His smile came calm, cool, making his eyes crinkle a little as he set his guitar on the table and leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “I thought I’d butchered the song so much you had to cut it short.”
She’d never met a man this easy to sit with, to talk with. Even joke with.
Then again, although she met a lot of men in her job, she rarely spoke with one alone.
Thank her watchdogs for that.
“What if we add a jazz flavor? Turn the chords into major sevenths and then add a lot more chord changes and some blue notes and go from there?” He played the licks and turned out a sweet jazz sound.
Perfection.
“How did you know exactly what the song needed?”
“Just a love for jazz, I guess. I discovered it in seventh grade. Before that, I thought all music was hymns and worship songs, rock, and classical.”
“Why classical at such a young age?”
“My mom was an orchestra conductor when we lived in LA, and Dad was concertmaster. Before I was born, they worked for Philharmonie de Paris.”
“Our musical backgrounds couldn’t be more opposite—classical and country.”
He played a few bars of a decades-old Miss Dahlia song, bending notes and adding twang. “Both have their strengths.”
“I had no idea you could play country. But I should have guessed, since you’re one of the most versatile guitarists on the music scene.”
“I don’t know about that.”
In the silence that followed, a fresh breeze blew in, bringing the sweet scent of lilacs she’d begun to love to the patio. And, no doubt, to the guests sitting on the front porch enjoying the harbor view.
“Can you see the lake from your secret porch?” She looked that way, but the building blocked her view.
“Nope. That’s what makes it secret. Why?”
“I haven’t had a chance to check out the view. I think I’m missing out.”
He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s almost sunset. Want to watch it?”
With a man who had enough style to wear a wristwatch with a suit instead of pulling a phone from his pocket to check the time? Absolutely.
Aunt Dahlia would have a fit, but…
“Sure.” The lilac scent drifted past again. They’d hit exactly the right time to enjoy the flowers. “I just had a marketing idea—you and me playing music on the big porch. People will record it and post it on social media. An impromptu mini concert, casual and unscripted, bringing guests to your restaurant for supper and improving your reviews. Maybe it’ll even inspire me to find that elusive element my aunt has tasked me with discovering.”
“People can make requests. Have a photo op with the great Ariel Sullivan. Let’s do it.”
Great? What a sweet thought, although completely untrue. “You mean take a picture with the legendary Caleb Kennedy.”
His wavering smile, hinting that her compliment had opened a dark door, caught her off guard. Did the man not know how much the music industry respected him?
Or had something else triggered that response?
“Let’s take a few selfies together and post them on social media, talk about the impromptu concert, and ask people to share. We won’t get a huge response, but we should get a small audience from a few fans who happen to be on island.” Caleb pulled out his phone, and they hammed it up a little for their followers as he snapped a few shots.
Caleb texted Sarah and asked her to announce the mini concert. He and Ariel took a few moments to make the pictures public, then she handed him her guitar and hurried to stash the rest of her belongings in her room.
She locked the door and held out the heavy brass key. “Put this in your pocket for me?”
He tucked the key away, then carried both guitars around the building to the long front porch, where unsuspecting guests sat in white rockers facing the harbor.
