Larissa snapped her gum.
And sometimes it failed.
“We’ll cater to whatever you wish.” Devyn rallied for one more blitz attempt. “Your colors, your flowers, décor, and centerpieces. We also decorate the staircases and areas of the deck. If you’re interested, we can go up the steps to the Hurricane Deck.”
Mrs. Newton clasped her hands together under her chin, waiting for a response in the affirmative from her daughter.
Larissa finally glanced up from her phone and shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just not sold on having my wedding here. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
Hardly surprising, but her gut sank nonetheless. “If you change your mind, here’s my contact info.” She slipped a business card from her leather ledger and handed it to the petite bride-to-be. “We’d love to have you.”
Larissa mustered a weak smile, and Mrs. Newton fought to keep hers in place.
Devyn watched them exit the double doors to the grand staircase, then pulled out a chair from one of the tables and sank onto it.
With a sigh, she tossed her ledger onto the white tablecloth, nearly knocking over the stuffed parrot centerpiece.
If she couldn’t convince a twenty-four-year-old local the value of the Belle, how on earth would she persuade the judges? How could she capture the grandeur of this place? That stepping into the ballroom was like stepping back in time—where hundreds, more like thousands, had graced its weathered boards, dancing everything from the Jitterbug, to the Twist, to the Electric Slide. All the dances, all the eras, all the memories, while floating on the shimmering water.
It made her nostalgic just thinking about it. But sentiment wasn’t good enough. Maybe she wasn’t good enough. Perhaps she should ask Steph to take over this project.
She folded her arms on the table and sunk her chin atop them.
It wasn’t wise to make a huge decision with her nerves splintered raw. She should just go home, call for takeout, and spend the evening with Audrey Hepburn and Peter O’Toole.
The unmistakable swish of the entrance doors didn’t even stir her. No doubt it was Steph checking in, but Devyn couldn’t bring herself to move or glance up.
“Tough day?”
Her gaze whipped to a husky masculine voice. Chase stood several feet away, and her heart smacked against her ribs. How could she have forgotten their meeting?
He approached, his swagger confident, his appearance immaculate in his crisp button-down shirt casually paired with jeans. “What’s on your mind?”
“Currently? How to steal a million.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “You in a scrape for cash?” He slid out the chair beside her, turned it around, and straddled it. “I thought you smarter than to resort to a life of crime.”
“How to Steal a Million is a movie with Audrey Hepburn.”
“Ah, never seen it.”
“You’re missing out on cinematography greatness, my friend.” She toyed with one of the plastic eye patches arranged by every placemat. “It’s kinda my thing. Some girls binge ice cream when life sucker punches them, I binge classic movies.”
His dark locks shimmered in the recess lighting. “I’m no Audrey Hepburn, but if it’s any consolation, I’m a good listener.”
“My college roommate once told me that’s an oxymoron.” Her mouth twisted. “You know, being a man and saying you’re a good listener.”
He clasped a hand over his heart, his features taking on a mockinjured look. “I’m trying to be thoughtful and here you are talking smack.”
A smile itched her lips. Of course, she’d never believed that. Her brother was the more attentive one in their conversations, but right now Devyn needed her attitude to shift from sullen to light. Her emotional muscles were fatigued from wallowing in a swamp of self-pity.“If I wanted to trash-talk, I’d bring up our Skeeball game.”
His deep chuckle rumbled through her. “I had no clue I was dealing with a D1 college pitcher.”
“You didn’t ask.” She’d given him as little as possible about herself during their pizza outing, but after sinking seven 100-point buckets in a row, he’d become suspicious about her “natural” talent. “I should’ve suggested a wager on our game.”
He wagged a finger at her. “Now that would’ve been cruel. Like some kind of Skeeball shark.”
“Maybe I should turn that into a living.” It was a joke. A terrible one, but she presently felt the pressure of her current career choice. This kind of stress shouldn’t bother her. She’d once been part of a multimillion dollar venture. In comparison, this wedding contest was nothing. Yet to her, it was everything. “I just finished a tour and the bride wasn’t interested in holding her wedding here. It’s nothing new. And it usually doesn’t sink my mood. All part of the business you know? It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“It made me question myself about the contest. Maybe I’m in over my head.”
“It’s a pretty head.”
“No-flirt rule.” She swatted his arm. “You’re totally breaking it.” Though her tone wasn’t as stern as her words due to that irritating disarming effect he possessed.
He lifted a shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I think we can pull this off.”
We? She only agreed to his help with the invitations. Granted, she’d worked well with a partner. She and Travis created a virtual kingdom, for goodness’ sake. Surely there was no harm inviting Chase to brainstorm with her. Besides, she’d learned her lesson. This time around she wouldn’t lose her heart. “The first thing on the docket is—”
His cell rang.
He gave a repentant smile and withdrew his phone from his pocket. He peered at the screen and stiffened. “I gotta take this.” He rose from his chair. “Excuse me a moment.”
“Of course.”
He strode out of her hearing radar. Not exactly hard in a 200-foot ballroom. Was it his girlfriend? His wife? And why hadn’t she contemplated his relationship status before? Not that she was interested in him, but for the fact alone that he’d been acting unattached, flirting.
“I can’t right now.” His hushed tone seemed to bounce off the wall. His inflection rose and fell, allowing Devyn to catch the words “agent,” “insurance,” and “overdue.”
Those terms had been pestering residents in Devyn’s brain two years ago when dealing with her mom’s medical bills. Did Chase have an ill family member? Was he the one who was sick?
Her phone alarm chimed, warning her the purser would be shooing her out soon in preparation for tonight. She grabbed her black ledger, shoved her phone in her pocket, and stood. By this time, Chase had ended his call and was drawing near.
“Sorry.” His expression was sheepish. “That was my…uh…business associate.”
Hmm. “I thought you were solo when it came to graphic design?”
“I am.” He returned the chair to its place. “This is for something else. That personal matter I was telling you about the other day.”
“You’re not a drug dealer or anything?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“A spy?”
“I wish it was that cool.” His phone chimed again, but this time he silenced it. “Like I said, a personal issue. Not a big deal.”
Then why the mystery? Then again, she had a slew of secrets she’d rather not share. She reached into her ledger and withdrew her meager list. “Here are a few themes I’ve been thinking on.” She handed him the paper.
She watched him through narrowed eyes, ready to gauge his reactions, but he remained poker-faced. All the proposed themes were love related—Timeless Romance, Romance Through the Ages, Whispers of the Heart. “What do you think?”
He lowered the page and raised a brow. “What do you think?”
“That they’re mediocre.” A heavy sigh lowered her shoulders. “It’s like I can’t get my brain to work. Ideas used to come so easily to me before—” Her mouth clamped shut.
“Before what?”
She just had to open that door, didn’t she? Might as well stumble on through it. At least she could control what tidbits she gave. “My breakup. I was engaged a year ago. It wasn’t a pretty split.”
The lines framing his eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”
“When you surprised me on the stern…” She inclined her chin to the back of the boat. “That was the week I was to be married. I literally found out about the Belle being in the contest on my no-go wedding day. And right now, I’m supposed to be in Cozumel.”
“Ah, that explains a lot.”
“Like my emotional swings on a total stranger? Yeah.” She flicked the corner of the list. “And why my ideas on romance are weak.”
“They’re not weak, but I can tell they’re not your best.”
And how could he know this? He was right, of course. But they’d only been in each other’s company three times. She motioned at the main entrance, and Chase matched her lazy pace toward the exit.
“When I brainstorm, I pick one major focal point and let it roll around in my mind for a bit.” He held the door open for her.
She walked past with a nod of thanks. “I don’t have time for rolling ideas. I need one soon. Like four-days-ago soon.” Her fingers curled around the railing of the grand staircase, and they moved down the steps in silence, the click of her kitten heels echoing off the sconce-lined walls.
They crossed the short distance to the bow doors, and Chase paused. “How many other places are in this contest?”
“Twelve altogether. So we’re competing against eleven spectacular historical venues across the country.” Devyn had heard of several of the finalists and had tortured herself by browsing their websites. The venues were stunning.
Chase patted the wood-paneled ticket booth sandwiched between the exits. “Are any of them boats?”
“No, we’re the only one.”
“Then play off that for your theme. It’s what makes you unique.”
She’d been aware that the Belle was the only moving historical site in the contest, though she hadn’t viewed it as a strength. Her gaze met Chase’s and hope billowed. “This can work.”
“Glad I can pull my weight.” His satisfied smile affected her. For all his nonsense and flirting, Chase seemed to truly want to help.
“And here’s your reward.” She withdrew several sheets of paper she’d tucked behind the event pricing form in her ledger.
“What are those?”
“Scanned pics of the calliope book our girl was holding in that photo. My boss found the hard drive from the auction, and lo and behold.” She handed them to Chase. “The book was sold at auction, but I had no idea it’s one of a kind. Look at the pictures.” She pointed to the one on top. The photos were grainy, but they provided enough detail for Devyn to identify a decorative vine etching on the cover. Maybe she was in the wrong career. Sure, she proved an expert in computer coding, and enjoyed the myriad of challenges that came with prepping weddings, but her heart came alive when around anything vintage. “It’s a handwritten songbook. I’m guessing there really weren’t songbooks for calliopes and so whoever it was wrote one.”
His eyes flickered with surprise. “Think it was Hattie?”
“Possible.”
He flipped to the last page and read the information at the top. “Greta Hanson.”
“That’s the woman who purchased it. Her number is below. This may have nothing of use to us. But then—”
“It very well could.” He grinned as he yanked out his phone. “Care if I call now?”
“Let’s go outside. It may echo in this spot.”
They stepped into the open air and across the grated bridge leading to the wharf. Chase’s arm brushed hers as they moved to the closest bench. She couldn’t determine if it was the late afternoon sun or his close proximity that had her flushed, but she decided a few much-needed inches of space between them was necessary.
He dialed the number and plastered the phone to his ear. “Hey there. My name’s Chase Jones, and I’m calling regarding a purchase from an auction from the Belle of Louisville? I believe it was a songbook for the calliope. Any chance I can speak with Greta Hanson?”
Devyn heard a feminine voice but couldn’t decipher any words.
“Oh.” Chase’s expression turned from hopeful to something more serious. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Please forgive me for bothering you.”
A couple more garbled sentences and then Chase ended the call.
“Bad news?”
“Greta Hanson passed away this past January. That was her daughter.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
He nodded. “She’s going through her mother’s things and knew about the book. Said we can come look at it any time this week.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, only problem is she lives three hours away in Ashland.” Dark brows lifted over glinted eyes. “You up for a road trip?”
Chapter 10
“Since you’re driving, does that mean I have total control over the music and snack distributions?” Devyn swept her hair back in a messy bun, though the breeze from the open window pulled wayward wisps across her cheek. Still not wanting to give Chase her address yet, she’d agreed to meet him at the Belle. He’d volunteered to drive, and she had no qualms letting him navigate across Kentucky.
“You’re free to listen to whatever you choose.” He swigged his coffee then tossed her his signature I’m-hot-without-even-trying smile. “As for the other, it’s nine in the morning. Isn’t that too early for candy?”
“Pfft. Road trips are all about junk food.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement. She opened the Walmart sack filled with all things sugar and calories. “Besides, we have a mission over the next few hours. And chocolate is brain food.”
“I’m guessing our mission is finding a theme?”
“You know it.” She was determined not to waste her Saturday off. “Before I go farther, are you certain I have complete mastery of the music?”
“What are you going to do to me?” His leery expression made her laugh.
“Nothing too horrible. I ran a search on iTunes for songs that feature water, boats, and romance. We’re going to let music inspire us.” She connected her phone to the car’s Bluetooth and pressed play. The opening bars of The Love Boat’s theme song blared through the speakers, and Devyn’s shoulders shook with laughter.
Chase squinted as if it was painful to hear. “Probably won’t provide us any inspiration.”
“Nope. But it’s fun to sing.” Pretending a Twizzler was a microphone, she belted out the chorus. If he was to be trapped with her today, he would get the full force of her dorkiness.
His chuckle was a deep, low sound, smooth like melted chocolate. And just as tempting. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified that you know every word.”
She lowered the volume. “I used to watch reruns with my nana when I was little. She had the smallest TV on the planet sitting on the corner of her kitchen counter. Nothing like cutting onions and voyaging on the S.S. Pacific Princess.”
“Is that why you began working on the Belle?” He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel with the beat. “So you can tap into your inner Love Boat enthusiast?”
“Hardly.” She bit off a hunk of the Twizzler.
“Maybe we should start there for inspiration. What first attracted you to the Old Girl?”
Her racing heart pumped the brakes as if it had spotted a state trooper. This conversation was speeding into disaster.
“Ah, she grows quiet. This makes me more intrigued.”
Devyn swallowed. “It’s not as epic as you make it sound. It’s actually a tad humbling.”
He cut her a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry for asking.”
Something about his gentle tone tugged the words from the locked vaults of her heart. “No. It’s fine. The whole thing was a result of the breakup I told you about.”
“Your fiancé?”
Chase’s gaze remained fixed on the road, but she could almost hear the questions in his mind.
“We were partners in business. A successful business. When he broke things off, it was like my entire world stopped. My job, my routine, my plans for us, all were gone. I can hardly remember the following weeks. I was in this weird zombie-funk.”
“Understandable.”
“For days I struggled with sleeping. One classic movie after another. Phone calls to my brother at three a.m. My brain wouldn’t rest. I spiraled to the point where I was going to beg the jerk to take me back.”
His brow lowered. “Even after he embarrassed you?”
“I was in a funk.” She repeated her defense. “I’d given so many pieces of myself to him that I didn’t know how to function as just…me. He’d take and take but rarely contributed to the relationship. I finally realized how he used me. How toxic those years together had been.”
Chase scowled. “I’m glad you didn’t return to him. Because the second you try to convince a guy to love you is the exact moment he’s not worthy of your heart.”
She blinked at him. From all angles Chase Jones appeared every bit the player. Yet his words brimmed with authenticity. “I’m glad I didn’t return to him either. Instead, I cranked up worship music and prayed for God’s help. I was a sobbing mess asking Him to forgive me for my stupidity in a bad relationship, to save me from drowning in heartache. I must’ve fallen asleep, because…” Should she? Her instincts told her yes, but her mind screamed at her to remain silent.
He grabbed a pair of aviators from an overhead compartment and slid them on. “Because what?”
“You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”
Undercurrent of Secrets Page 7