The waitress brought their sandwiches, and Caleb gave thanks. This time, Ariel raised her eyes to the heavens too. Then they dove into the egg, avocado, and pesto on pretzel buns. Ariel had no more than taken the first bite when she caught sight of a petite dark-haired girl, maybe fourteen years old, wearing a “Be Like Miss Dahlia” T-shirt, holding her camera high and snapping a picture.
Ariel laid one hand over her lips with a close-mouthed smile as she motioned the girl over. Then she reached for two napkins. “You caught me with my mouth full. This really is a blessed sandwich, like the menu says,” Ariel told her with a grin. “Are you a local or here on vacation?”
After she’d engaged her fan, posed for a few more pictures, and autographed one of the napkins, Ariel turned her attention back to Caleb. From the look on his face, the interaction had taken his mind from his troubles for the moment.
“I should keep my family problems to myself,” he said, settling back into his previous concerns.
“No, I want to help, and Aunt Dahlia will too.” Her thoughts turned to Mr. Augo, as her Southern-etiquette-loving aunt would insist she call the older gentleman. “How does your uncle feel about the drama now?”
“He just wants the family to get along and for Granddad to leave behind his bitterness.”
“Then we need to ask your uncle for the keys.”
Caleb shook his head. “He wanted to move back into his old apartment in the parlor wing a couple years ago and asked Granddad for them. He didn’t get them.”
“In that case, it’s time for a hotel treasure hunt.”
He raised his mug and emptied it. “They can’t be hard to find. Thirty-seven big antique brass keys on a heavy brass ring four inches in diameter—you can’t hide that just anywhere.”
Ariel smiled at the thought and tested her drink. The hot, frothed steamer had cooled enough that it wouldn’t burn her mouth, so she took a long drink of the warm sweetness. What was it about hot milk that always comforted her and seemed unfailingly to solve her every problem?
And what was making Caleb smile like that?
He grabbed a napkin, handed it to her, and pointed to his own lips.
Oh. She laughed and snatched the rough paper napkin from his hands, swiped the thick cream from her mouth, and considered how comfortable she felt with him.
Had she felt that way with any other—what? Obviously not date. Besides, he wasn’t her date. Friend? Maybe. Brother figure? She took in his big brown eyes, powerful biceps, muscled shoulders…nope. Definitely not a brother.
Regardless, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so much at ease with a man. Someone who knew musicians’ challenges and understood their unusual, chaotic schedules and lives.
However, the staff paper in her guitar case had rustled around in her mind all morning. As urgent as Caleb’s problem was this morning, she hadn’t wanted to mention the song that had drifted in the background of their hotel and coffee shop conversations.
Ariel checked the time on the big wall clock shaped like a cappuccino cup. Not yet nine, so she reached into her guitar case for the sheet music. “I still think we should search for the keys. But for now, would you take a look at Earl’s song?”
At his nod, she passed him the lead sheet.
“‘Mercy Song’?”
“It’s just a working title, but I like it.”
He tapped his index finger on the table, no doubt in time with the beat in his head.
Ariel waited, her pulse pounding. She watched his eyes for a hint of his thoughts.
Caleb turned the first page upside down on the table. Picked up page two. His finger stilled but his head nodded almost imperceptibly with the silent beat.
She drew a long breath as if diving deep into crystal water. This was their new song. She knew it as well as she knew her own vocal range.
Caleb turned over the sheet and read page three, then looked up, silent, his eyes a little misty, his lips slightly parted.
Her smile came slow, her breath fast.
He felt it too. She could see it. Ariel pressed her lips together, holding in the sheer joy of discovery and of sharing such a song with Caleb.
“Earl wrote this? You’re sure?”
“He wrote it and signed it.” She reached for page one and pointed to his name scrawled in the bottom right corner.
