She turned to her sister. “Thank you for talking me out of my crazy.”
Mallory smiled. “You know I got you.”
“How are you? How was work?”
Mallory shrugged. “Meh. It’s fine I guess. Same old stuff.”
Janie wasn’t convinced. Her sister had endured a pretty painful break up a few weeks back and was only just starting to emerge from the fog. Mallory didn’t have a stellar track record with guys. Admittedly, sometimes she just picked total idiots. But this guy, Preston, had seemed like the real deal. He was one of the dentists in the office where she worked as a hygienist. He was stable, reliable, a little boring, but he’d been good to Mallory. Until all of a sudden, he wasn’t. After six months, he’d dumped her and ran off with the office manager, twelve years his senior.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Mallory said. “I’m fine. I even flirted with the UPS guy today. That’s progress, right?”
Janie forced a smile. She could still see the sadness settled behind Mallory’s eyes, but she’d give her sister the victory. She could tell she needed it. “Definitely progress.”
Mallory stood. “Are you hungry? I had lunch from this new food truck—Korean fusion something? You would love it, and I would totally be willing to eat it again.”
“Korean fusion in Charleston?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but seriously. It’ll be your new favorite.”
“I believe you,” Janie said. “But I had a symphony board meeting this afternoon and they fed us Lewis’s Barbecue. I’m still stuffed.”
“Fine. But we should go this weekend.”
Janie left her sister and headed back to her own room where she could respond to Emmett’s email on her laptop. With her track record, she’d fat finger some ridiculous gif if she tried to type a response on her iPhone. She dropped into her desk chair and typed a quick response to Emmett, agreeing to help him and suggesting a few times for them to meet.
There. Done. No turning back.
Before closing her laptop, her fingers hovered over her keyboard, the cursor blinking in the search bar. Back in her high school groupie days, googling Emmett had been a regular occurrence. She’d spent hours searching YouTube, looking for new performances she might have missed. The videos were always homemade and terrible quality, but she hadn’t cared.
Before she could think long enough to decide it was a terrible idea, she typed his name, held her breath, and hit enter. The first hit was a reference to the University of South Carolina School of Law Deans List. She clicked on the link and found his name—Emmett Charles Calhoun. He had such a Charleston sounding name. Perfectly proper and Southern. But Emmett had never seemed all that Charleston proper. At least not like the old money his family hailed from. He’d always been more jeans and flannel than khaki shorts and deck shoes. That was part of why she’d liked him so much.
The law school part surprised her. He’d planned to go to Nashville and try to make music work. At least, that’s what Mallory had always told her. Crazy that he’d ended up in college instead.
Janie backtracked to the search page. A Facebook profile he probably hadn’t updated in years. An obituary for his grandfather that listed him as a survivor. But that was pretty much it. She clicked over to the videos tab to see if there was anything there and finally found her reward. A post, just three weeks old, of Emmett playing at the Tattooed Moose downtown. The caption under the video read, “Emmett Calhoun. Seriously, who is this guy?! I’d def buy his album.”
Janie clicked play and leaned forward, scooting to the edge of her seat.
He was good. So good. Better than he had been in high school. He looked pretty much the same. A little older, for sure. And broader through the chest and shoulders. But still Emmett.
Just as charming.
Just as adorable.
Janie lowered her head to her desk.
She was in for it. So, so, so in for it.
Chapter Two
Emmett sat in his truck, engine still running, and stared up at the front porch of Janie Middleton’s condo. He remembered Mallory more—they’d been in the same circle of friends—but it was hard not to notice identical twins. He did remember that Janie had been quieter, more reserved, and very serious about her music. That level of dedication was the reason he was still sitting in the car and not knocking on her front door, even though it was five minutes past when they were supposed to meet. She was a legit musician. One that had turned her passion into something she got paid to do. She probably read music, wrote music, knew everything there was to know about music.
All he did was play the guitar. Except for a few gigs he’d booked at local bars playing covers, and years of playing for his friends, he didn’t have anything even remotely musical on his resume. Three years of law school? Sure. A downtown job waiting tables? Absolutely. But nothing about music. Nothing that qualified him to be here, with a bona fide professional, trying to teach her how to play his song.
Asking her to help had been a bad idea. He could always leave, play the song without the cello part and forget he’d ever asked her. Better yet, he could scrap the idea of playing at the wedding all together.
He groaned and leaned his head on the steering wheel. The horn on his truck honked and he shot up, swearing under his breath. What would she think of him sitting in her driveway honking his horn?
Movement on the porch drew his eyes upward. One of the twins stood in the doorway of the condo, a puzzled expression on her face. His mind registered Mallory at first—she was the one he knew best—but Janie made more sense.
He rolled down his window. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to honk.”
“Oh. Are you’re going to come inside?” She glanced at her watch. “Our meeting was at five, right?”
Yep. For sure Janie. The situation just kept getting better and better.
“Right. Yeah, sorry.” Emmett put the window back up. Guess the decision was made, then.
Janie had left the front door open, so Emmett climbed the porch stairs and stepped into the entryway, pulling the door closed behind him. He gripped his guitar case and waited, not sure where to go from there.
“In here,” a voice called.
Emmett followed the sound to the left and crossed through a small eating area before finding Janie in the living room, her cello already out. “Hello,” he said. “Sorry about the honk. I was doing some thinking, and I guess my head hit the steering wheel.”
Janie pushed her hands into her back pockets. She looked good. Different than he remembered, without all the dark make-up she’d worn in high school.
“No worries,” she said. “How have you been?”
“Good, good. You know, just living life.” It was a lame answer. But what was he supposed to say? That he’d graduated law school but refused to take the bar because he couldn’t face the possibility of becoming a stuffy lawyer in a stuffy town and wind up just like his stuffy father? That in the meantime he was waiting tables at a stuffy restaurant downtown wishing he didn’t have to rely on his trust fund to pay the rent? Janie had made something of herself. She played the cello in the freaking Charleston Symphony. Honestly, he was surprised she’d even agreed to accompany him. “What about you?” he asked.
“Yeah. Things are good. Mallory’s my roommate.”
He nodded. “Tell her I said hello.” He shifted his guitar from one hand to the other. He wasn’t an expert at reading body language, but Janie seemed . . . uncomfortable? Nervous, maybe? It actually made him feel better to know he wasn’t the only one.
“So I guess there’s going to be a wedding?” Janie finally said.
“Right, yeah,” Emmett answered. “Deacon’s marrying Dahlia Ravenel. Do you know her?”
“I don’t think so. But, there are a lot of Ravenels in Charleston.” She motioned to the couch. “Um, do you want to sit down? Whenever you’re ready we can go over the song.”
“Sure. Of course.” Emmett moved to the couch and pulled out his guitar. Why was
he having such a hard time starting up a conversation? Janie was pretty, yes, but he’d known that coming in. He was never flustered around women. Then again, he’d never had to lay his amateur music at the feet of a professional.
He strummed a chord on his guitar and adjusted the tuning pegs until it sounded right.
“Do you need a tuner?” Janie asked.
Emmett looked up and met her eyes. “Nah, I can hear well enough which way it’s off.”
She cocked her head. “Right, but one string being tuned to the others is different than being tuned in general. And when I play with you, it’s important for our pitches to match.”
They would match. He’d been tuning by ear for years and he was always dead on. But she seemed so sincere in the way she’d explained, he wasn’t about to contradict her. “I guess I should use the tuner then,” he said.
She moved to the music stand sitting beside her cello and picked up the tuner, turning it on before holding it out to his guitar. He plucked a single string, watching as the screen on the digital tuner lit up green, just as he knew it would. He tried not to grin as each following string had the same result.
Janie pursed her lips. “That always happens, doesn’t it?”
Emmett smiled, but offered an apologetic shrug. “Yes?”
She laughed. “I guess I should have trusted you. I’m officially jealous now. Perfect pitch is not something I was blessed with.”
Hearing her laugh, the way it filled the room around him, eased some of the tension in Emmett’s shoulders. He was still nervous—playing for an audience of one felt more intimidating than an entire bar full of people—but there was something about her that put him at ease. He motioned to the open spot next to him. “I think it’ll make me less nervous if you sit.”
She bit her lip, hesitating just long enough that he expected her to say no and stay where she was. But then she crossed the room and sat down. It wasn’t a huge couch, so when they angled inward to face each other, their knees almost touched. He realized in hindsight that might have been why she’d hesitated. Pushing away the thought, he focused on his music, refusing to let the woman beside him unravel his concentration.
With his body curled around his guitar, he played the opening chords of the song. A few measures later, he sang the first line, glancing up to gauge Janie’s reaction. To his relief, her eyes weren’t on his face, but on his hands. They stayed there, watching him play, making it easier for him to play the love song. If they’d made eye contact, things could have gotten awkward fast. Not that a love song was unexpected; he’d written it for a wedding. But at the wedding he’d be singing to a room full of people, with his brother and Dahlia standing there holding hands. Everyone would know the love he was singing about was theirs. But here, in Janie’s living room, with just her listening, it felt . . . different.
When Emmett strummed the last note, the silence settled heavy between them. He looked up and met Janie’s gaze, surprised to see tears in her eyes.
She quickly wiped them away. “Sorry.” She motioned to her face. “This is a thing that happens to me. That was a really beautiful song.”
“So you think they’ll like it?” he asked, not realizing how much he wanted her approval until he’d asked for it.
“They’ll love it. Truly. It’s perfect.”
He soaked up the praise. He knew the song was good. He felt it on a visceral level, deep in his core. But validation wasn’t something volunteered all that frequently in his life. At least not from the people that mattered to him most. To hear someone pay him such a specific compliment—someone who hadn’t just finished her fourth shot of tequila and was looking for a good time from the night’s entertainment—felt good. Really good.
“Thanks. I’m sorry I made you cry.”
She smiled. “No you’re not. Tears mean you did your job. That’s what we want music to do, right? Evoke emotion? Trust me. You nailed it with that one.”
“I don’t write many love songs,” he said. “I guess I’m never really sure how they’re going to go.”
“It’s sweet that you wrote one for your brother.”
He stifled a laugh. “Or maybe just sad that I . . .” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. That I’ve never been in love myself, so I write about his life instead? “I don’t know,” he finally managed. “It’s fine, I guess.” The look in Janie’s eyes said she wanted more explanation which meant time for a subject change. “Music always makes you cry?”
Janie shrugged. “Not all the time. Just when it’s particularly meaningful. I’m not sure why some things resonate and others don’t. But when they do, yeah. Tears happen.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “It drives Mallory crazy. That I feel everything so intensely. I think it’s a musician thing.”
That was something he remembered about high school Janie. Her intensity. From the way she played her cello to the way she looked at people in the hallway. There wasn’t anything casual about her at all. She didn’t seem the same way now. She had the same presence, but it was more intentional, more in control. “Where’d you end up going to school?” Emmett asked her.
“The Blair School of Music,” Janie said. “At Vanderbilt. Over in Nashville? They have a great music program.”
Emmett’s jaw tightened. They did have a great music program. He’d spent hours researching it, pouring over the school’s application process. At one point, he’d even believed he’d be able to convince his father to pay for it. He didn’t have to go Nashville just to pursue country music, he could go to Nashville and get an education. But his father had been crystal clear on the subject. “You’re a Calhoun, son,” he had said. “And Calhoun men go to law school. You want to see a penny of your trust fund? You’ll stop ranting about music and get yourself to Columbia where you belong.”
“I thought about going to Vanderbilt at one point.” Emmett plucked at his guitar, strumming a few random chords before looking back at Janie.
Her face lit up. “Yeah? It’s a great school. And not just for classical music. I had a lot of classmates studying country music. It would have been perfect for you.”
“Yeah, well, my family had different plans.” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but it was almost impossible.
“That’s too bad. I always thought you were going to make it back in high school. You’re so good, Emmett. Truly.”
Emmett held her gaze. “I didn’t think you knew who I was back in high school.”
She scoffed. “Whatever. Everyone knew who you were.”
“Maybe. But you weren’t exactly like everyone else.”
She shook her head, her hands fidgeting with the edge of a throw pillow. “I was a mess in high school.”
Emmett didn’t know how that could possibly have been true. “You know, I heard you play once?” Emmett said. “It was one of your orchestra concerts. Not at school. It was downtown.”
“With the Charleston Youth Symphony?”
He nodded. “I guess, yeah. I had to go for my music appreciation class and write a summary of the piece I enjoyed the most. You played a solo, and it was definitely my favorite.”
“Senior year?” Janie asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“That would have been the Saint-Seans concerto. Man, I worked hard to get that solo.”
Emmett propped his guitar against the table and leaned his elbows onto his knees, steepling his fingers. “I think it’s really great you turned your music into a career. I wish I had that kind of courage.”
She let out a soft laugh. “I wish I had your perfect pitch.”
An hour later, Emmett had moved to the piano bench, close to where Janie sat with her cello. He hadn’t come with any music written—he didn’t know anything about cello music—but Janie was easily able to take the notes he picked out on his guitar, match it on her cello, then transcribe the music onto the staff paper she had on her music stand. It was amazing to watch. Her general musical knowledge was extensive, but her skill on
the cello left him almost speechless. When they finally played the song together, with the guitar, vocals and cello all combined, the overall effect had him near jumping out of his chair. On top of his excitement over the song, he could not stop staring at Janie. It’s possible the music was amplifying his emotions, but she was . . . He didn’t even have a word for what she was. Captivating? Stunning? Whatever it was, he couldn’t get enough.
Janie reached over and stopped the recording on her iPhone. She’d wanted to have it recorded so she could listen when practicing.
“Will you text that to me?” Emmett asked.
She nodded. “It sounded great, didn’t it?”
“Better than I imagined. I’d heard the cello part in my head but hearing it all together like that was awesome.”
Janie stood up, heaving her cello over to the large case standing up next to the wall. She placed the cello inside and latched it shut. “You’ve never had any formal music training, right?” She motioned to him and his guitar. “This is all self-taught?”
“Mostly, I guess,” Emmett said. “I mean, I’ve watched about a million YouTube videos, but that’s it.”
“Can you read music?”
“Not really. I can tell you what notes I’m playing, but I’ve never learned how to look at music and tell what’s what.”
She stared, her mouth slightly open. “That’s so annoying.”
“What? Why?”
“Because! You’re too good to not be able to read music. It’s not fair.”
He shrugged. “Elvis Presley couldn’t read music. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t. But to be as good as you are without any formal training? Most of my classmates at Vanderbilt would hate you.”
“That’s just it, though. I’ve been watching you all this time thinking the same thing. How you know the notes and can just write the music out like that.”
Wedding Belles: A Novel in Four Parts Page 8
