Chapter 47

CHAPTER

FORTY-SEVEN

H arry opened his hotel room door and found Adam standing there in one of his crisp black suits. He had spent yesterday morning interviewing with other people, which had put Harry in a bad mood and sent him into a tailspin for the evening.

This afternoon though, he was ready to take Belle over to the Motown building for their meet-and-greet. Adam looked at Harry, his eyes traveling down the length of his body to his shiny cowboy boots.

“Wow, sir,” he said. “You look amazing.”

Harry grinned at him. “So do you, brother.”

He reached to shake Adam’s hand and then pulled him into a hug. He wanted to tell him he’d miss him, and he was real sorry that he didn’t want to keep being a country music star. But he and Adam had hashed through it a couple of times already, and Harry just wanted to enjoy the rest of their time together. Adam wasn’t quite gone yet, and Harry would have him through the end of September.

“You go get Belle,” Adam said. “I’ll meet you guys in the lobby.”

Belle’s room sat three doors down from Harry’s, and Adam continued past it to the elevator so that Harry could pick her up alone. Belle had bought her dress online, and he couldn’t wait to see her in it.

She’d been nervous yesterday too, which had contributed to his anxiety and bad mood. Harry told himself that everything would work out. No matter what happened this afternoon, he had Belle, he loved her, and she loved him. They’d return to Wyoming together, and they’d build their life there.

He knocked on her door, and she yelled, “Coming!” from inside. He’d gotten them suites, so they had sitting areas as well as beds, but it still only took about five seconds to make it to the door and open it. She moved her hand up the door and gripped it, cocking her hip out and putting her hand on it. Everything about her glittered, and Harry felt like someone had poured sparkles into his bloodstream.

“Wow.” He blinked as his eyes slid down from hers. “Wow, wow, wow,” he said as he drank in the form-fitting ballgown. It looked like she was going to the Country Music Awards as Artist of the Year, not a meet-and-greet on a Tuesday afternoon in September.

The dress bore the color of royalty—deep purple—and had multicolored gems that seemed to put off a rainbow effect from the shoulder straps to the skirt that barely brushed the floor. She wore black heels and dark burgundy lipstick, and her hair pulled back out of the way—professional, sophisticated, classy.

And while it wasn’t a Sheriff’s vest, the dress still made Harry’s blood run hotter through his veins.

“Are you my date?” she asked coyly.

Harry grinned at her and said, “I sure am.”

She glanced left and right. “Where’s Adam?”

“Waiting for us in the lobby.”

“Okay, let me grab my purse.” She moved out of the doorway, and the door started to swing closed. Harry barely managed to get his boot in it so it wouldn’t slam shut in his face.

Belle returned with a small, black, quilted purse with a gold chain she looped around her wrist. “I’ve got my phone and my thread wallet.” When she looked at him, pure nerves lived in her eyes.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said. “These are people we know.”

“These are people you know,” she said. “I’ve never met any of them.”

“Sure you have.” He put his hand on her hip and guided her down the hall. “I believe one of the execs from your old label is going to be there.”

“Don’t say stuff like that, Harry,” she said. “I don’t want to think about it.”

He chuckled and turned to press the button for the elevator. But of course, Adam stood there, not down in the lobby, and he pressed the button when he saw Harry and Belle.

“You look amazing,” Adam said, his smile professional and charming.

“So do you.” Belle returned his smile. “Thank you so much for all the work you’ve done on this, Adam.” She stepped into him and swept her lips across his cheek without leaving a single smudge of lipstick.

“He gets a kiss, and I don’t?” Harry griped good-naturedly.

Belle turned to him, her eyes wide. “I can’t kiss you now,” she said. “Then you’ll have lipstick all over that beautiful mouth of yours.” She grinned at him and fell back to his side. She took his hand, and Harry liked that she led in some things and claimed him, making him feel wanted and desired.

Adam had a car waiting at the curb, and they made their way to the Motown building quickly. The party didn’t start for another forty-five minutes, but Belle wanted to go around and talk to everyone—the waitstaff, the kitchen, and the manager of the restaurant—to let them know how much she appreciated them hosting her event.

Harry did the same, and they both signed albums, cards, and even T-shirts. He didn’t mind, because he did like talking to people, especially about his music. And he heard more than one person tell Belle that These Empty Halls really meant something to them.

She glowed as if someone had sprayed her with iridescent chemicals and then shone a black light on her. She radiated waves of fuchsia, hot pink, and turquoise, and Harry basked in the sound of her laugh, the vibrancy of her smile, and the way she truly cared about people.

Adam came and got them and said, “We’re five minutes out. People are lining up outside, and the manager wants to know if he should let them in early.”

“Yes,” Belle said, her face a bit flushed. “Let’s go, Harry.”

Their guitars waited for them in the corner, as they would be playing three songs today—all of them Belle’s. Everyone knew of Harry’s songwriting ability, and he didn’t mind turning the spotlight on her.

He’d have no problem selling songs in the country music industry, and he wanted the same for Belle. As he went with her, he could just see his name and hers lined up in the credits of an album: Written by Harry and Belle Young.

The thought made his heart grow ten sizes.

Adam nodded to the manager, who opened the doors and said, “Welcome to Tumbleweeds,” and people began to stream into the building.

Harry and Belle stood back a little bit, and he had his rockstar smile on to match her movie star one.

“Welcome,” Belle said as she stepped forward to shake hands. “I’m Belle Graves. So great to meet you.”

The woman who got there first was a talent scout, and they continued to welcome managers, agents, and music executives for the next thirty minutes. Belle’s invitation had been very clear: it was not an open house. The event would run from four to six-thirty, where they would do a half-hour of welcome, then she and Harry would present and play, and then they would be around for a Q&A session, visiting, and well, a meet-and-greet. The event would be done by six-thirty so everyone could attend other things that evening if they wanted or needed to.

She glanced over to Harry, and for the first time in the past couple of hours, since he picked her up from her hotel room, he saw a tell of her nerves. “You ready?” she asked.

“Sweetheart, we were born ready for this.” He grinned at her, and they made their way over to the small stage that had been set up specifically for this event. They did poetry readings here too, as well as other one-man concerts, usually someone on the piano or guitar.

Tonight, Belle lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped up on the stage. Harry handed over her guitar, and then he took his from Adam and joined her. Everyone had gathered around the chest-high tables closest to the stage, holding drinks and noshing on mini appetizers.

The waitstaff faded away, and all eyes came to Belle, even Harry’s. She looked like she might pass out, or throw up, or both, and Harry fell in love with her all over again in that moment.

He wanted to ask her to be his wife that evening, but he didn’t have the diamond ring with him. No, he truly wanted to ask her to be his in Coral Canyon, the place where they would build their life together. Not Nashville, the first chapter of his life that he was turning the page on.

“Welcome, everyone,” Belle said again. She reached up and touched her chest right above the neckline of her dress. “ I’m Belle Graves, and I’m from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. I’ve been living for the past, oh, eight or nine years.” She glanced over to Harry and gave him a winning smile before she focused on the crowd again. “In Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I’m a missing persons investigator for the Teton County Sheriff’s Department, and I’ve done one stint of undercover work. And let me tell you, that is a far cry from where I stand today.”

Several people laughed and twittered, but all Harry felt was pure pride. His beautiful Belle standing in front of everyone and talking about these hard things that had plagued her for so long—unbelievable.

She’d made great strides in therapy, but truly, Harry had seen the biggest difference when she started to play with him on tour. Her music healed her, and Harry heard the Lord yelling at him as he stood on that tiny stage in Nashville.

The world got very, very small—so small that it was just Belle. Harry wasn’t even there. He floated away somewhere else, and he knew that Belle would need to have songwriting and music in her life to be whole and complete—to bleed out the bad, to erase the hurt, and to calm the stormy seas.

He blinked, and everything zoomed in again. He stood on the stage with her, and she’d continued by saying, “Beside me is a country music legend. Most of you probably know Harry Young.” She beamed over at him, and he gave her a smile back before he turned his charms on the crowd.

“He just finished his third album for Rebel Records, and he’s decided that he wants a slower pace of life in Wyoming with his family, a girlfriend with a cat, and maybe an adopted dog that he hasn’t committed to yet.”

More chuckling came from the music executives, as well as Harry himself. As far as he knew, Belle had not written a script. She was just good with people, and while it looked like she might fall apart right up until the moment she opened her mouth, once she did, she was in complete control, dialed in, ready to nail it.

“We’ve prepared three songs for you today,” she said. “I wrote all three of them in a time before I met Harry Young, which is a pretty good story. And if you want to hear it, we’re going to be around for a couple of hours after this—but I’m sure we’ll have two different versions.”

Harry had not said a word yet, and he wasn’t going to. Belle lifted her guitar into position, two fingers on the strings.

“I’m a sucker at heart,” Belle said. “And I love love songs. So this first song is called Fields of Forever . Then we’re going to play one called Tangled Up in Tennessee , and then Under the Southern Sky .”

She looked over at Harry. “Harry is much more of a showboat than I am, and he could probably be persuaded to play something for you of his own, if you’d like. I’ll leave that up to him after we do these three songs.” She nodded at him, and Harry only wanted to lean closer and kiss her despite their guitars between them.

She looked down at her strings, stepped closer to the mic, and started to play. Pure beauty came from Belle when she played the guitar, and Harry wasn’t even sure she knew it. He knew it, though. He could see it—almost a tangible energy that came from her and flowed out in gentle waves, entrancing everyone who heard the beautiful, glorious music she could produce with her fingers and the strings of her guitar.

He blinked when Belle looked over at him, something urgent in her eyes, and he realized he’d missed his cue to come in. He was supposed to sing the first verse, and he’d blown it, because he was staring at his gorgeous girlfriend.

He cleared his throat, and she plucked through the notes again, leading him where he needed to go. He hoped she always would.

At the right time this time, he leaned into the mic and started to sing. “In the quiet of the morning

With the mountain dew on the ground,

I walk through the fields not making a sound.

I feel your hand in mine,

Your heartbeat echoing strong,

Your love is the rhythm, and your kiss is the rhyme.”

Belle stopped playing, and she leaned forward and said, “We’re going to go ahead and start this one over, folks. Harry just sang beautifully, but he forgot that he’s supposed to play the guitar too.”

She giggled into the microphone, and pure embarrassment filled Harry. He still hovered only an inch or two away from his mic, and he said, “If your girlfriend was this pretty and this incredible, you’d forget too.”

That caused laughter to echo through the restaurant, and Harry met Adam’s eyes. The man smiled from way in the back, near where he stood with the manager and the waitstaff.

Belle said, “We’re just going to go ahead and try this one again. I swear we’ve practiced.”

“My fault,” Harry said. “I won’t mess up this time.” He played a riff on his guitar just to prove that he could. Belle started again, and this time Harry came in in the right place with the vocals and the instrument. They played the song, those four minutes some of the most beautiful four minutes of Harry’s life.

One of the music executives wiped her eyes at the end, and they all cheered and clapped like they had just been privileged to witness one of the greatest concerts of their life. The evening was far from over, but Harry wouldn’t make another mistake. He’d had so many revelations in the past hour, and he needed some time to himself to go over them. Maybe journal them out. Maybe write some songs about them.

But most of all, he couldn’t wait to get back to Belle’s room, curl up with her in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, put something on the TV, and hold her as they lay on the couch together.

They’d talk through everything that had happened tonight and everything Belle wanted to happen in the future. But the world would narrow to just the two of them—something small and meaningful and beautiful.

When they finished the third song to more raucous applause and cheering, Harry slid his guitar around his back, took Belle in his arms, and kissed her. That caused the whooping to turn to a different kind, and catcalls and whistles filled the air.

Belle pushed against his chest, and Harry stepped back. Then he lifted her hand in the air as if they had just won a wrestling match, and then they went out to talk to everyone.