“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?
