Good. Ansley fished her phone and power cord from her shoulder bag and plugged in. A harried server appeared, gave her the once over, but was too distracted to let her gaze linger. Her nametag read “Marie.”
“The menu is right there.” She pointed to the metal holder in front of Ansley. “What can I get you to start?”
“Diet Coke.”
With that, Marie left, picking up checks and credit cards from the customers ready to leave, only to have others in the waiting holiday horde take their place.
“Pretty big mess.” The man with the blue eyes, sun-bleached hair, and a soft tan on his cheeks pulled her attention from the menu—and out of hiding.
“The airlines will have to learn to back up their systems.”
The man whistled. “Wouldn’t want to be the man who has to answer for this.”
“Or the woman.”
“Especially not the woman.” He grinned, winking—an action Ansley felt. A warm, spicy swirl.
She faced away, pretending to focus on her phone as the sensation faded. What was that? Ever since her boyfriend of three years, Hank, bugged out a year ago, deciding he didn’t want to be in a relationship with an artist, she’d retreated from ideas of love and romance.
Though she believed one day she’d give love a second chance. Then came the stalker …
Ansley swerved around a little more, giving the man her back. Traveling alone, she needed to be wary. As soon as her phone charged up enough, she’d call Noël, her best friend and assistant, for an update.
Exhaling a load of stress, she glanced around. The airport was nuts. She’d tried to find the airline’s Preferred Lounge when she arrived from LAX, but since she rarely traveled alone, she was lost. And the airline staff had no time for “Where’s the Preferred Lounge?” when passengers were in long lines demanding an explanation and new flights.
So her growling stomach and need to charge her phone drove her to the nearest restaurant.
She didn’t become a country sensation by waiting on others.
“Pardon me,” a woman leaned around Mr. Blue Eyes, “aren’t you—”
Ansley shook her head, offering a quick laugh. “Ansley Moore? No, I’m her doppelgänger.” She sighed, grateful when the woman left without pressing.
“So, who’s Ansley Moore?” Blue Eyes drank his Coke. From the glass. No straw.
She regarded him for a second. Was he serious or playing her? “A country singer. Pretty famous. The biggest contestant to ever come out of An American Singer.”
He shrugged. “I don’t watch television.”
“Do you listen to the radio?”
“Some news or talk radio. Classical. Maybe ‘70s rock. Inspirational.”
“Really?” Ansley’s phone buzzed in her hand. Noël was calling. Her best friend. The future bride. “You look really young for being so old.”
He laughed—a sound she liked—as he raised his glass for another drink.
“Hey, bride-to-be,” she said. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught up in all the crazy … at a restaurant … charging my phone … hold on … the server is coming around.” Ansley reached for the menu. Ah, she’d landed at a sushi place. “I’ll have the tuna and a California roll.”
“Ansley, why aren’t you in the lounge?” Noël said.
“I was hungry, my phone was dead, so I headed for the nearest restaurant with a vacant stool.”
“Why can’t you ever remember to charge your phone?” There was an endearing rebuke in Noël’s voice.
“Because I have you. Are you sure you want to leave me to get married?” Besides keeping Ansley’s schedule, Noël was her clothing and makeup expert and all-around confidant. Especially when her reality show win shot her to stardom.
Then Noël met and fell in love with a pro surfer, Ty Houston, when she took over Ansley’s vacation plans in Costa Rica last October. Ten short weeks later, they were getting married on New Year’s Eve in Melbourne, Florida, Ansley and Noël’s hometown.
“As much as I love you, I love Ty more. Ansley, isn’t this what we always dreamed of when we were kids? To find the love of our life?”
“Yeah, I’m just mad you beat me to it.”
“Just think, if you’d gone to Costa Rica instead of me …”
Ansley had forgone the trip—sorely needed after a grueling twelve-week tour—to open for country legend Aubrey James.
“You’re going to love Mindy.” Ah, the new assistant. “She’s even more organized than I am.”
“But she’s not my best friend since fifth grade.”
“You don’t need a best friend. You have me.”
“Always.” Though Ansley knew … Ty was already taking her place.
“Tell you what, as my last act as your assistant …” There was silence for a few moments. “The Preferred Lounge is by Gate 30 on concourse B, C, and D. Where are you?”
“C.”
“Get to the lounge. I don’t want my wedding to be eclipsed by your funeral.”
She’d laugh if Noël’s concern wasn’t rooted in truth. Ansley cut a glance at Blue Eyes. He exuded confidence, giving her a sense of safety. “I’m fine. Hidden in a very crowded restaurant. Besides, I’ve ordered. I’ll go as soon as I eat.”
“Call me the moment you do. And Ansley, I know you’ve only met Ty a few times, but you’re going to love him. I promise.”
The tenderness in her best friend’s voice watered Ansley’s heart. She wanted to love him. She wanted to love someone like Noël loved Ty.
Saying goodbye, Ansley picked up her chopsticks as Blue Eyes was served another soda, his attention fixed on the TV above the bar. Football. Looked like a college bowl game.
“Where you headed?” He asked the question without looking over at her.
She hesitated, gripping her first sushi roll between the narrow sticks. “Florida.”
But his attention was on the TV as one player tackled another. Ansley knew nothing about football. She’d devoted her teen and college years to her guitar, to music.
A fact her last two boyfriends never understood.
“Business or pleasure? This Florida trip?” So Blue Eyes heard her after all.
“My best friend is getting married.” Ansley’s phone lit up again with her manager, Jim Rubart’s, face and number.
“You okay? Man, what a day to travel.”
“I’m good. Safe. Listen, did you get my email about the rehearsal schedule?” She was about to record her second album, and she planned on doing it live, with her band. Old school.
“You’re all set. Found a place for you to rehearse. I have some news, too. Joe Townsend wants to produce your next album.”
“You’re kidding. Joe Townsend?” The man who’d won every Grammy known to man.
“He saw you on the People’s Music Awards last night. Said you stole the show with your performance. Your life is about to change again, Ansley. In a big, big way.”
She cut a glance at Blue Eyes, then turned to the wall. The glint in his eye, the mold of his expression made her yearn, wanting something she’d never really had before. Not even with Hank. This stranger made her want what she felt and heard in Noël’s voice.
But her career was her lover. She had no time for the hassle of romance. No room for longings of the heart.
She inhaled deeply. “But I planned to do a live album with Len Davis.”
“Ansley, Joe Townsend. People would kill to have him producing. Listen, I got to run. Glad you’re okay. We’ll talk later.”
With a sigh, Ansley swallowed the last of her Diet Coke, slung the strap of her bag over her head, grabbed her guitar and scooted past Blue Eyes without a backward glance.
“See you later, Ansley.”
“See you—” She whirled around, her gaze meeting his. A slow grin lit his face.
She pressed her finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
He nodded, returning his gaze to the football game. The longing from a moment ago twisted deeper.
Her path had just crossed with one of the good guys. Too bad it was only for a few moments in a crowded, crazy airport.
He watched her go, back straight, her guitar swinging from her hand. She was quickly swallowed up in the crowd, but the amber highlights in her brown hair lingered in his vision.
She was petite, determined, and pretty. Not beautiful. But pretty. In the way a man likes a woman to be pretty. Casual or decked out, pretty girls were always easy on the eye. On the soul.
But it was her lyrical voice that vibrated in his chest. Too bad they wouldn’t … Naw, man, don’t even think about it.
You’re better off alone.
Romance complicated life. Love hurt every bit as much as it healed.
Drew ordered another soda from the server and checked his watch. Three more hours before his flight. If they didn’t cancel it. His trip from Hawaii started two days ago. Nice and smooth. Easy. Then he landed in San Francisco. What a madhouse. Twenty-four hours later, he boarded a flight to Melbourne by way of Atlanta.
In some sort of conciliation, the airline boosted him to first class for the hour flight, but until then …
Another weary traveler took Ansley’s seat. Drew greeted him, then noticed Ansley had left her phone at the counter, charging.
“That yours, man?” The traveler said. “I need to plug in.”
“Go ahead.” Drew gathered Ansley’s phone and plug. He’d take it to her, though he hated the idea of losing his bar seat. He had a perfect view of the game.
Living in Hawaii, he didn’t connect much with stateside college ball. He missed the days of watching Big Ten play all day Saturday.
“Hey, you.” Ansley tapped his shoulder. He peered up into her anxious hazel gaze, her high cheeks flushed. “Have you seen my phone?” She stooped looking around her stool and the counter where she sat. “I can’t lose it. All of my new songs are—”
Drew held up her phone. “I was going to bring it to you.”
“Thank you!” She snatched it from his hand, exhaled deeply, and reached into her bag. “You don’t know what this means to me.” She passed him a hundred dollar bill.
Drew recoiled. “What do you take me for? Go back to your lounge.” He cut a glance at her. A mistake. Something in her hazel eyes made him yearn for more than a life of a bachelor.
The server set down his drink. He thanked her and turned the glass in his hands. He wasn’t thirsty. He just needed something to do while he waited.
“Say … aren’t you Ansley Moore?” A thirty-something woman dressed for business leaned through two men and a woman to fix her gaze on the singer. “I saw you on the music awards. You were—”
“No, no, just a resemblance.” Ansley stepped closer to Drew.
“What? You’re carrying a guitar case.” The woman motioned to Ansley’s instrument.
“That’s my guitar.” Drew slipped his hand around the handle, his skin touching hers. What’s a white lie when rescuing a distressed damsel? “Drew Callahan, singer, songwriter, troubadour. For five hundred bucks and a good meal, I’ll sing at your next party.”
The woman gaped at him. She wasn’t buying it. “I never heard of Drew Callahan.”
“Man!” Drew smacked the counter with a glance at Ansley. “Some publicity agent you turned out to be.”
“Well, some talent you turned out to be.” A smile tugged the edge of her lips.
The woman started to ask another question, but someone from within the throng called her and she left with a final glance at Ansley, frowning, calculating if she’d been made a fool.
“Publicity agent?” Ansley reached for her guitar and the brush of her hand against his was soft, smooth.
“A no talent?” He curled his fingers into his palm. This stranger awakened a desire he’d rather leave sleeping.
She laughed. “Thank you. For saving me. I owe you.”
“You’re not going to give me another hundred bucks, are you?”
“No.” She made a face. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just wanted to show my appreciation.”
“The common way is to say, ‘Thank you.’”
“I did that. Perhaps I can text you a download link to my last record?”
“Thanks, but I don’t have a cellphone.”
She grimaced, eyes wide with disbelief. “You don’t have a cellphone? Look, if you don’t like my music, just say so. I won’t be offended.”
“I’d love a copy. But I’m serious; I don’t have a cell.” He patted his hip pants pockets to prove his point. Sometimes he traveled with his business cards, but not this time. He’d left Hawaii so quickly he barely had time to pack. Baby brother and his impulsive decisions had him in emergency mode. Drew held up his arm, pointing to his watch. “This is the most technical thing I own.”
Her smile, white and even, was sweet and inviting. “How do you communicate?”
“Land line. Old fashioned letters. And yes, email. Well, my assistant reads the emails.”
She pinched his arm. “I just wanted to see if you were for real.”
“It’s a surprisingly simple and easy life. You should try it.”
Ansley took one step back, still smiling, her movements smooth and flirty. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
Yeah, well, he’d been that guy. The one with his phone against his ear, iPad in his hand, and a million details flowing through his brain.
But life had pulled the rug out from under him. He’d learned a lot in the past four years. Most of all, he’d never go back to the old, technologically driven Drew Callahan.
Not if his life depended on it. Which it did.
NIGHT SETTLED OVER ATLANTA’S Hartsfield-Jackson Airport as Ansley took her seat in first class, putting on her Florida State ball cap, tugging it on low.
If she kept her head down, she’d minimize being recognized by boarding passengers.
An hour-and-ten-minute flight to Melbourne and she’d be home. Noël was supposed to pick her up this morning, but with all the delays, she was occupied with wedding prep.
So Mom would meet her.
Mom. She never approved of Ansley’s choice. A singer? An entertainer? She wanted Ansley to be a nurse or a doctor. Because that’s what she’d always dreamed of doing.
But in the quiet moments, when she wondered if Mom was right, Ansley felt God’s pleasure in her choice.
“Guess we’re seatmates.”
Blue Eyes, a.k.a. Drew, dropped into the aisle seat. He carried nothing. No bag, no phone, no tablet. He glanced at her when he buckled in.
“Seriously, you don’t even have a carry-on?” she said. “What kind of man are you?” In all of her travels, Ansley noted how burdened and bogged down passengers were with their carry-ons and their electronic accouterments.
He laughed, accepting a bottle of water from the flight attendant. “I checked my bag. Not that there was much to check. I like to travel light.” Drew leaned toward her, motioning to the ball cap. “Nice touch. Why won’t you tell anyone who you are?”
“Long story.”
“Ah, okay, and we’ve only an hour flight.”
She snorted a laugh. He was making her like him. Trust him.
Ansley leaned against the side of the plane, the world beyond the oval window dark with a moonless night, and studied him.
“I was stalked.” Her words were quick, low, more to herself than Drew.
“Stalked?” He shifted in his seat, the fragrance of soap and cologne rising from his skin.
“A crazy fan. Followed me everywhere. Wanted to marry me.” She raised her gaze to his.
He was listening. No one but Noël ever really listened to her. He
r manager, her booking agent, her record label execs talked at her, through her, around her, about her, always trying to persuade her, yet never hearing her.
“That had to be scary.”
She liked the cut of his jaw and the way his full lips held his next thought in check.
“Beyond … He started out as an enthusiastic fan of An American Singer but fixated on me more and more with each episode.”
“So you took to lying about your identity and wearing a ball cap.”
“I traveled with a bodyguard for a year after he was arrested, but things settled, and this trip home didn’t seem to require the usual entourage.”
“Why not this trip?”
She grinned. “My best friend is getting married.”
“Really? Must be the weekend for weddings. My bro—”
The flight attendant leaned in. “Miss Moore, can I get a quick picture?”
Ansley glanced at Drew. He nodded. Go ahead. Rising and stepping past him, she posed with the beaming woman.
“I love your music.”
Thanking her, Ansley signed the back of her iPhone and returned to her seat.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Drew said.
“Enough about me.” She adjusted her cap, raising it enough to scoop her hair from her face. “What about you? What does a man without a use for technology do for a living?”
“I have a little business. A-Hoi-Hou. A line of beach wear. Just getting started. Selling to the locals and tourist. But, um, if you’re ever in Honolulu, come by the shop. I’ll give you a discount.” He offered his hand.
“Such generosity.” Ansley slipped her hand into his, her eyes meeting his, his grip feeling perfect. “If I’m ever in Honolulu …”
Pulling her hand free, she settled in her seat and started to dream of Hawaii.
Drew stepped into the cool, dewy night outside baggage claim. His duffle bag came out first, so he waved goodbye to Ansley and headed out. Tempted to ask for her number, he restrained the impulse. Being engaged to a socialite taught him love and devotion were not enough for some women. How much more so with a rising country singer?
And he simply refused to put his heart through the ache.
SECOND CHANCES: A ROMANCE WRITERS OF AMERICA® COLLECTION Page 30
