Those Cassabaw Days. Cindy Miles
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“Are you sure you’re up for this job? Might be a long one. And you’re going to fix my Jeep? Dock? Dock house? River house?”
Those trademark Malone eyes never wavered. That mouth didn’t smile. “I can handle it.”
She studied him for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “Okay,” she said, and took Matt’s hand in a shake. His long, strong fingers wrapped firmly around hers, and she found she liked the way it felt. “As soon as we have quotes we’ll go over costs of repairs and upgrades, then your salary.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He moved past her and headed out the door.
“Where are you going?” Emily asked.
“Rain’s stopped. Need to check the exterior for repairs before it gets dark,” he said curtly.
Emily sighed. Matt was all business. Maybe after a while he’d loosen up a bit. “Good idea.” She followed. “I’ll inspect the outdoor dining.”
Emily had just stepped through the café front doors when voices caught her attention. The sun now peeked through a cloud-riddled sky, and a breeze wafted through the air. As she moved onto the wooden deck she saw five much, much older men gathered around Matt at the edge of the boardwalk. Two of them had canes. One shook Matt’s hand, another slapped him on the back. Pulled into a parking space close to the boardwalk sat a young man in an extended golf cart. He smiled and nodded at Emily. Curious, she stood back and watched the exchange.
“Son of a gun, boy, it’s good to see you back,” the one shaking Matt’s hand said. He was stocky, not as tall as Matt and wore a pale blue bucket hat. “Was just asking Jep about you a couple of weeks back.”
“Yeah, buddy boy, it’s about time you got your skinny marine ass back home,” another one said. He talked fast, loud and confidently. “Turn around and let us take a look at ya. Make sure you’re in one damn piece.” He was stockier than the others, with a barrel belly and a buzzed flattop. He wore old-style black framed glasses, and he turned his head toward Emily and sort of jumped in surprise. “Hot damn, boy. Who’s the dame?”
All eyes turned on Emily, and before she could say anything, Matt did.
“Guys, this is Emily Quinn. She used to live next door to me growing up.” His gaze met hers briefly. “She just moved back and is the new owner of the Windchimer. Emily—” he pointed at the one in the bucket hat and the loud one “—these are the Beasts of Utah Beach. Wimpy and Ted Harden. They both stormed Normandy on D-day.” He inclined his head. “Those two are Sidney and Dubb Christian, and the little guy there is Nelson Clark. Navy. Terrors of the Pacific.” Matt looked at Emily. “All brothers except for Nelson. He’s Wimpy’s brother-in-law. We call him Putt. A tail gunner.”
Emily smiled at the tough-looking group of eightysomething-year-old warriors. “Very pleased to meet you all.”
“So you’re Cora’s great-niece, eh?” Wimpy said. He smiled and shook her hand with his big calloused one, and the corners of his blue eyes crinkled. “You look just like your daddy, gal. We’re neighbors. Me and the wife live just up the river.”
“The rest of us live just up the way.” Putt pointed. “Seaside Home for Vets. Resident nurse is a dish,” he said with a wink. “That there’s our driver, Freddy.” He inclined his head to the guy in the golf cart. “He breaks us out from time to time.”
“When are you gonna get busy and open these doors again, gal?” Ted asked. “This here’s our rendezvous, see?” His grin was wide and full of mischief. “A place we meet to get some good grub, talk a little baseball and check out the skirts on the beach when the wives ain’t lookin’.”
Dubb stepped forward. He wore an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. “Don’t mind Ted, Emily. He still thinks he’s a hotshot twenty-two-year-old tank head.”
“So can you cook, little lady?” Sidney asked. His eyes were so blue they seemed like sea glass. With a head full of wavy white hair, Emily figured he’d been pretty good-looking in his day. “Me and Putt here like your aunt Cora’s apple-cinnamon pancakes.”
“With cane syrup,” Putt added. He grinned, displaying a slight gap between his two front teeth.
Emily laughed. “All right, fellas,” she began, and answered Sidney. “Yes, I can cook, and I’ll make sure apple-cinnamon pancakes are on the menu. Gunner,” she said to Nelson, “I’ll stock up on cane syrup.” She looked at Ted. “You with the flattop. Hopefully I’ll get her opened and serving breakfast and lunch within the month.”
“Good. Just in time for the Fourth of July Shrimp Festival,” Putt said. “You know about that, right? Cora used to run a face-painting station here for the kids every year.”
She looked over her shoulder at the solitary wind chime hanging from the rafters. Rusty, about to fall. “There’s a good bit of work to do first.” She turned back around. “But yes. I think I can have it up and running by the festival.” She winked. “And I’ll definitely continue on with Aunt Cora’s face-painting station. Mr. Wimpy, it’s nice to be neighbors. I’d love to meet your wife.”
Wimpy barked out a laugh. “Well, it’s good to have you back here on Cassabaw, Emily. I’ll let the wife know you’ll be stopping by.”
“You know the Festival of Kites is in three weeks,” Sidney said with a grin. The sea breeze caught his white hair and tousled it about, making him look more boyish than older. “You don’t want to miss it, I guarantee. Sort of the official opening of summer.” He smiled. “It’s quite a sight. We make it every year as long as the ol’ heart can stand it.”
Emily grinned back, noticing the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that, would I?”
“So is this your girl, Matt Malone? You bringin’ her to the Kites?” Ted asked. He looked at Emily and wiggled his bushy brows. “Or is she up for grabs?”
Matt’s eyes met Emily’s and lingered. “Not my girl,” he answered. “My boss.”
The old warriors laughed and whistled. “Well, now,” Wimpy offered, “you’ve got yourself a fine carpenter, that’s for sure.”
“So, up for grabs?” Ted asked. “Malone here ain’t much of a lady’s man.”
“I am certainly up for grabs.” Emily laughed. “But only for handsome Beasts of Utah Beach and the like.” She winked. “I’m selective, you see.”
Ted’s grin split his weathered face in two.
“And since you fellas seem to be steady patrons here, any ideas for upgrades?” Emily continued, thinking that veering the conversation away from her and Matt would be a good thing, especially since Matt seemed so uncomfortable with it.
“Ceiling fans,” Sidney suggested, and pointed to the rafters. “When the air is still it gets hotter than Hades out here. Makes my asthma flare up.”
Emily nodded. It was a good idea. “Done.” She tapped it into her notes.
“How about a radio. So we can listen to the ball game?” Putt added.
“Can you add squirrel to the menu?” Wimpy asked. “Squirrel and grits.”
Emily glanced at Matt. His mouth didn’t smile, but his eyes did.
“Grits, yes. Squirrel, Mr. Wimpy,” she said. “I just...no. No squirrel. Definitely a radio.”
The old guys all laughed, and Dubb tipped his cap back a bit. “Well, as long as you get Cora’s recipe for her shrimp po’boy sandwich, I’ll be good to go.”
“You don’t mind if we sit here and drink our coffee in the mornings?” Dubb asked. “Least till you open?”
Emily smiled. “Not at all. Help yourselves, anytime.”
“I knew I liked her,” Dubb said as