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Over the next week, they have practice almost every single day. For the most part, everything is the same. Florence and Izzy still bicker over the setlist. Toni still works on refining her solos. Miray still tries to gather the courage to sing louder on the harmonies.

Only now, Luca is there too, quiet and skittish except for when she’s playing.

Neither of them has acknowledged their night together since that first day. Which is . . . good. Florence steadfastly ignores the flutter in her stomach whenever Luca brushes past her and the way her stomach swoops as she watches Luca on the drums, absently twirling the sticks in her hands while they’re talking about the arrangement on a song, the way the hair falls into her eyes and the muscles in her arms ripple. And if Florence has to get herself off in bed after every practice, that’s only for her to know.

“I think we should release another song while we’re on tour.”

Florence blinks back to awareness at the sound of Toni’s voice. She’s sitting on her stool, guitar draped across her lap as she fans herself with her hand. The basement has heated up over the last few days—like the rest of Earl’s pub, it’s almost unbearably stifling.

“We don’t have anything recorded,” Florence points out.

“I know,” Toni says. “But we could do a live recording of something. Compile everything into an EP. We should have at least a few tracks up once the tour gets going so Juno’s audience knows what we’re about.”

Florence considers it. “We could do ‘big teeth.’”

It’s one of her favorite unreleased songs: a big, brooding track about female rage dressed up as a werewolf allegory.

Sitting on the floor in front of the sofa with her long legs stretched out in front of her, Izzy snorts. “‘big teeth—live from the basement.’”

Miray laughs. “How about we just go with ‘big teeth—demo’?”

“I like that,” Florence says. She looks over at Luca. “What do you think?”

Like every other time she’s been directly addressed or asked for her opinion on a band matter, Luca sits up straighter. The deer-in-the-headlights look on her face should absolutely not be so disarming. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“We could record it tomorrow?” Toni suggests. “We can film it as well, post it as a little music video?”

While the others talk logistics, Florence darts another glance at Luca. She’s harder to read than Florence expected; Florence can’t tell if she actually likes the idea of recording the new song or if she’s just going along with it. When they were in bed together, she’d assumed that Luca’s quietness was just due to nerves, but it’s revealing itself to be more of a personality trait. She hardly speaks around the others, and she seems hesitant to utter any of her opinions. Florence thinks the only time she’s heard Luca express what she wants was when she asked to go down on Florence—and, God, if that isn’t something.

It really is very hot in the basement. Fanning herself with her lyric book, Florence says, “We have our setlist and our logo. What about the van?”

“I’m on it,” Izzy says, taking a sip from her—surely lukewarm by now—Capri-Sun. Her eyeliner is smudged under her eyes. Florence feels like her own makeup is melting off. “One of my mates is down to lend us his van for the tour. It’s a bit shit, but it should hold.”

“Reassuring,” Toni comments.

“That’s what you get when you’re on a budget, baby.”

Florence looks at Miray. “What about hostels? Do you need any help?”

Miray shakes her head. “Oh, no, it’s all right. I’ve gotten us rooms for almost every stop. I’m just waiting for the confirmation from the hostel in Prague, and then we should be set.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Luca asks tentatively.

“Play the drums and look pretty,” Izzy tells her.

Luca flushes. Florence remembers the way Luca melted at her praise the other night and suddenly feels the intense urge to dash out of the basement in search of a cold shower.

“Great!” she says, slightly too loud. “Brilliant. I’m going to go upstairs for a minute. Catch some air.”

Miray cranes her head back to frown at her. “Are you all right, Flo?”

“Fine. Just. My mum called me earlier. I should call her back.”

Florence turns before anyone else can question her and takes the stairs back to the pub two at a time. It’s hardly any colder outside, but she feels like she can breathe easier the moment she steps through the back door. Her fingers are itching for a cigarette, but she left her things inside. With little else to do, she pulls her phone from her pocket.

It rings a couple of times before her mum picks up. Her voice crackles through the speaker, warm and familiar. “Kelly Gibson speaking.”

“Hi, Mum.”