry, and shook his head. “I didn’t think you were like that.” Throwing his hands up, he shoved out of the door and into the rain.
Emily was right behind him. Even through the pouring rain he could feel the anger rise off her in waves. “You know what, Matt Malone? Shame on you! Shame on you for assuming.”
He wasn’t looking at her; instead his gaze remained steady on the river. But Emily wouldn’t have any of that and she ducked in front of him.
“Exactly what do you think I am like, Matt Malone? Go ahead—tell me!”
Matt looked down at Emily, her hair freshly drenched, the blue tank top clinging to her body and her white shorts soaked through. Water ran off her face, down her chin, her throat, and her brows were plunged together in a frown.
“Tell me!” she yelled into the rain.
Her eyes, though—they looked sad. Disappointed. And really, he couldn’t blame her. He was an ass. A jealous, idiotic ass.
Pure, desperate instinct drove his next move, and it occurred without a second thought to consequence, risk or anything else he’d spent hours pondering.
In the pouring rain, both drenched to the bone, Matt grasped Emily’s face between his hands, bent his head and, driven by anger, pent-up desire and something else he didn’t dare try to define, he pressed his mouth hard against hers. Fiercely rigid at first, their lips melded together, neither budging, neither moving. The rain poured, running rivulets between their faces and gathering at their fused mouths.
Emily’s mouth softened beneath his, and her hands found their way between their bodies to his chest. She fisted his shirt in her palms and, unable to help himself, Matt nudged her lips open and swept her tongue with his. A groan, almost a growl, came from deep within him. His fingers delved into her hair, angling her head just right, and he devoured her mouth with his. Unable to stop, the taste of her, blended with the summer rain falling onto their skin and the brine of the marsh clinging to the air, felt...right. Tasted right.
Tasted perfect.
Emily pressed her body to his, closer, and her hands found his jaw, gripped the back of his neck and held on. Everywhere they touched Matt felt his skin flame; his hands moved over her back, pressed her closer, and when her tongue swept over his lower lip and then drew it in, caressed it, he all but lost his mind...
Suddenly, Matt grasped Emily’s shoulders and set her away, breaking their kiss. They could do nothing more than stare at each other in the downpour. Disbelief. Shock. Surprise. Turned on.
Crazy turned on.
“Why did you do that?” Emily finally said. She wiped the water from her eyes and flung it with her hands. “Why, Matt?”
Matt looked away from her, unable to make his head wrap around the fact that he and Emily Quinn had just kissed again. And that it’d been more than memorable. More than exceptionally wonderful, or whatever other adjective Emily had described the prospect of it before. Those adjectives had barely scraped the surface of what that kiss actually had been.
Insatiable. That’s the only word Matt could come up with.
“Matt?”
“I don’t know,” he finally answered, and looked at her. “Em, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I saw you with that guy—”
Her eyes widened then, and even in the gray rainstorm, anger flashed in their hazel depths. “You mean you kissed me because you saw Trent kissing me? Is that it? It was your idea to just be friends, Matt. Yours!”
Matt didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just stared at the dock boards between his feet.
“Matt Malone! Are you kidding me?” she spat, hands on hips. “Well, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she said, rising on tiptoes. “And I guess I don’t know you, either. I didn’t think you were like that!”
And then she placed her small palm against his chest and shoved.
By the time Matt surfaced from the murky, choppy river water, Emily Quinn was already halfway up the dock, headed home.
In two strokes he was at the floating dock, and hoisted himself up. Sitting there, booted feet and fully clothed, he dangled his legs in the water and stared across the river.
She’d been right, after all.
The kiss had once again been amazing.
But he’d been right, too, because now he’d gone and blown it. But the thing Emily didn’t know was, no—the kiss hadn’t only occurred because he’d seen another man had beaten him to it.
It happened because, well, it was Em. His Em. Always had been, no matter how hard he’d tried to fight it. Her scent, the feel of her body next to his, the taste of her lips, all belonged to her. He’d lain awake at night for weeks dreaming of doing exactly what he’d just done, ever since he’d sworn never to do it again.
Rising, he trudged home. Confusion and anger boiled inside of him as he ignored the looks from his dad, brothers and Jep as he jogged, soaking wet, up the stairs.
Just as he entered his room, his cell rang.
Glaring at the floor, he crossed over, grabbed it. Saw the caller.
His heart skipped a few beats.
And he answered it.
He didn’t say a word. Simply listened.
Then Matt hung up. Shitty, shitty timing.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, then grabbed his duffel and left.
* * *
MATT HAD KISSED her again.
And, like she’d thought, it’d been perfect. Beyond perfect.
She could just kill him.
She hadn’t seen Matt all day—probably the first since she’d arrived in Cassabaw. It felt...strange, not seeing him, and she wondered where he was. As she waited on the front porch for Trent to be dropped off by Cassabaw’s only cab service, owned and operated by Rabbit Tuten—whose real name was Peter, but everyone called him Rabbit—her thoughts returned to the dock. The rain. The anger that had poured out of Matt had stunned her.
The kiss had stunned her even more.
It’d taken her breath away. Again. Never had she wanted to melt into someone before. She’d wanted to with Matt, wanted to just sink straight into his skin, meld to him, become one. She’d shoved him into the water and stomped off, and even under the pelting cold water from her shower she’d not been able to rid her body, lips or mind of that kiss. Or any of the other kisses they’d shared.
Of Matt.
Stupid Matt Malone.
Of all times to finally show his true feelings, he chose the very moment Trent Hughes blew into town. It took a jealous streak of anger to urge Matt into realizing he might actually want her for more than just a friend. And yes—that angered her.
That he’d kissed her under those circumstances?
How could she be angry about something she’d dreamed about ever since he’d said they couldn’t ever do it again?
She gave the porch swing a push with her sandaled toe, looked at the place on her shin where, weeks ago, Matt had plucked a big splinter of rotted dock wood from her skin and doctored it up. It seemed like aeons ago, not just weeks.
A figure emerged from the path. At first, her heart leaped. Matt!
The closer the figure grew, though, Emily knew right away it wasn’t.
“Hey, Nathan,” Emily said.
Matt’s brother ambled up to the veranda steps. His face drawn tight, she immediately knew something was up. She didn’t even have to ask.
“Matt’s gone,” he said.
Emily sat, stunned. “What do you mean, gone?”
Nathan climbed the remaining steps and eased onto the swing beside her. “Left sometime during the night, I suppose. His duffel’s gone.” He looked at her then, and his
eyes, so much like Matt’s, had saddened. “He’d never unpacked it. Kept it close to the door in his room.”
The breath left her. “Do you know where he went? How long he’ll be gone?”
Nathan shook his head. “Afraid not.” He looked at her. “I’m sorry.”
Emily nodded, breathed and breathed again. “Do you think he’s all right?”
Nathan sighed. “I sure hope so, darlin’.”
Just then, headlights arced the driveway. Emily stood. “My ex-boyfriend came in yesterday,” she said. “I should’ve seen it coming. He’s been calling, sending emails. But I ignored it. He’s here trying to woo me back, so he says.” She leaned over and kissed Nathan on the cheek. “Matt was angry with me for going on a date with Jake. For Trent. Yet he only wants to be friends, Nathan.” She looked at him. “His decision. Not mine.”
“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
WHEN EMILY’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 hi
m. “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?”