great,” Emily replied, throwing a wave Matt’s way.
Matt put the Jeep in Reverse, backed up and then drove it around to the shop. He shifted into Neutral and climbed out, pulling the chains to open the fifteen-foot metal door. He stood there for a second, glancing over his shoulder toward the house, his family and Emily Quinn. A long, exhausted sigh pushed out of his throat.
Jesus Christ, this was going to be one long damn summer.
EMILY COULD BARELY believe she was standing inside the Malones’ river house after so many years. Everything was exactly the same. The decor favored a true authentic nautical theme at its rawest. On the walls, an old cast net and faded blue-and-white wooden paddles decorated the space way above the brick fireplace. It had been fishing gear once belonging to Jep’s father. Known by everyone on Cassabaw, Patrick Malone had been the island’s very last lighthouse keeper. Emily remembered black-and-white pictures of him. Straight from Galway, Ireland, Patrick and his wife, Annie, had brought little Jep to Cassabaw when he was only seven, and from there, the Malone legacy grew.
An old red-and-blue faded buoy leaned against the hearth, and a restored seaman’s chest served as a large coffee table. Two large, dark leather sofas took up the space in the middle of the open room. Not bad at all for a bunch of guys. Then again, Owen and Jep had been in the Coast Guard. And Matt in the marines. Orderly. Neat. It was a trademark.
“Just like you remember?” Nathan asked.
Emily smiled and faced him. “Exactly like I remembered. Even smells the same. And has the same record player in the corner.” Jep always played old music from the twenties and thirties. It probably was why Emily grew to love the vintage melodies and orchestras of the time.
Nathan, too, had turned out to be a handsome guy. As tall as Matt and just as broad and muscular, he was two years older. He was the oddball of the Malones, with longer dark blond hair streaked by the sun, and half of it pulled into a short ponytail. And he did remind her of a samurai warrior. His skin was swarthy and tanned, but those trademark Malone green eyes stared down at her, curious. They differed from Matt’s, which were cautious, sharp and a bit angry. Sad, maybe? Even when he smiled, she could see it in there. She couldn’t help but wonder.
Her eyes searched for Matt, who still hadn’t come inside. She found it sort of funny that she was inadvertently looking for him.
“I remember you and Matt throwing plastic army men from the railing up there and bombing me and Eric while we watched cartoons,” Nathan continued. He rubbed his head as if he’d just been hit by one. “Those damn little things are hard as hell, and hurt.”
Emily laughed and glanced up at the high wooden catwalk that connected one side of the house to the other. It was open from the floor up, maybe fifteen feet or so.
“We tossed down more than just plastic army men,” she giggled.
“Don’t let Dad and Jep hear you say that,” Matt said from behind. Emily jumped and spun around, and Matt eyed his brother. His mere presence filled the room. “We pretended to be rescue swimmers and launched over the rail a few times ourselves. Maybe more than a few.” He turned to her, and his gaze was quiet but steady. Daring, almost.
Emily’s heart leaped. For a second, he looked like a young, eight-year-old Matt.
Owen Malone walked into the living room. Tall and still handsome, he’d retained his Coast Guard physique through the years. And although in his sixties, he still had quite a lot of chestnut hair, sprinkled with silver, and kept it cut short. He draped an arm over her shoulders.
“So what are you kids talking about?”
Emily’s gaze shot to Matt’s, and her eyes widened. She cleared her throat. “Just...old times,” she said, trying not to laugh.
Owen gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re home, Emily,” he said. “And you’re welcome over here anytime.”
Emily liked his sincerity. Owen Malone was indeed a gentle soul. “Thanks, Mr. Malone.” She cocked her head. “I really like your skin.” She looked up at him and smiled wide. “Reminds me of a perfectly aged copper penny.”
Owen laughed. “Is that so?”
She nodded. “It is.”
“Do you always do that?”
Her eyes moved directly to Matt’s—he was intently watched the interaction. For a split second, his face softened.
She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Yes, I do. I like to find something right off the bat appealing about a person and let them know what it is.” She shrugged. “I find it a rather useful bonding agent. Plus, it lets people know I pay attention to them.”
Nathan laughed, and Owen gave her a gentle hug. “I think it’s a fine quality, Emily.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Matt. Just as she could see sadness in Nathan’s eyes, there was something altogether different in Matt’s. Almost feral. Yet she also felt like he saw completely inside of her.
“Let’s head to the kitchen, then,” Owen said, and tugged on Emily’s shoulders. “Eric will be home any minute with supper.”
Emily allowed Owen to lead her through the foyer and into the wide-open kitchen, where Jep stood in front of an enormous white enamel stove, stirring something in a big white enamel pot. Still wearing those baby blue coveralls, he now donned a red apron. Jep had to be all of eighty years young, and although his hair was now silver throughout, he had plenty of it.
“I like your hair, Jep,” she announced. “The way it flips up by your neck and over your ears. Reminds me of the feathers of a snowy owl.”
Jep stared at her from the stove. “An owl, you say?”
She grinned and nodded. Nathan again laughed.
“Well, I suppose that’s all right. You like potatoes, missy?” Jep called loudly from the stove. He glanced over his shoulder at Emily. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Round here we eat lots of potatoes. Good solid Irish fare.”
Emily patted her stomach. “Yes, sir. I love them.”
“Would go really nice with pie,” Jep added.
Emily laughed, and just as Owen was leading her toward a set of French doors that led out onto a massive veranda overlooking the marsh, another male voice stopped them in their tracks.
“Holy God, in no way is that little Emily Quinn!”
Emily whirled around and saw Matt’s younger brother, Eric, smiling wide. Holding a brown paper bag in one arm and a plastic bag filled with two-liter sodas in the other, he set them both on the counter and headed straight for her.
“Excuse me, Owen,” Eric teased, moving in front of his dad and throwing his arms around Emily in a tight hug. He pulled back and looked down at her, grinning. “You used to be all knees and elbows!”
Emily laughed, holding him away and inspecting the youngest Malone.
“Yeah, and you used to be missing your two front teeth.” She studied him closely, peering at his mouth. “I really like your teeth now. Reminds me of really white pearls. Only square. Maybe more like Chiclets.” Against his tanned skin Eric’s teeth did look like pearls.
Eric burst out laughing. “Well, thank you! I think!”
“And we used to beat the crap out of you,” Matt said, suddenly beside her.
“Not true, bro,” Eric argued. He wore a white USCG hat, a navy blue short-sleeved shirt with a USCG patch and Station 34 embroidered onto the chest and navy trousers. Handsome as all get-out, just like all of the other Malones. “You used to beat the crap out of me. Emily here would smack