tapped her booted foot in the dirt.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
“Great.” She plucked a pen from her shirt pocket and jotted something down on the form attached to her clipboard. “What were you thinking about for the interior? Ferns? Philodendrons? Real or silk? Is there a particular theme you follow in all the restaurants?”
“I have a binder with all the specs.” He gestured to the door and she started toward it, distinctly aware of his presence behind her. Too close behind her, she realized as he reached past her to open the door and his sweat-slicked arm brushed hers. No expensive cologne for him today. He smelled like a man who was no stranger to physical labor.
He smelled good.
She squinted against the sudden shaft of sunlight slanting across her face as she stepped outside.
“Hey, boss!” One of the workers waved Matt over. “The inspector is here. We got a problem.”
“Give me a minute,” he called and turned to Emily. “I’ve got the stuff in my car.”
She followed him to a dusty black SUV parked next to the construction trailer. Honestly, she’d expected something convertible and red with an anorexic blonde permanently fixed in the front seat for that special touch.
He opened the passenger’s-side door and grabbed a binder off the front seat. “This has photos of the other restaurants and all the information you’ll need. The inside plants should all be live. No silk or plastic. Does your company handle maintenance?”
“No, but we can recommend someone.” She flipped through the binder, surprised by what she saw. While a few of the older members of the city council had been openly opposed to building yet another unsightly bar in town—and others had protested out of what she was sure was jealousy—Emily had to admit, Touchdown wasn’t a bad-looking place. Classy in fact, but casual enough to stop in for a beer and a bite after work. It might even bring in business when her flower shop went up on the vacant lot next door.
“We like to keep the landscaping consistent,” he said.
She flipped past a photo that was obviously Southern-based. “I hate to disappoint you, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find a palm tree that will grow in Michigan.”
The edge of his mouth quirked up slightly. “As consistent as the climate will allow. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute?” He nodded in the direction of the men waiting for him.
“Go for it.”
“Give me a holler if you need anything.”
Emily jotted a few notes on her clipboard, watching Matt in her peripheral vision. He might be dressed like the other men and was unshaven and dirty like them, but he had an air about him that garnered respect—demanded it even. The intelligence shining behind his eyes, the way he looked at a person, as if he could see inside their head.
He used to look at her that way. Sometimes she swore he could read her thoughts. How many times had she silently willed him to kiss her, to tell her she was anything but a pal? She would wish so hard for it, her head would hurt and her eyes would sting. But he’d never treated her as anything but a good friend.
Someday he would see, she’d told herself at least a thousand times. But Matt didn’t date girls like her. He preferred cheerleaders—the pretty girls. Still, she took it for granted that he would always be around, that someday she would get her chance. Then he’d earned a football scholarship that guaranteed he’d be taken away from her forever.
Every time he talked about leaving Michigan, about getting a new start in California and never looking back, a piece of her heart would die. She’d been in love with him since the third grade when his family had moved to Chapel. She could barely remember a time when he wasn’t around. He was like family.
To Emily, he had been her whole world.
But as the end of that final summer drew nearer and his leaving loomed closer, something changed. She would catch him watching her, and the look in his eyes, the longing she saw there, would make her shiver with awareness. It was as if she possessed something he desperately wanted, but knew he couldn’t have. For the first time in her life she began to feel feminine and pretty. It had occurred to her that maybe he actually had feelings for her and was afraid to make the first move. Though the thought of any female turning down a man like Matt had been completely out of her realm of imagination, she knew he had a vulnerable side he rarely let show. Maybe he was as afraid of rejection as she was.
It was then that she’d decided to tell him how she felt. She knew it wouldn’t stop him from leaving—she would never ask him to give up his dream for her—but she’d thought he could come back and visit, and maybe, eventually, she could relocate to California. Yet every time she tried to tell him, she couldn’t make herself say the words. Until that last weekend up at the cottage.
Sitting by the fire, she’d finally worked up the nerve to say it. To say “I love you.” And before she’d even gotten all the words out he’d kissed her.
She’d given him everything on that beach, surrendered her innocence to him. She woke the following morning feeling lighter than air, until Matt had said they needed to talk. His somber expression—the regret in his eyes—said more than words ever could. Still she’d listened numbly as he explained that while he cared for her deeply—she was his best friend—he was in no position to start a relationship with anyone. He had dreams to fulfill, a new life to start in California. But he still wanted them to be friends. They would always be friends. A few days later he left, and, true to his word, he’d never looked back.
Not to her anyway.
Pain, stark and biting, took hold of Emily. She never should have come here. Tears burned behind her eyes and she turned her attention to the estimate forms. She had a job to do.
She walked the perimeter of the building, taking notes and measurements, then went inside and took down the information she needed there. When she stepped back outside, Matt was still deep in conversation with the building inspector. They were bent over what looked like blueprints spread across the hood of a car.
The silly girl in her longed to talk to him again, to search his face for even a glimpse of the Matt she used to love, while the practical Emily convinced her not to bother.
The practical Emily always won.
Matt watched Emily, head lowered as she scribbled something on her clipboard, wondering what was going on in her head, wondering what he was going to do to get back on her good side. Expensive gifts were a favorite of the women he dated, but somehow he couldn’t see Emily impressed by glitter. Short of seeing him strung up by his toes and tortured, he wasn’t sure what would impress her.
“Mr. Conway?”
Matt tuned to Eric Dixon, the building inspector. “Eric, I’ve known you since the third grade. Would you please call me Matt?”
Eyes full of contempt, Dixon said, “As I was saying, Mr. Conway, the ratio of square feet to lot space is off.”
“By twenty lousy feet.”
“Regardless, you’re either going to have to reduce the amount of square footage or increase the size of the parking lot.”
Matt snapped
