And who felt the rush of contributing the speck of talent the Lord had given so He could reveal Himself through something as silly and frivolous and life-giving as a song.
He missed that life more than he’d known he would, when he left it all behind—whether temporarily or permanently, he didn’t know—for the sake of this heap of wood, brick, and stone. And he’d give almost anything if he could take it back.
Anything except his obligation to a grandfather and a centuries-old legacy.
But now, Caleb felt nothing but foolish as he stood here, waiting to see if she would walk with him or turn away.
A man could leave his arm stuck out toward a woman only so long…
With the temperature rising in the room, Caleb was a fraction of a second from withdrawing both his arm and his offer when she smiled and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“It’s cooler outside too,” he said as he breathed a sigh of relief and reached for a menu from the host stand. “My grandfather reopened the restaurant last year when your cousin Dani started trying to rejuvenate this island. Everything’s good. Especially the locally caught whitefish.”
They stepped outside to the spacious brick patio and lawn behind the inn. Seeing it through Ariel’s eyes, Caleb realized they needed to hire a full-time gardener. He chose a secluded table beside a leggy, overgrown lilac bush with a scent unlike any he’d smelled south of the island, and he handed her the menu. “What sounds good?”
“Barbecued brisket, corn pudding, and biscuits with muscadine jelly. But since I can’t get them this far north…” She gave him that heart-stopping smile of hers, opened the menu, and took only a moment to choose. “Next best thing—an artisan cheese board with sourdough and lobster mac and cheese. And sweet tea.”
As she looked up from the menu, their dark-haired waiter approached wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a black tie with a perfect Windsor knot. He raised one brow, his mouth twisting as if he could hardly hide a grin. “What can I get you, Boss?”
Caleb gave him a bogus scowl that quickly morphed into a smile. “Knock it off with the ‘boss’ thing. Miss Sullivan, this isBlake St. John, my friend and leader of the men’s small group at church. He owns Jonathon Island Outfitters on Main Street. I called in a favor and asked him to help me out when I learned we’d have a crowd. Blake, meet Miss Ariel Sullivan.”
“My pleasure, Miss Sullivan. The music sounded great.” Turning his gaze to Caleb, he raised his electronic point-of-sale gadget to take their order. “Thought I was hallucinating when I saw you with a date, Boss.”
Caleb chanced a glance at Ariel and caught the gleam in her eyes. Apparently, the idea hadn’t totally repulsed her.
“Cheese board, mac and cheese, whitefish, coffee, sweet tea,” Caleb rattled off, then he sent Blake away with a shooing hand motion.
“Sorry about Blake. He jokes around to mask his grief. He lost his wife in a motorcycle wreck two years ago,” he said after Blake had laughed and walked away. “We met way back in first grade, when my family came home for a summer, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
A shadow he couldn’t identify crossed her face then disappeared. “Caleb, you’re one of the best guitar players in the biz. Maybe the best.”
While the abrupt change of topic surprised him, he couldn’t deny the wave of satisfaction her words brought. “I appreciate the undeserved compliment. Especially since Isaiah Mackay plays in your band. Nobody compares to him.”
Ariel closed her eyes for a fraction of a moment, and when she opened them, he thought he saw a flash of pain. She hesitated, and he sensed the change. “I need help,” she finally said. “Besides the concert at the end of our stay, my aunt and I are here to brainstorm, choose some new songs, and formulate a new image.”
In the falling dusk, a breeze picked up, blowing a few fine strands of hair across her face. She brushed them away,seemingly without thought. On a nearby lamppost, the old-fashioned light began to glow, revealing a faint glistening in those beautiful blue eyes. “Isaiah broke his hand today. He’s headed back home, to his cottage on our Nashville horse farm.”
“Knowing Isaiah, he would’ve rather fractured his hip than his hand.” Hearing about another silenced musician didn’t sit well. He pushed aside the feeling and focused on Ariel’s problem, but it didn’t take much thought to figure out why she was here. He softened his voice. “I think I know what you want to ask me, but go ahead.”
“I need a temporary lead guitar player to help us reimagine our band’s sound and to play our concert at the end of our stay. I’d like to offer you the job.” Ariel glanced around the patio and lawn, then cleared her throat and met his gaze. “Unless you’ve decided to leave the music industry altogether.”
Leave music behind—never. Leave his band? If Granddad had his way, Caleb would never return to the Drake Hamilton Band. His tenth great-grandmother, Elizabeth Jane Kennedy, would probably feel the same, since she’d started this whole legacy mess 245 years ago, when President Washington deeded her this parcel of land and she built the island’s first little log inn fifteen hundred feet inland.
He glanced across the courtyard, the lawn, the entrance to the inn’s private dining room and wondered for the 245th time how Elizabeth Jane still controlled this inn from the grave.
Rebellion crescendoed in his heart, nearly overpowering what loyalty he had to this place and the ancestors who’d won it, lost it, and regained it years later. At Ariel’s words, his mutinous thoughts threatened to drown out all the family history and pride.
What would happen if he started playing again?
One thing he knew. In the few minutes he’d had to reflect on this new life as an innkeeper, music had never strayed farfrom his mind. For a moment anyway, until some new hotel catastrophe screamed at him.
To work with a band again, to lend his scrap of talent, to contribute to a greater experience than any musician could have alone—he couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.
And yet…
He glanced around the courtyard at the peeling paint, the neglected landscaping, a light turning on in a room that would have sat empty tonight if not for the Grand’s flood.
Blake came over and set a cup and saucer, pitcher of cream, and coffeepot on the table. Then, wordless for once, his friend backed away.
