Movement caught her eye as she scanned the crowd. Up high, a vaguely familiar, exquisitely handsome dark-haired man approached the mezzanine’s wooden railing. She didn’t recognize his face or hair but rather his demeanor, the way he seemed to take in the song and extract all the meaning and emotion it exuded.
This man understood the power of song.
Aunt Dahlia signaled the final tag. At the last line, Ariel stopped strumming, and they finished the song a cappella. “‘He took me to my destiny…the long way.’”
Ariel could only hope she’d find her own destiny a lot earlier than Aunt Dahlia had found hers.
Caleb and his staff would soon have the third-floor rooms under control. But that didn’t mean he could manage his life.
As he crossed the mezzanine on his way to the supply closet to get a pack of light bulbs, a clear, unpretentious story told in song wafted up from the lobby and somehow touched a piece of his heart—a part he didn’t want stirred. Not by his staff, not by the musicians holding the audience captive below as he and Michelle looked over the mezzanine rail.
More than that, he didn’t want to see himself in the lyrics.
Better to leave behind that part of his life. The part that wanted to make his mark in the world, to give it something of value. Long-lasting value.
The part where he could never return.
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 concertplanned 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.
