She could almost hear Max’s laughter in his reply. Isn’t it great? So, are you free?
“What’s the matter?” Brennan asked, walking up to the display case and scrutinizing her. “You look freaked out all of a sudden.”
“I am freaked out all of a sudden. Max met a producer and he’s trying to set up a meeting for tonight. He wants me there.”
Brennan rocked back a step. “Whoa! That’s fantastic!”
“I guess I was just expecting to have a little more time to prepare.”’
“You can’t get any more prepared than you are. You’ve been working toward this for years, Cara—another few days or a week isn’t going to make that much difference.”
She knew he was right. All that time spent singing to herself in the shower had to pay off at some point, right?
“So you think I should do it?”
Brennan gave her an exasperated look. “Is the pope Catholic? Of course you should do it!”
Before she could talk herself out of it, Cara texted back, “When and where?”
* * *
Cara walked through the front door of Frannie’s and looked around. Frank was by her side in an instant. “Welcome, Miss Malone. Your party is waiting for you. Follow me, please.”
Frank Blackstone wore a tux and bowtie, but he wasn’t always so dapper. He and his wife had owned a deli for years and his outfit of choice had been a greasy white apron. But with the shift in their fortunes had come a shift in their dreams, and now they ran the nicest restaurant in Aspen Ridge—aside from the dining room up at the lodge, that is. He showed Cara to her table, where she was greeted by Max and a man who looked like he ought to be hunkered over a poker table. He wore a plaid fedora pulled low over one eye, which was odd in an indoor setting, but he stood when she approached and offered his hand.
“My name is Kip Reynolds,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Cara said. She took the seat Frank had pulled out for her and glanced at Max. He seemed in his element, as always, but she wondered if he was as calm on the inside as he appeared on the outside.
“Kip says he thinks our demo has real potential,” Max said, nodding at Kip.
“That’s right. The two of you together are a dream team. I see a future in music right here.” Kip waggled his fingers to include them both.
“I never intended to be part of a team,” Cara protested. “I was just helping Max.”
“You did help me, and it turned out better than we anticipated,” Max replied. “Stop sounding like you feel guilty about this, Cara. I’d love for you to get the attention you deserve.”
Cara remembered Jethro telling her that she had a real chance too, but she’d brushed it aside. Now she was sitting across the table from a real producer who was echoing those same words. Maybe it was time she listened. What if she really did have a shot at a music career, just like she’d always dreamed? Was this possibility finally sinking into her thick, thick skull?
The waitress walked up to the table to take their order, and Kip turned to the two of them. “It’s on me,” he said. “Order whatever you’d like.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” Cara started to protest, but Max talked over her.
“Thanks, Kip. We appreciate that. I’ll have the seafood penne pasta.”
Cara felt her cheeks begin to burn, but tried to cover up her embarrassment with a sip of water while the waitress jotted down Max’s order. Then it was her turn.
“What’s Hunter’s daily special?” she asked.
“He’s put together a fantastic salad with baby dandelion greens, cranberries, and feta cheese—all organic, of course—and coupled it with a tender steak, grass fed.”
“That’s what I’ll have, but with half the cheese. Thanks.”
Kip ordered the lobster, and the waitress moved off.
“So, what was that with the grass-fed beef? You already sound like you belong in LA,” Kip said.
“I just try to eat healthy when I can,” Cara replied. “Hunter is the owner’s son, and he puts together a great dinner every night that focuses on locally grown organic produce and only the best cuts of meat.”
“Well, it’s working for you,” Kip said, giving her a wink before turning back to talk with Max.
Cara didn’t know whether Kip was paying her a genuine compliment or if he was hitting on her. The problem was, most of the compliments she’d received in her life had come with some kind of hidden—or not hidden—barb. Suddenly she was remembering a dress her mother had purchased for her fourteenth birthday party. It was hot pink and black, with polka dots. It came to her mid-thigh, and was worn with a pair of black leggings. When she came downstairs to show her mother how she looked, proud of how trendy she appeared, her mother said, “Well, don’t you look nice.” Then she took a step closer. “Or you would, if . . .” She began pulling the fabric this way and that, trying to adjust it over Cara’s stomach. The message was clear—Cara would only look cute if she lost the weight.
“Cara?”
Max’s voice pulled her back into the present. “I’m sorry. What did I miss?”
“Kip had a question for you.”
She turned to face the producer, who had shed his look of open cordiality and was now all business. “Are you currently being represented?”
“No, I haven’t made it that far on this path.”
“There are a lot of people out there who will want you to sign with them before you’ve landed yourself an agent. That’s a costly mistake. Sure, an agent takes a cut of your profits, but an agent can also negotiate much better deals for you and in the end, will increase your bottom line exponentially. Worth every penny you pay them. If you walk in somewhere without an agent, you’ll get robbed blind.”
“Should we have signed with an agent before meeting you here for dinner?” Cara asked.
Kip threw his head back and laughed. Cara caught a glimpse of a gold tooth. She wasn’t sure whether that was an affectation or if his dentist was just having fun. “I like you, Cara Malone. It’s true—I’ve done some wheeling and dealing in my day, but I’ve never deliberately scammed someone. I’m one of the few good guys left in the industry.”
The waitress came and refilled their waters, and then a moment later returned with their food. Thankfully, everyone was so busy eating that Cara had time to formulate her opinions about Kip. He was a smooth talker, no doubt at all about that. He had a little cash to throw around, as evidenced by his choice of lobster—either that, or he was going to stick his boss with a bill for expenses and expect him to pony up.
“What I’m getting at is this,” Kip said after chewing for several minutes. “I’d like to produce your album. I just don’t think you’re quite ready. Get yourself an agent. Keep polishing up your act. Make some YouTube videos and start getting your names out there. Get some local gigs and choreograph some stage moves. You’ve got the chops, and now it’s time to get into the performance side of things. You’re in the business now. Do what people in the business do.”
Max nodded. “I know YouTube has launched a lot of careers.”
“Launched them, and also saved them when they were sinking,” Kip replied. “Go make a friend with a video camera and get busy. And after you’ve landed that agent, give me a call.” He handed them each a card. Cara’s had a fingerprint of butter on it—apparently Kip hadn’t used his napkin very carefully before reaching into his wallet—but that was all right. It was still the business card of a real producer.
That seemed to be the end of the business talk. Kip asked Max about various aspects of the ski industry while they finished eating. Cara, who didn’t enjoy skiing at all, gave herself permission to check out of the conversation and enjoy her meal. The steak really had been done to perfection, and it was fresh and flavorful. When the waitress returned to refill their drinks, Cara asked if she could speak to Hunter.
He appeared at the table a moment later, his white coat spotless. Cara knew that many chefs cha
nged into a clean coat before going out into the dining room, but Hunter was just a clean cook. He never spilled on himself. “How was your meal?” he asked.
“Absolutely delicious. I wondered if you’ve ever experimented with organic veal.”
“I haven’t done much with veal yet, but I’ll definitely keep that on the back burner in my mind.” He glanced around and leaned forward. “I’ll tell you something if you’ll keep it under wraps for now.”
“Okay.” Cara wondered who they were hiding from by lowering their voices and ducking their heads.
“I’m only here in Aspen Ridge for a little while longer. I’ve decided to move.”
Cara had to keep herself from raising her voice. “What? Why?”
“You’re the only one tonight to order this meal. I don’t think my vision is being fully appreciated here.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that. Where will you go?”
“I’ve had an interesting conversation with a place in Dolce, Montana. I think I’ll end up there.”
Cara nodded. She’d heard of Dolce and had even considered visiting it—it was a town that celebrated the arts, and she’d love to hang out with a whole community of people who appreciated music like she did. “I wish you the best of luck, even though I’ll miss you here,” she said.
“Thanks. And I’m glad you enjoyed your meal.” Hunter asked the men at the table if there was anything else he could prepare for them, and then he went back into the kitchen.
Cara turned down the offer of dessert, so Max and Kip abstained as well. Cara felt bad about that—just because she was weird about food didn’t mean they had to be. Sometimes she ate dessert and sometimes she didn’t. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it.
Kip didn’t keep them for long. He said good night shortly after they were finished eating, asked them to be sure to contact him after they signed with their agent, and then he left the restaurant. Max signaled for a box for his leftovers, then turned to Cara.
“What do you think?”
Cara sighed. “I don’t know what to think. He’s the first producer I’ve ever met, so I don’t know whether to feel excited or skeptical. Maybe both.”
“Both is probably wisest.”
“So, what do you think? You wrote these songs—that’s you on those recordings. What’s your gut telling you?”
Max toyed with the straw in his water glass. “It’s telling me not to jump into anything.”
“Then I think you shouldn’t jump into anything.”
“We.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “Okay, we shouldn’t jump into anything.”
“I do think we need to take his advice and start building up a name for ourselves. YouTube, live performances, that kind of thing.”
Cara shook her head. “I don’t know. Brennan’s been trying to get me to go do open mike night at Harpstrings.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“You saw how badly I freaked out about recording the demo. To go through that embarrassment live and in person? I don’t think so.”
“But if we do it together, doesn’t that make it easier?”
Cara studied him for a minute. He had made her feel more at ease in the recording studio than she’d thought possible, and knowing he got sick when he was nervous, just like she did, was a comfort. Not that she’d wish that experience on anyone, but it did make her feel less alone in the world. “I guess we could do it together.”
“Fantastic.” Max patted his hand on the table like it was all decided. “I’ll start sending our demo to agents as soon as I’ve gotten it back from Jethro. Now, who’s the best person to talk to at Harpstrings?”
“Ask for Julia. She’s the assistant manager, and she handles all their scheduling.” Hmmm. Maybe she should put Julia on the list of dating possibilities. She certainly was pretty enough to look good next to Max, but at the same time, she was dating a concert pianist who flew in from New York to see her whenever he could. That really didn’t qualify her as being single.
Max pulled out his phone and made a notation. “Julia. Got it. I’ll call her first thing.”
The stars were shining down in full force when Max walked Cara to her car. “Thanks for heading down here tonight,” he said. “I know it scared you.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But I’m glad I came, and heck, I got a nice dinner out of it.”
Max grinned. “Free food is always awesome. And listen, don’t hesitate to let someone treat you. I could tell you were embarrassed, but in the business world, people buy each other meals all the time. It’s part of the wooing process.”
“Wooing?”
“Yeah. They want you to give them your product or service, so they woo you. Meals are just part of it.”
“That’s such a weird-sounding word.”
“Woo? You’re right. But it’s all just part of the game people play.”
“All right. Next time I won’t object.”
“Good girl.” Max took her key and unlocked her door for her, then kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Night. I’ll call as soon as I know anything else.”
“Okay. Night.”
Cara drove home, thinking about wooing. Wooing meant dinner and introductions to people who could get her where she wanted to be. She could certainly handle a little wooing, even if it wasn’t for womantic weasons . . . er, romantic reasons.
Chapter Five
Maureen crossed the hospital room and sat on the edge of Cara’s bed. “How are you feeling, dear?”
Cara looked at her mother through eyes that felt filled with sand. “I’m okay.”
“I’m sure you’ll feel wonderful after you’ve recovered and all that weight drops off you. We’ll go clothes shopping, and you’ll date, and you’ll be able to do all the things you’ve always wanted. You won’t even have to hide behind that guitar anymore.”
Maureen rambled on about this, that, and the other, but Cara stopped listening. She’d just had her stomach opened, snipped, reattached, and who knew what else. Her mother had presented her with the surgery as a high school graduation gift. While other girls from her class were traveling Europe or enjoying their new cars, courtesy of their parents, she was stuck in a hospital bed trying to wake up from anesthesia because her mother thought she knew what was best for her. And what was best for her? Music. Her mother had never seen that.
“And you’ll have so many dates.” Maureen reached out and touched her hair. “The boys will finally see how pretty you can be, when you let yourself. It’s going to be a whole new life for you, sweetheart. Aren’t you excited?”
Cara lay there and stared at the wall for a long time after her mother wound down and went to grab some coffee. All this talk about a new life . . . Sure, she didn’t like being overweight, but what was wrong with the life she’d had?
* * *
“Hey.” Brennan touched Cara’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Cara blinked. “Sorry. I was just . . . remembering something from the past. I’m getting to be as bad as Laurie—she’s always spacing out.”
“Good memories or bad?”
“I think . . . I think they were more sad than anything.” Cara turned to Brennan with a smile. “We haven’t eaten dinner together for a while. How about it?”
“Sounds good. I don’t have any plans.”
“And we need to do something about that. Listen, there’s a new cashier at the grocery store, and she’s really cute. Her name—”
Brennan held up a hand. “You know what, Cara, let’s call it good. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but . . . let’s not worry about it.”
“So you’ve decided to give up on love?”
“No, not exactly. I’ve decided to let love find me.”
Cara shook her head. “You’ve been trying that, and it’s not exactly working out for you, is it?”
“This is different, though. Before, I was dating a lot and trying to find the right one. Now it’s more
like, sending smoke signals up to the sky.”
That didn’t sound too promising—definitely not more effective than his other method. “And just what are these smoke signals you’ll be sending?”
“That’s the part I’m still working out. But trust me—I’ll get there.” Brennan ducked into the back room to grab another stack of catalogs to restock their display holders, and Cara let out a long, exasperated sigh. Men. This was why she was still single—men made absolutely no sense to her whatsoever.
* * *
Cara spent the better part of an hour that afternoon showing an elderly woman their selection of pendants. Nothing was quite right, and finally the woman left, stating that she’d see if she could find what she was looking for online. Her daughter was very choosy, the woman kept explaining, so the gift had to be perfect. Cara wondered if the daughter didn’t learn her choosiness from her mother, but she decided not to share that hypothesis out loud.
As the door closed and Cara took a deep breath, her phone chimed with a text. She pulled it from her pocket. Things are all set with Harpstrings for this Saturday night. That work for you?
Why couldn’t Max send a nice, friendly text, like, “Hi! Here’s a picture of a cat I found on the Internet”—why must they always fill her with fear? Maybe she should change her number and not tell him.
Fine. Saturday. What time?
Seven. You don’t sound too excited—you okay?
I’m just being Cara. Never mind.
* * *
“So, one minute he’s all setting up dinner meetings with producers, and the next, he’s getting us booked at Harpstrings. The man is like, insanely possessed.” Cara waved her fork at Brennan and then set it down and tried to soften her voice. “He’s got a one-track mind.”
“He’s focused on his dream. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with that?” Cara’s voice rose a little again. “It’s all happening too fast.”
Sloane suddenly appeared at their table. “What’s the matter?”
“Matter?” Cara looked up at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re sitting there, eating your dinner, and the next thing I know, you’re yelling about something being wrong. So, what’s wrong? Do I need to give Eddie a lecture?”
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