“I'll pass,” Jami said and stood.He tipped his head toward the alley, where a slice of bright morning cut between buildings.“I should get back to the barn.I want another hour with the chorus.”
“I'll meet you all up there,” Carlene said.“I want to cut the radio clip and get times for the morning post.”
They walked through the bakery together without touching.At the door, he paused and reached for the handle.He could hear the bell on the other side waiting to laugh again.
“Thanks,” he said.
“For what?”
“For not making it a stunt,” he said.“For letting it be a day.”
“You made it a day,” she said quietly.“I just wrote it down.”
He opened the door and held it for her.The bell did its job.The light spilled in.The town kept breathing.
Back at the Barn, he sat on the low platform and picked up Sunday.The chorus was right there where he had left it, patient and true.He played it once for the rafters, once for the floorboards, and once for the woman cutting a fifteen-second clip that would go out into a world he suddenly wanted to meet on his own terms.
Today felt like a good start.
ChapterEight
Carlene claimed a corner of the barn where the light fell kindly and the power outlets behaved.She plugged in, slid on headphones, and pulled up the bluff footage.The first still was easy.Jami’s hands on the strings, tendons soft under skin, the guitar resting like it trusted him.The second was a shot of his eyes lifted toward the horizon.Not smiling.Present.The wind had tugged his hair just enough to make him look like he’d been standing in the day rather than staged for it.
She cropped tight, checked exposure, and fought the urge to make it perfect.It wasn’t supposed to be perfect.It was supposed to look like a friend with a good instinct and a steady hand had taken it.She saved the set, wrote a short caption with no hashtags, and scheduled the post for late afternoon.
In the wall opposite her, the rehearsal space reflected a soft blur of motion.Axel worked his kit with patience, Maddyn and Livia ran scales, and Sean tuned and retuned until the guitar settled.Jami sat on the low platform with Sunday and a pencil tucked behind his ear, eyes down, listening to something only he could hear.
Tony drifted over.“You look like mission control,” he said quietly.
“I am trying not to advertise that,” she said, and slid one ear cup back.“Stills go out in twenty minutes.I’ll watch comments for a bit, then cut the fifteen-second clip for tomorrow.”
“Good.”He glanced at the screen.“The label loved the radio pull.Carter sent a board tape already.”
“Nice.”She kept her tone neutral and let it land.Wins mattered, but the bigger win was in the room.The chorus had settled into everyone’s bones.You could feel it.
Tony followed her gaze to Jami.“He looks different today,” he said.
“Lighter,” she said.
“Yeah,” Tony said, then grinned.“Hanna just texted me a photo of a cinnamon roll.She said she’s naming it Trouble and saving it for Axel.”
“That tracks, and it adds humor.”Carlene smiled.
When Tony moved off, she scrubbed through the two bluff clips and marked the best fifteen seconds.No zoom.No title slate.Just his voice finding the line and letting it sit.She saved the cut and left it queued for the morning.
At three fifteen, she pushed the stills live.Swallowing the knot in her throat, she took a deep breath.This assignment was all she loved about her job.A fun group of clients in a creative industry.She also had the freedom to manage it as she thought best.The nightmare of her former firm, Reed & Carr, haunted her still.Even years later.She looked forward to the day when that firm didn't creep into her thoughts and make her self-doubts bombard her.She could still hear David's voice, cold and dismissive:If you can't handle pressure without questioning every decision, perhaps you're too naive for this level of work, Carlene.Twelve senior partners watched as he dressed her down for catching discrepancies in the Hartman Industries account.Discrepancies that would have cost the firm millions if she hadn't spotted them.But instead of thanks, she'd gotten a public humiliation and a resignation letter drafted before she'd even left the conference room.
The first comments arrived in under a minute.Locals, mostly.The bluff.The shirt.The ocean.Someone’s aunt asking if the boy ever eats.A kid from the high school music club tagging the club account.Then the radius widened.A fan from Tampa who’d driven up for their last show.A podcast listener who said Jami’s answer about town made her cry at her desk.Nothing shrill.Nothing thirsty.Just people who felt like neighbors, even the ones two states away.
She watched the count tick.She watched the tone hold steady.It felt like the room at Mae’s had spilled onto the page.
Livia padded over and settled on the arm of Carlene’s chair.“You did it,” she said.“They’re talking like they live next door.”
“They’re the ones doing it,” Carlene said.“I just left the door open.”
Livia scanned the comments and nodded, satisfied.“We’ve needed this.”
“Agreed,” Carlene said.
