Chapter 2 #3
Because fulfilling an obligation trumped living a dream. Resenting the obligation didn’t erase it.
Before arriving at Jonathon Island, he’d never thought he’d see Ariel Sullivan again.
When he’d learned they had a concert planned here, he’d hoped for a chance to say hello, but nothing more.
After all, how many small-town innkeepers rubbed elbows with country music giants?
But here she was, along with her country-queen aunt.
Of all the times for them to come to Island House…
The two powerhouse voices—one a clear soprano, the other a rich alto—sang a sweet ballad, accompanied by an acoustic guitar. No mics, no speakers, no other instruments.
Immediately, Caleb recognized the song. A few months ago, he’d heard the brilliant duet perform it at the CMAs. Just after they’d accepted their third award for this song.
Caleb knew full well that he’d better turn that sweeper right back on and pay attention to the carpets instead of gaping over the railing at a pretty woman with a voice like warm honey.
He turned toward the music anyway.
And there she stood, in his lobby, strumming a dark-brown guitar.
Ariel Sullivan, the sweetheart of country music, singing her heart out with as much passion and perfection as if she stood on the Grand Ole Opry stage instead of a run-down hotel lobby with a sky-high ceiling that produced lousy acoustics.
He drew a breath. Standing next to her five-foot-nothing aunt, Ariel looked taller and more willowy than he knew her to be, her brown-streaked blonde hair loose down her back.
Her smile always captured his attention and tugged at his heart, whether he saw her in a video or at an award ceremony, and made him think of things like cozy, snowy island evenings in front of the fireplace or long walks in the falling leaves.
Genuine. Caring. A smile that made a man think he might actually someday settle down and find contentment and permanence. A real home.
Which was a very good reason for Caleb to keep his distance from the pretty singer.
As they sang the final tag, Ariel silenced her guitar, and she and Miss Dahlia sang the last, impacting line.
“‘He took me to my destiny…the long way.’”
The last chord faded, and a thundering of applause, cheers, and foot-stomping went on until Miss Dahlia Denton’s distinctive East Tennessee twang called out, thanking the impromptu audience for their patience while the inn employees got their rooms ready.
Then the other voice—younger, sweeter, deeper—started the next tune a cappella.
And nailed it with perfect pitch.
Caleb shifted his attention to Michelle, who had slipped to the railing beside him.
“It’s Miss Dahlia Denton and Ariel Sullivan,” she said as if everyone in America wouldn’t know. “How many superstars would step right into a problem like this, singing and telling stories and entertaining everyone until we had the rooms ready?”
Probably none. Except them.
He swallowed. He’d heard of these two women’s generosity, but he never would have anticipated this.
Caleb definitely owed them a favor. A big favor.
He ran up to the third floor and, calling Sarah’s name, he quick-stepped into the room where she dusted furniture at about eighty miles per hour. “C’mon. You have to see this.”
They pounded down the mezzanine hallway, then gawked over the railing at Miss Dahlia, with her big blonde hair and bright lipstick, singing her heart out.
Her niece Ariel, looking sweet as always in a flowing, flowery pink dress, played an amazingly complex riff for a ballad—one that made him want, more than anything, to throw away his heavy ring of brass hotel keys and pick up his own guitar.
He studied the flawless impromptu performance. While Miss Dahlia’s distinctive voice, flashy clothes, and showmanship held the crowd’s attention, Caleb preferred Ariel’s rich, authentic alto. Miss Dahlia fired up an audience. Ariel kept them grounded. As she did now.
His mind drifted to his one encounter with the famous Ariel Sullivan—at the Dove Awards several years ago.
The frenzied backstage where Ariel and Miss Dahlia retreated after accepting the award for Southern Gospel Recorded Song of the Year.
The disgruntled nominee and her malicious words to Ariel.
Ariel’s kind response and those soft, damp blue eyes when she’d unintentionally turned toward Caleb.
A storm had risen in him that night. Something he hadn’t felt before or since.
He didn’t remember what he said to her. But he did recall her gentle response to the insult and his overwhelming need to shield this stunning lady from the attack.
To reassure her that she—not her famous aunt—had brought heart to that song and made it great.
Ariel probably didn’t know Caleb’s name, but he’d been her devoted fan ever since.
And now, as she stood before his guests, saving his hotel, he could hardly turn from her smooth voice or ignore the way her dress set off her tiny waist and stunning blue eyes. Until Tara caught his attention with her wild waving, motioning him to come downstairs.
“Go on,” Michelle said with a twang of her own. “We’ll take care of the rooms.”
Sarah agreed, so he took the shortcut to the circular staircase, ran down, and hurried toward Tara in the music-filled lobby.
“Time for some PR,” she said in a stage whisper.
“At the end of this song, welcome the guests and publicly thank Miss Dahlia and Ariel for the performance. It’ll win you points with the guests.
Also, since no one checked in during the music, I made coffee and iced tea for the guests to enjoy while they wait. ”
Caleb seriously needed to convince Tara to work for him. “Can you also throw together a dozen charcuterie boards? Use anything you find in the walk-in. If the restaurant wasn’t shorthanded, I’d ask them.”
As Tara took off for the restaurant entrance beyond the lobby’s breakfast bar, Miss Dahlia and Ariel began the outro, winding down the song.
Caleb glanced around the room, more nervous to address this crowd than any audience he’d ever played for.
When Ariel had strummed the last chord, he approached the duet amid more wild applause.
The tempo of his pulse increased, and he wiped his palms against his pant legs and caught Miss Dahlia’s eye. The two women’s presence didn’t cause his apprehension. He’d spent enough years hobnobbing with celebrities that adding a couple more country music icons to the list didn’t bother him.
No, his low-level anxiety felt more like the fear of enduring pity in their eyes if by chance they recognized him and saw him failing at Granddad’s legacy.
Nonetheless, he did as Tara suggested, welcoming the guests and thanking the musicians. The impromptu concert broke up as Sarah came downstairs and started checking in families.
Caleb turned to retreat to the desk, but before he could escape, Ariel cast a discerning glance over his features.
“Wait, I know your voice. And you look familiar.” Ariel stepped closer, examining him, a look in her eye that said she was about to pinpoint his identity.
Shoot. Apparently, those blue eyes of hers didn’t miss much.
All he’d wanted was to show his appreciation. Not continue his humiliation on a personal level.
He saw the moment she made the connection.
Ariel leaned in even more. “You look a lot like the lead guitar and backup vocals for Drake Hamilton.”
As the chatter among the guests—or the audience, he wasn’t sure which to call them—crescendoed, Miss Dahlia peered into his face. “Yeah, I can see it,” she drawled. “Caleb, right? But you cut off your spectacular beard and all that beautiful hair!”
“Of course! Caleb Kennedy.” Ariel’s hand shot to her mouth, and she clutched his arm, letting out a little squeal. “Will you autograph my guitar?”
Caleb groaned inside. He’d always been just part of the band, so he didn’t sign as many autographs as Drake did. But he had enough experience that it had stopped feeling weird years ago. However, this was different. This felt like the owner of the Waldorf Astoria asking a bellhop for an autograph.
The fact that he’d had a crush on Ariel for three years didn’t help either.
Nor did the fact that these women had just saved him from humiliation, not to mention a huge business fail.
Or the cute way Ariel tilted her head when she smiled, her deep dimples and sweet blue eyes nearly making him forget where he was.
Caleb drew a breath of her flowery perfume, then he stepped back and accepted the Sharpie Miss Dahlia held out. Because early in his music career, he’d learned never to insult anyone by turning down an autograph request, no matter how awkward.
He leaned over the guitar as she held it. Then he inscribed the first thing that came to mind, still embarrassed that they’d witnessed his ineptness at his job. And would continue to do so until the Grand reopened.