“She intended us to sit at a romantic table, gaze into each other’s eyes, and fall in love. She lives to create atmospheres and situations she hopes will make sparks fly between two people she thinks belong together. Where she gets the intel that shows her who to put together, I have no idea.”
“Well, her strategies won’t work tonight. She’d have to get by Aunt Dahlia.”
He laughed. “Does she weed out the bad ones? I could see her doing that.”
“Kind of. I’ve never met a real matchmaker before. It’s a little funny.”
“I’d laugh if it had happened to someone else.”
Ariel sipped her just-sweet-enough tea, then played with her straw, eyes downcast. “Aunt Dahlia always warned me not to date a musician, and I promised her I wouldn’t. I’d be nervous if this was a date.”
Caleb poured cream into his coffee cup—a lot of cream—then added coffee and stirred. Lifted the cup. “Why? You’d be the same woman you are now. Sweet, talented, generous.”
Should she admit her secret in a room full of musicians? Nobody loved a good story better than this crowd, and she didn’t exactly welcome the good-natured ribbing she’d get if the writers heard.
Then again, wouldn’t it feel good to tell someone?
She considered, then braced herself for his reaction and blurted it out. The big table made so much noise, they wouldn’t hear anyway. “I’ve never had a date.”
About to take his first swig, Caleb raised his brows, then set the cup in its saucer. Cleared his throat. “Not from lack of opportunity, I’m sure.”
“Actually, yes. Aunt Dahlia never gives a man a chance.”
He laughed. “I’ll bet she doesn’t.”
“I’m not joking. Either my aunt or her assistant, Doreen, goes with me everywhere. The only reason Doreen isn’t sitting right here between us this minute is because she’s in a nursing facility, recovering from surgery on her broken hip. Otherwise, she would have sat out on the porch with me this evening.” She took a sip of her tea, mainly to get a break from the shock on Caleb’s face. Although she’d seen it coming. “If Aunt Dahlia hadn’t preoccupied herself with your uncle, she’d have been there. Those two don’t leave me alone for a moment. My cousin Dani and I call them the watchdogs.”
Blake approached their table, carrying their plates, and Ariel glanced around to see he’d already served the rest of the guests. This time he held his wisecracks, and so did Caleb, as if neither man wanted to interrupt her story.
When Blake set their meals on the table then left the room, Caleb pushed both the plate and his cup to one side as if he’dlost his appetite, even for his cream with a little coffee in it. “She thinks you need that much protection?”
Ariel took another bite of her crab cake, stalling for time, considering how much to tell him. “It’s not that simple. See, when I was nine, I sang with my aunt in her annual Christmas tour. Then when I turned ten, I moved to Nashville to live with her and learn the biz. But before I left, Daddy made her swear a solemn promise to keep me safe and away from men and not to let anyone take advantage of me.”
“How does that mean you can’t have a date with a decent man?”
“My aunt puts a lot of value on keeping her word.” Ariel wrapped her hands around the coolness of her tea glass. “So she keeps me in a bubble and makes sure nobody gets close.”
Above the chatter of musicians and the clanking of silverware on china, the introduction to “Ain’t No Woman Like the One I’ve Got” floated through the air, smooth as honey. No doubt the work of his Aunt Annabelle.
Not that Ariel ever minded hearing old R&B…
Caleb reached across the table and took her hand. “How long does Miss Dahlia plan to make you live this way? Because there’s a man out there somewhere who would love you and make your life better, happier—safer than a bubble.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. What about you? Have you dated much?”
He let out a breath. “Not much. I thought I was in love once, even got engaged. But she broke it off.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
“No, she was right to do it. It was my freshman year in college. I knew from the beginning that she wanted a husband and family—wanted to be a wife and mother. She would have been a good one. But my grandfather put a lot of pressure on me to come home from LA and take over the inn. I wanted a careerin music. Stephanie got tired of waiting for me to decide—said that if I don’t know what I want in life, I can’t handle marriage and raising children.”
“Did she ever get married?”
“I heard she married a pastor, which would be a good fit. She loved the Lord. I haven’t dated since.”
The warmth of his hand and the old, smooth music soothed her heart and made her think that one day, everything could change. Maybe someday she could even break free of the confinement of fame, of performances. Of loneliness.
She looked up to see her aunt approaching their table, and she pulled away her hand.
