Those Cassabaw Days. Cindy Miles

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СКАЧАТЬ away and see if she could make heads or tails out of all that paperwork. Emily’s eyes roamed the room, to where their twin beds used to be. Reagan’s had been all pink and frilly; hers was Scooby-Doo. She continued down the hall, peeking inside the bathroom and then her parents’ old room. More white ghosts sat dormant in the filtered light. A huge sheeted bed, minus the mattress and box spring, rested catty-corner, and a small pair of French doors opened up onto the covered porch. Emily turned and headed back up the hallway. Aunt Cora hadn’t been a pack rat—that was for sure. Just the bare necessities, so it seemed. The movers would arrive tomorrow with Emily’s belongings, and then she could start settling in. For tonight, though, she had her overnight bag, a pillow, sheet and blanket.

      Across from the living room, Emily walked through a white-trimmed archway leading into the kitchen. Everything was just as she remembered. A smile pulled at her mouth as she made her way to the mammoth white porcelain sink, its vast picture window facing the marsh and Morgan’s Creek. With her eyes closed, she could easily see her mom, clear as day standing there, baking oatmeal-raisin cookies, or cooking supper.

      Slowly, Emily opened her eyes. A shaft of sunlight filtered through the magnolias and shot right through the window. Dancing bits of dust swirled in the light like so many diamonds. She waved her hand through it—

      “Ma’am, the front door was open and—”

      “Whoa!” With her heart in her throat, Emily spun around, and backed up until her rear end bumped against the sink. Fear and adrenaline surged through her veins as she gawked, wide-eyed.

      The man was a beast. Heavily muscled. Close-cut hair. He just stood there, like a solid rock. Muscles flexed at his jaw. An emerald gaze stared right back at her.

      Then, Emily looked—hard. Dark hair—although buzzed short. A scar through his brow over very familiar eyes. She’d know those eyes, and that scar, anywhere, no matter how long it’d been. “Holy moly, I can’t believe who I’m looking at.” Then she simply shook her head in shock and gave a light laugh. “Well, you’ve grown. I still really love the color of your eyes, Matt Malone. They remind me of the green mossy algae that sticks to the sand at low tide.”

      Something Emily deemed as confusion flared in Matt Malone’s eyes. Then, they widened. “Emily Quinn?” he asked. His matured, slightly deep and raspy voice filled the small kitchen.

      Emily moved then and gave her old best friend a hug around the neck. No longer lanky, his body was warm, thick and hard as solid stone. “You remember!”

      Then, she backed up and couldn’t help but stare some more. Matt Malone had really, really changed quite a lot in fifteen years.

      Well over six feet, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, Matt loomed over her. He had the same long dark lashes that framed those trademark Malone eyes. Although his hair was shorn, the cowlick remained just off the center of the hairline near his forehead, and was as obnoxious and untamed as ever. The gash through his brow still stood out, like a brilliant bolt of lightning, just as fresh as the day Emily had given it to him when she tripped him during a race to jump off the dock. It now gleamed silver, intriguing. Gangly had turned into lean. Confidence, maybe arrogance, wafted off him in waves.

      His black T-shirt was just snug enough that she could see his chiseled chest and biceps. Muscles flexed at his unshaven cut-in-stone jaw as he studied her. How had her prank-playing, skinny little childhood friend turned into this man?

      Then his handsome face hardened. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

      Emily blinked, stung by his brusque, sharp tone. Hard, somewhat cold, Matt’s eyes did not welcome her. Not at all.

      What had life done to her old best friend?

CHAPTER TWO

      EMILY. QUINN. WHAT the hell? Matt couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do a damn thing but stare. She was the last person he’d expected to find. Green mossy algae?

      “I live here now,” she began. She seemed...unchanged. Bouyant. Beautiful. But he saw the flash in her eyes at his sharp tone. “Can you believe it? After all these years. And what are you doing here?” She cocked her head to the side and looked up, studying him, so it seemed, her strawberry-blond ponytail sliding over her shoulder. Her face drew closer, her gaze narrowed. “Why do you look so cantankerous?”

      Matt Malone stared into the soft hazel eyes of his childhood friend.

      Not a kid anymore. But apparently still as unfiltered as before.

      His face pulled into an even deeper frown. “I’m not...that.” Even as a kid she’d used words no other kid did. Seemed to be a trait she hadn’t lost. Taller than most girls, but not as skinny as she used to be. Same long tanned legs. He spotted some ink on her shoulder. A tattoo. Free spirit. She’d had that same spirit as a kid—that was for damn sure. Apparently, she’d never lost it, either. He was glad of that, for some reason.

      Her head tilted more. “Matt? Why are you here? And how did you get here so fast? I just spoke to your dad a few minutes ago.”

      He cleared his throat. “I just got home. Dad sent me over. Said it was an emergency. I took the path.” Running his hand over his stubbled hair, he drew in a slow breath and exhaled. “They didn’t tell me it was you.”

      Emily hadn’t taken her eyes off him, waiting for his answer, he guessed, so he hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets and studied her hard. This was Em. They went way back. Back before Iraq, Afghanistan. Just...Emily.

      “It’s been a damn long time, Emily,” he finally said. “You look...different.”

      Without thought, his eyes dropped to her breasts, which were pushing against the material of her shirt. Those definitely weren’t there the last time he saw her.

      Emily’s giggle made Matt snatch his gaze back to hers. “Well, I hope I look different,” she said.

      Her smile widened, and her eyes softened. She still had that deep dimple in one cheek. As a kid, he remembered thinking it was kind of weird. Maybe not so weird anymore.

      “Since I was only twelve when we last saw each other,” she added. Her gaze moved over him, and she crossed her arms. “You sure look different, too, Matt Malone.” She pointed at his arm. “I used to have bigger muscles than you.” Her lips quirked. “And I see that scar never faded.”

      Idly, his finger grazed the mark through his left brow. “Nope.”

      “Forever proof of my victory that day on the dock.” The laughter was still there in her voice.

      Matt pursed his lips to keep a straight face. Which was a new sensation for him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

      Emily’s lips curved up.

      He could hardly believe he was standing here, in her old kitchen, talking to her.

      Just then, her cell phone screeched. She pulled it from her pocket and looked at the caller. She glanced up. “Sorry, just a second.”

      Matt nodded, and waited.

      “Hello,” she said as she answered the call.

      Matt looked at her and jerked a thumb СКАЧАТЬ