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Those Cassabaw Days
Cindy Miles
A BOND THAT NOT EVEN TIME CAN BREAK…As kids, Emily Quinn and Matt Malone were thick as thieves in the tightly knit community of Cassabaw Station. Then Emily's world crumbled into tragedy, and she was sent away. She's just returned to run a beachside café she now owns. A free spirit… with a guarded heart.But while this town still feels like home, Matt is nothing like the boy she remembered. He is a man lost to shadows and doubt. As he helps Emily restore the café, however, their childhood bond reignites and unfurls into bittersweet longing. Now they face the greatest test of friendship… love.
A bond that not even time can break…
As kids, Emily Quinn and Matt Malone were thick as thieves in the tightly knit community of Cassabaw Station. Then Emily’s world crumbled into tragedy, and she was sent away. She’s just returned to run a beachside café she now owns. A free spirit…with a guarded heart.
But while this town still feels like home, Matt is nothing like the boy she remembered. He is a man lost to shadows and doubt. As he helps Emily restore the café, however, their childhood bond reignites and unfurls into bittersweet longing. Now they face the greatest test of friendship…love.
What if?
What if he had kissed Em? Would she have pushed him away? Matt highly doubted it. Her body language had spoken volumes. He could tell she was completely in tune with him. He could see it in the shine of her eyes, in the way she leaned into him, and the light touch of her fingertips against his shoulder. The way she’d stumbled over words. She’d felt the same pull he had.
So strong was the current between them that Matt had literally wanted to pull her hard against him, dig his fingers into her hair and find the perfect angle of her head, just before lowering his mouth and fitting it to hers. So close he’d come to tasting those full lips, that long, soft throat, and holding her lithe body in his hands.
“Dammit!” Matt muttered under his breath, willing the images to go away. They wouldn’t. They stayed. Grew. Morphed into more than just a kiss.
Dear Reader (#ulink_c2d40063-3a68-52da-aea9-14ccd6117a83),
Those Cassabaw Days introduces Matt Malone and Emily Quinn, childhood friends separated by time and now reunited on the small barrier island they grew up on. But this is more than simple romance. More, even, than just falling in love, experiencing the rush of butterflies, the fever of passion. It’s about building a friendship rooted in childhood innocence. It’s about having memories and making more memories. And it’s about overcoming all the barriers that stand in the way of forever.
I wrote this novel from many of my own memories: the place I grew up, people I knew and loved, and beloved recollections that still resonate within me when I inhale a certain scent or hear a particular song.
I hope you enjoy these memories embedded in Those Cassabaw Days, the unique souls who inhabit the island of Cassabaw Station, the families and hearts who fall desperately in love. It might even set you on a journey to find such a place—even if within the pages of a novel.
Happy reading!
Cindy Miles
Those Cassabaw Days
Cindy Miles
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CINDY MILES grew up on the salt marshes and back rivers of Savannah, Georgia. Moody, sultry and mossy, with its ancient cobblestones and Georgian and Gothic architecture, the city inspired her to write twelve adult novels, one anthology, three short stories and one young-adult novel. When Cindy is not writing, she loves traveling, photography, baking, classic rock and the vintage, tinny music of The Great Gatsby era. To learn more about her books visit her at cindy-miles.com (http://cindy-miles.com).
For Wimpy and Frances Harden—
they really did fall in love as kids
and grow old together.
For the Greatest Generation of our time—
the men and women of World War II.
For Deidre Knight—
someone who always believes
and is always my champion.
For my mom, Dale Nease—
best cheerleader ever!
And for Logan, Liam and Lachlan Pierce—
my crazy Texas monkeys who fill me with joy.
Contents
Cover (#u29bf283d-08c5-5a0e-8c89-6be58c5ba603)
Back Cover Text (#u9a025478-a1c7-56a2-977c-2a812a8d80f1)
Introduction (#ue6a2db1c-d236-5ab2-b1aa-a566d9550c2b)
Dear Reader (#ulink_b93a1f5f-eee1-5064-b911-cc9409f6d17a)
Title Page (#u36cc0ece-c235-57ef-b98a-003d01e618d3)
About the Author (#ua09ed2d6-9b6d-5dfc-93dd-a4125c787bc2)
Dedication (#u04d2f558-784b-5778-acfc-e473aff9744e)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_302df7bf-d848-5469-96d2-152b324ca503)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a336f83e-15c5-5c32-a019-3aac04178b7b)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_376f49b8-b7c7-5f12-b638-71300cc6de6b)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_831a8353-0ad6-5c2e-a3d9-92c7e4692bec)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5cbb2baa-d00c-5287-ac0c-4747c672e949)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_bcb2ba2f-2d24-53c5-bb33-3f8bc72303a1)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_28141006-199b-5e3f-9b40-5051618c815d)
Island Cemetery Cassabaw Station August 2000
WHAT WAS IT about death and rain, anyway? Emily Quinn’s grandma had said it was the angels’ tears falling from Heaven, and they were sad that Mama and Daddy had to leave us behind to join them. She’d also said God was full of euphoria to have two new angels beside Him to do His work. What was euphoria, anyway? And why didn’t God do some of His own work? There were plenty enough angels in Heaven. Emily and her little sister, Reagan, needed Mama and Daddy more than God did. But it didn’t matter to Him. He had them now, and was keeping them. Forever. No take backs.
Emily stood just outside of the cover of her grandpa’s umbrella, staring at the cemetery workers as they turned a metal crank, lowering her father into the grave. She wondered who’d dressed him in that stupid dark gray suit. He looked stuffy and pinched and uncomfortable with that tie yanked up close to his throat. Daddy hated suits. He liked shorts and T-shirts and his favorite old brown leather flip-flops. They’d also brushed his unruly sun-bleached curls to the side. He never, ever wore his hair like that, and it looked dumb. Even now she wanted to fling that lid open and ruffle his hair so it was messy and Daddy. No one had listened to her, though.
Her eyes slid over to her mom’s casket. She didn’t want to think of her mama lying in that stupid shiny container, wearing that new gray dress Grandma had bought for her; it was ugly. Her mom always wore bright, sunny colors. Not drab gray. And, she had too much blush on her cheeks. Too much eye shadow. She would have hated that. Mama was naturally pretty and didn’t need even a stitch of makeup. Tears burned the back of Emily’s throat, and she pressed closer to Reagan, who was two years younger, at ten.
The drone of the preacher’s final words, meant for comfort, Grandma had said, sounded more like a hive of bees, mad and buzzing in Emily’s ears. It made the stitches under the bandage circling her head throb, and the gash burn. Anger boiled inside her at the thought. Why did I survive while Mama and Daddy didn’t? Why did they leave me behind?
Suddenly, a sob escaped Reagan and she hurried over to stand between their grandma and grandpa. She began to cry pretty hard. Emily squeezed her eyes tightly shut, refusing to set free the tears pushing at her eyelids. Slowly, she lifted her face, breathed and opened her eyes.
The rain fell from a blanket of dreary gray clouds in fat, heavy plops that sank straight through her hair to her scalp. Dull thuds pinged off the umbrellas as the rain fell a little faster, and chorused through the crowd of mourners gathered at the graveside.
The cemetery workers began turning the crank again, clink clink clink,lowering her mama into the ground beside her daddy. Her eyes followed that shiny container, and Emily felt cold and alone, and her body began to shake. She hated that suit. She hated that dress. And she hated those caskets. She couldn’t stop the tremors no matter how hard she tried.
She wanted to run. Run as fast and as far away as she could and just keep going and going. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs, and it hurt. It hurt to breathe, it...just hurt so bad inside—
A hand—warm, a little bigger than hers and stronger, too—slipped into hers and squeezed with a firm gentleness that caught her off guard. Emily didn’t even need to look to see who had eased through the crowd to stand beside her, and her body sagged against his skinny but surprisingly strong frame. Matt Malone’s hand squeezed hers a little tighter, as if trying to take the pain away, and Emily felt his warmth seep straight through his long-sleeved white dress shirt, deep into her skin.
Even though he was a boy, Matt had been her best friend since, well, forever, and his presence eased the hurt a little. Emily breathed, her head resting against Matt’s shoulder, and soon her body stopped shaking so much.
She knew it’d start up again, the shaking. And the tears would not stay inside her eyes for too much longer, either. She was leaving Cassabaw Station. Leaving her best friend. Leaving her dead mama and daddy in the ground in those shiny caskets.
Leaving home.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we return Kate and Alex Quinn to Your servitude, oh Lord,” the preacher droned on. “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, amen.”
Thunder rumbled far in the distance, almost as if God was answering the preacher’s offering. Sniffles rose through the air as mourners sobbed out loud, and Emily blocked them all out, turning her head to look at Matt. He was already staring at her, and she gazed right back into his strange green eyes. Eyes that always held mischief and devilment now looked glassy and sad. Long black lashes fanned out against his wet, bronzed skin. His dark hair sat plastered to his head from the rain, but a long hank flipped out from his cowlick and hung across his forehead. His black tie was crooked and soaked. She fixed her gaze on his eyebrow, the one with the scar slashing through it. The emptiness returned, and a big, swelled-up tear rolled down her cheek.
“I wish you weren’t going,” Matt said, his voice low, steady. He still had her hand in his. “I don’t want you to go. It ain’t fair.”
“I know,” Emily answered. Her voice cracked as the pent-up sobs grabbed her over. “I don’t want to leave.”
Matt leaned closer to her ear, and for once, he smelled clean, like soap. Not salty from the river water. “Jep says it’s horseshit that you and Rea have to move away to Maryland,” he whispered. “Says you should just stay and live with us, on Morgan’s Creek.” He pulled back and stared. “That this is your home.”
Jep was Matt’s grandpa, and Emily felt the very same way. She’d pleaded for her and Reagan not to leave Cassabaw, but Grandma and Grandpa said they had to take care of them, and their home was in Maryland. Right next door to the President of the United States, they’d said. Emily had begged to stay with Daddy’s aunt Cora; that she and Reagan didn’t care one bit about living close to the president, but Grandpa said no, because Aunt Cora was too busy and had the café to run.
It hadn’t taken their grandpa long to pack up all the things from the river house and load them into the U-Haul. They were leaving straight from the funeral, heading to their home in Bethesda. Nine hours away, Grandpa had said.
A sob caught in Emily’s throat as the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. “I’ll come back one day,” she whispered, “right here to Cassabaw, and I won’t ever leave again. We have to fly in our flying machine. Right?” Jep had taught them an old song, “Come Josephine in My Flying Machine,” and they’d sung it together since they were little. It was their song now, and they’d sworn they’d fly in one, someday.
Matt dropped their entwined hands, reached up and gently wiped Emily’s tears away with the rough pads of his fingers. “Yeah, that’s right. So don’t go flyin’ away in one with anyone else, okay? Promise?” he asked, and jerked a pinkie toward her. “Promise, Em. Promise you’ll come back. For good. And never leave again.”
She nodded, and hooked her own pinkie around his. “I promise.”
Matt’s emerald gaze regarded her for a long time before he gave a single nod. “Deal.” He dropped his hand and it disappeared into the pocket of his black dress pants. When he withdrew it, his closed fist hovered in the air. “I got something for you. Hold out your hand.”
Emily held hers out. Matt lowered his fist and opened it. Something small and cool grazed her skin. It was an angel-wing shell. At least, that’s what she and Matt had always called them. Although in the ocean the shells were closed, like little clams, with a little creature inside. Once the shells washed onto the beach, they opened up like a pair of angel wings. Emily looked at Matt.
A slight grin lifted the corner of his mouth, and he reached down with his bony fingers and broke the two wings apart.
“What’d you do that for—” Emily began.
Matt flipped each wing over, and Emily stared. Inside each shell, a name. Matt in one, and Em in the other. She lifted her gaze to his as he claimed the one with her name.
“This is for you to remember me by,” Matt offered. “Since you like ’em and all. I’ll keep yours, see, and you keep mine.” Then his brows furrowed. “It doesn’t mean boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything stupid like that.” He drew closer, his voice dropping once more to a whisper. “It just means best friends. Forever.” His eyes softened. “No matter what.”
A sob escaped her throat as she flung her arms around Matt’s neck. His skinny arms went around Emily, and he hugged her hard.
“No matter what,” Emily repeated against his damp shoulder. “Forever.”
“Emily, darling, it’s time to go.” Grandpa’s deep voice sounded behind them. They broke apart and, once more, Matt swiped Emily’s tears away with his fingers. Her grandpa gently grasped her hand and led her away.
Emily’s vision blurred as more tears filled her eyes, and even more pain returned. She watched the mossy ground move under her feet as she walked, and she’d kick an occasional pinecone when it got in her way. The rain had eased up, and the salty brine of the Back River wafted through the cemetery. Moss hung from the live oaks like ratty old hair, and puffy dandelions swayed with the breeze. She didn’t once look up, but she knew Matt followed, just a little behind. At her grandparents’ Bronco, she turned and met her best friend’s gaze. Matt stared hard and didn’t say anything, seemed almost angry, and she stared back. In her palm, she squeezed her Matt angel wing shell tightly.
Grandpa opened her door, and Matt mouthed the word bye.
