Jami didn’t read the comments.He listened to Carlene read them, not out loud, just with her face.Her mouth, usually set with intention, kept softening and firming, the way you do when something hits the center of the target more than once.
“They’re telling each other where they were when they first heard you,” she said.“And what it reminds them of.There’s a grandmother in Naples crying in her car on the way to yoga.She says it’s a compliment.”
“Tell her I’ll try not to cause a pileup,” Jami said.
“We’ll send her a cinnamon roll,” Livia said, and checked the time.“Hanna’s already texted.She put the clip, ‘it’s the feeling for me’ on the chalkboard with a winky face.”
Sean drifted in, hair damp, guitar case in hand.Tony, a minute later, scanning his phone, eyes bright.Axel jogged through with a protein shake and declared the morning holy.Maddyn grabbed a stool and hummed the chorus under her breath while she scrolled, head tilted like she was memorizing joy.
They let the room fill.They let the clip do its work.When the rush leveled, Tony exhaled.
“All right.Before the label asks for a full video, let’s rehearse.”
They ran the song top to tail.The verse felt like feet on dirt.The chorus rose without showing off.The bridge kept its sketch and hurt the way it should.Jami didn’t chase a high.He found the center.When they stopped, Carlene had a hand to her throat like she’d forgotten to take it away.
Tony’s phone buzzed.He stepped outside to answer, then lifted his chin.
“Local TV wants a quick piece for the six o’clock,” he said.“They’re sending a single camera at four.Light touch.I told them ten minutes and a walk around the property.No drones.”
“Fine,” Jami said, then looked at Carlene.“You good with that?”
“Friendly and brief,” she said.“We control the stops.No personal questions.”
Livia checked her watch.“I’ll call Hanna for a late tray.”
“Tell her how much I loved the special cinnamon roll last night,” Axel said.
By midmorning, sunlight had laid long strips across the barn floor.The video’s comments stayed warm.A podcast clipped the radio answer and tagged the band.Carter at KBS sent a “look what you did” text with three crying-face emojis and a wobbly heart.
Then the first wrinkle hit.
Sean pointed with his chin at Carlene’s screen.“You seeing that?”
A small gossip account had posted a grainy photo from Mae’s and circled Carlene’s hand near Jami’s on the courtyard table.The caption was bait dressed as a question.New muse for Hart?
Tony swore under his breath.Jami felt his stomach tighten, not with fear, exactly.With the memory of why he’d agreed to the rules.His eyes found Carlene’s.She didn’t flinch.
“I’ve got it,” she said.“Nobody engages.I’ll DM the owner.”
She typed, calm and precise.Jami watched her line up words like a carpenter lines up a joint.Firm.Clean.Not defensive.
“Hi, this is a friendly note,” she wrote.“I’m the band’s marketing lead.That shot’s from a public morning at a local bakery.Please remove the suggestive caption.We’re rolling a hometown connection story and would rather keep this on music.If you keep the photo, please credit Mae’s and keep the caption neutral.”
She sent it.The account didn’t answer.A few smaller accounts copied the grainy circle and posted it anyway.
“Block and move,” Tony said, jaw tight.
“Wait,” Livia said, leaning in.“Look at the replies.”
Locals were already in the comments, sweet and firm.
That’s Carlene, the new marketing gal.
They were all there.My cousin poured their coffee.It wasn’t a date.
Sit down and eat a cinnamon roll.
Carlene’s mouth tipped.“Bless this town.”
