Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The moment after Caleb signed Ariel’s guitar, he all but pitched Aunt Dahlia’s Sharpie at her, then crossed the lobby toward the restaurant entrance. Clearly, her too-enthusiastic request for his autograph didn’t impress the man.
What was the matter with her? What had she been thinking, fawning all over Caleb like a girl Harry’s age? Of course he thought she was flirting with him. Even if she had, she would’ve gone about it differently.
But Caleb didn’t know that.
Aunt Dahlia had decided to play one last song—“Amazing Grace,” the final song at all their concerts. Now, having just finished with a new, impromptu riff that probably expressed her irritation with herself, Ariel ran her fingertips over the new autograph on her favorite guitar.
“What did he write?” Aunt Dahlia bent over and peered at the guitar. Ariel took it in too.
Gratefully, Caleb Kennedy.
Gratefully.
Her aunt gave a flick of her delicate little wrist as if to dismiss both Caleb and his generic autograph. “Huh. Seems he could have done better than that.”
Yes, gratitude was not necessarily the emotion Ariel would want to stir in the Christian music industry’s most handsome eligible man.
Yet here she stood in his hotel lobby, gazing after him like a schoolgirl and writhing with the knowledge that she’d made a complete fool of herself.
After they’d played one extra song and every family in the lobby had their keys, she’d watched him walk away. He also thanked Ariel and Aunt Dahlia again for helping, using words like “generosity” and “selflessness.” But something about his speech had sounded wooden.
And no wonder, the way she’d practically thrown herself at him. But it was all because she was the grateful one, ever since he came to her rescue years ago, backstage at the Dove Awards. She hadn’t meant to seem flirty today, but oh my. Surely it had looked that way to him.
Come to think of it, why would a musical great like Caleb Kennedy work at a run-down hotel on a tiny island? Half of its acreage would fit on Aunt Dahlia’s Tennessee thoroughbred farm.
“You like that cute Kennedy boy, don’t you?” Aunt Dahlia said with that look in her eye that always meant she thought something was her business when it wasn’t.
If only Ariel could go back in time…
Aunt Dahlia’s phone pinged, and she pulled it from her handbag. She opened the screen and, a moment later, shot her gaze back to Ariel, her eyes grim. “It’s Paxton. He called seven times in the half hour we played.”
Ariel swallowed, hard. Their manager wouldn’t have called every few minutes unless something had gone terribly wrong.
She glanced at the vintage brass clock over the reception desk. No, they’d hadn’t played even that long.
Aunt Dahlia dropped her gaze back to the phone. Punched the screen and held the phone to her ear. She walked away and paced the lobby, but Ariel kept her in her line of sight, breathing wordless prayers and watching her expressions for some hint of the problem.
The seconds ticked by like minutes until Aunt Dahlia hung up at last and hurried toward her again, her high heels clacking on the wood floor and tiny lines creasing her Botoxed forehead.
She and Ariel dropped onto the nearest couch and sank down so far that the springs must have been shot.
“Isaiah has three broken bones in his right hand.”
Ariel sucked in a breath. Isaiah Mackay—the white-haired guitarist who’d worked with Aunt Dahlia since she got her first big break at the age of twenty.
The one who understood them, knew their style best, and anticipated every nuance of change that might occur in a concert.
And the member who needed the rest of the band for accountability. “What happened?”
“Leroy swerved the tour bus to miss a golden retriever in a Kentucky Buc-ee’s parking lot.” Her aunt’s big, expressive eyes clouded. “Isaiah lost his balance and fell in the kitchen area.”
“How long until he can play again?”
“He needs surgery, but the swelling has to go down first. He won’t pick up a guitar again for a long time.” She slipped her arm around Ariel’s waist. “Don’t worry. Even though Isaiah’s not with us, he won’t backslide into his old habits.”
But when Aunt Dahlia said “old habits,” she meant “old addictions.” While her prediction might or might not come to pass, Isaiah had nobody but the band as family, and he’d long ago taken the place of a father or grandfather to them.
An encourager. And the man who understood Ariel better than anyone, even her own parents and Aunt Dahlia.
Bottom line, Ariel needed Isaiah as much as Isaiah needed them. She reached in her handbag for her phone and shot him a quick text.
“I don’t know how we’ll get by without a lead guitar.” Aunt Dahlia gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “All this for a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll.”
Ariel let out a sigh just as Caleb hurried by, an empty charcuterie board in his hand.
She straightened, watching him maneuver through the quieting lobby. Caleb Kennedy, world-class guitarist. Eight years of experience in a top Christian band, working in a dated-looking old inn when he ought to be onstage.
Or maybe in their suite with her, Aunt Dahlia, and the band, running through new music and helping them to develop a new sound…
Part of her wanted to veto the idea before it completely formed, considering the fact that her only two interactions with Caleb had humiliated her: backstage at the Doves and here in this room.
However, she knew what this man could do with a guitar.
It would humble her, but she’d do it for the sake of the band and their fans. “Aunt Dahlia, we have a world-class guitarist right here in this hotel.”
“Yes, and I see that smile of yours, so I know what you’re thinking. But Paxton will find a replacement.”
“Someone who can spend a whole month on Jonathon Island?”
Her aunt shrugged. “I see your point. But the band is set in their ways, and Caleb is used to playing with his own band. Of course, anyone we’d hire would face an awkward beginning.”
“If Caleb can hold his own with Drake, he can make it with us. For all Drake’s talk about being a Christian, he’s hard to work for.”
“True. But why’s Caleb working here? Drake’s band is touring now, so Caleb must be here temporarily. He can’t just pick up and start traveling with us when we go home.”
“Then let’s try to hire him for the month we’re here. We can audition other guitarists at the same time.”
“What about this place? It’s not fair to pull him away.” Aunt Dahlia lowered her voice. “From the looks of it, he’s in charge, and he’s barely keeping it going.”
“Ask him anyway.”
She swatted Ariel on the knee. “You ask him. He likes you.”
Pitied her, more likely.
Or maybe not. She’d often proved Aunt Dahlia’s philosophy true: don’t worry about what people think about you, because they’re usually not thinking about you at all.
That was probably the case with Caleb.
“Just remember,” her aunt said in a more serious tone, “this is strictly business.”
Of course. Even on tiny Jonathon Island, her aunt wouldn’t pop the romance bubble she’d kept Ariel in the past fourteen years.
Rather, the one Daddy had made Aunt Dahlia swear to keep her in.
Ariel scanned the now-empty lobby and caught a glimpse of Caleb about twenty feet away, collecting old coffee cups and half-full tea glasses and demolished charcuterie boards. Oh, but the man was handsome. Even from this distance.
“Fine. I will.” She rose from the broken-down couch, giving her aunt saucy side eyes.
Aunt Dahlia let out the giggle she was known for and popped right up from that low-slung couch. The woman never changed—still slim, still strong, still sassy. Still Ariel’s rock and her substitute mother.
“I’m going to get my key card and go to our suite,” Aunt Dahlia said.
She turned toward the window and the harbor view, the sun casting its red and orange hues across the sky.
As a distinguished-looking white-haired man opened the front door, the setting sun sent its rays inside, glazing the polished wood floors with its riot of color.
Aunt Dahlia let out a little gasp, then her eyes softened, giving her a dreamy look. “Go ahead and talk to Caleb,” she said over her shoulder as she started for the door. “Paxton wants a breakfast meeting at nine, so don’t stay out long.”
Which was Aunt Dahlia’s way of saying Ariel shouldn’t spend any more time than necessary with Caleb. No surprise. Her aunt had never put so much as a pinprick in that bubble of hers.
Ariel grabbed her purse and guitar and approached the reception desk, where a full-figured blonde employee in her mid-forties—Sarah, according to her name tag—had called him over. They both focused on the cell phone the woman held out.
“It’s bad,” she said, her brows drawn together. “The worst reviews we’ve had this season.”
For an instant, something flickered in his eyes. Then he recovered and spoke quiet words Ariel couldn’t hear.
Oh. She knew that look, that feeling. Fear, dread. Anger. She also knew how to hide it, just like Caleb.
Ariel silently turned away so he wouldn’t know she’d overheard their bad news.
“What can I get for you, Miss Sullivan?” His rich baritone voice gave her a delicious shiver.
Well, she’d tried. “About the autograph—I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of your guests. It was completely unprofessional—”
“It didn’t embarrass me, because you were real. That’s what I’ve always liked about you.”
He did?
As Sarah pocketed the phone and stepped away from the desk, Caleb reached behind him then produced a large brass key ring with an old brass key and a matching worn, oval fob that read 140. “Looking for this?”