Four stitches and a concussion.

Not exactly what I wanted to hear. I will say, the doctor sewing up my bleeding chin distracted me from the awkwardness between Ian and me.

I shouldn’t have brought up Kasey, but I can’t go back and change what I said.

I just don’t see how it’s fair that people can give me constant crap about Will when some of them are no different. What makes everybody feel the need to dig into my business and then get irritated when I dish it back?

When I leave the room, Ian’s talking to a few nurses by the registration desk. He’s leaning toward one of them, his panty-dropping smile spread across his face. I know he’s putting on his charm, just like he always does when there’s boobs around.

I give him space, waiting in the far end of the room. I see one of them, a student nurse based on her baby face, slip him her number. Or, I assume it’s her number. It’s a piece of paper that he slides into the pocket of his jeans.

He winks at her, she blushes, and the nurses go about their day when he saunters off.

When he sees me watching, a smile forms on his face. At least he doesn’t look upset.

“You ready?” he asks, no sign of irritation from earlier in his tone.

I nod, but can’t let it go. “Listen, about earlier—”

He waves it off. “You had a point,” he says, putting his hands in his jeans pockets. He gives me a side eye, as if warning me. “Don’t get used to me saying so either.”

I can’t help but smile. “Whatever.”

We walk in silence to his car in the lot he parked in after I went into the ER. He unlocks it, opening the door for me so I can get in.

Before he shuts the door, I say, “Be careful, Wells. I might just think you’re a gentleman if you keep opening doors for me.”

He grins. “Just part of the image.”

I give him a doubtful look.

Before I know it, my door is closed and he’s in the car beside me. He turns the car on and plays with the radio, one of their songs coming on the local station.

I go to turn it up, but he flips the station.

“Why’d you do that?” Doubt is thick in my words.

He gives me a sheepish look, shrugging. Ian Wells looks … embarrassed. Who would have thought?

“I hear our songs all the time,” he explains, finding a rock station that comes in. “I guess it’s tiring when the same stuff always plays.”

Linkin Park is playing, which he seems to be content with.

I stare at him. “That’s … wow.”

He backs his car out from the spot. “What?”

“You’re just surprising sometimes,” I admit, leaning my head against the cool glass. “You’re confident, cocky, a little arrogant, but you’re also kind of laid back. It’s a weird combination, but it works for you.”

“You got that all because I changed the station?”

“On your own song,” I point out.

“’Heart Attack’ plays a lot.”

“Because it’s good.”

“We have better,” he informs me, stopping for an older couple crossing the road. It still surprises me that he’d change the channel. If it were me, I’d be bouncing in my seat and jamming out.

Guess that shows how we’re different.

“Like ‘Relentless’?”

A smile tugs on his lips, like there’s a joke I’m not understanding. “Yeah, like that one. Is that your favorite?”

I nod.

He chuckles. “Interesting.”

My eyebrows furrow in. “Why is that interesting?”

“No reason.”

I call bull.

“Are you tired?” he asks, changing the subject.

I shake my head. “Not really. Mostly sore.”

“Did they give you pain meds?”

“I didn’t want any.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re as stubborn as I remember.” I don’t deny it. “Do you want to hang out? I’m planning on meeting the guys at my parents’ house. We’re going to work on a few new songs together.”

“They’re all back?” I know everybody made plans to disperse on break, which I don’t blame them for. I can’t imagine being on a bus with the same people for an excessive amount of time.

The tour they were on was a year-long, and they travelled all over the country. I watched their journey on Instagram, and followed their band’s Facebook page. Will never understood my obsession. He would always find something else to do whenever I was on one of their pages.

I’m fairly certain I heard him call me stalker from where he sulked from afar. He wasn’t wrong.

Not sure what that says about me.

“You in or out?” he asks, stopping at the stop sign.

I bite my lip, weighing my options.

If I tell him to take me back to my apartment, I’ll just cuddle with Ollie and binge watch something on Netflix. My watch list is growing out of control, after all.

But my inner fangirl is yelling at me to tell him yes, to hang out. It’s not every day you get to chill with the band members of Relentless. I know they were just like me not long ago, but they’re not the same as they were back then.

The guy I gave my virginity to, as embarrassing as it is thinking about it now, is not the same guy in the car. This guy has a future—a name. A label. He’s got everything going for him, people adoring him, girls chasing him. His dreams are on full blast, just like the rest of him.

If I can’t live like that one day, I might as well live vicariously through him.

I release my lower lip from my teeth. “I guess it’d be a good time to work on the pictures you guys want.”

He grins. “Good choice, Freckles.”

I half-expect to feel like a weird and giddy fifth wheel when we get to his place, like I’m crashing their band time or something. Kind of like I did back in high school, when their biggest goal was to get all the notes right to the covers they did of Journey songs so they didn’t make people’s ears bleed. But the welcoming smiles and greetings I get when I follow Ian in makes me feel like no time at all has passed since the last time I saw them.

Despite the buzz surrounding Relentless, the guys sitting around on the old, plaid, hand-me-down couch and chairs are the same guys I remember watching practice all those years ago.

Out of all of them, I think Ian and I spoke the most. But there were times when I’d banter with Dylan about what the best movie was. I’m sure his answer is still Super Troopers. I firmly stand behind Dirty Dancing. Because, come on, Swayze.

As for Bash and Ben, I never spoke much to them in school. At most, we would share gym classes or study halls, and even then, I would have my nose in the books or earbuds in my ears to drown everybody out. They were all focused on their band or the girls who wanted to be their groupies. Not really my cup of tea.

Dylan gets up first, sauntering over and circling me like a bird that just found roadkill. I cross my arms on my chest as he studies me, my eyes narrowing when I notice his gaze lasting a little too long on my butt.

I clear my throat. “Like what you see, Hilton?”

He doesn’t look ashamed he was caught, which doesn’t surprise me. Instead, he grins, and wraps me up in a bear hug, squeezing the breath out of me.

“Looking good, Tessa,” he tells me, releasing me from his hold. He holds me at arm’s length, his playful brown eyes dancing with appraisal. “I’m not surprised that Ian’s been hogging you all to himself. He always goes after the pretty ones.”

I shove his shoulder, grinning back at him. “Oh, please. Ian can’t handle all this.’

Ian snorts from where he’s sitting in the armchair across from me. “If I remember correctly, I handled you just fine before.”

I shoot him a death glare.

The guys all laugh, Dylan probably snorting the loudest. It makes my cheeks heat up, probably turning a hideous shade of pink. Even though I’m pale, pink isn’t a great color on me.

Dylan drapes an arm across my shoulders. “Relax, Tess. It isn’t like we didn’t know.”

My wide-eyed gaze turns to him, the statement something I don’t see coming.

“You know?” I shriek, my voice higher than normal.

He winces at my high-pitch response. “Was I not supposed to? Sorry, Tess. Shit like that is locker room talk. I’m pretty sure most of the guys know about it.”

My fists clench tight to my sides as I turn and glare at Ian. I hope my gaze burns him, because it’s certainly fueling a fire in me that I don’t know if I can control.

Ian holds his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret. Dylan is right, that kind of shit is what guys gossip about. It’s like a bonding experience.”

Now my fists are as tight as they can possibly be, the knuckles white. “That is so not helping your case right now, asshat! Who else knows?”

My heart stops.

Oh, God.

Does Will know?

Ian leans forward, giving me a small, apologetic smile. I don’t buy that he’s actually sorry though. I should have known that he would tell people. Isn’t that what all high school guys do when they get laid? It wasn’t what most high school girls did. At least, it wasn’t what I did.

Sure, I treated losing my V-card like a chore I could cross off on my to-do list, but I didn’t want it broadcasted to the whole damn school.

Ian was a player. Still is, from what I’ve seen.

Nothing has changed.

He keeps his voice light, probably trying to dig himself out of the deep hole he fell into him.

At this point, he would need a ladder to get out.

That is, if I don’t shove him back in it.

“I thought you knew why Will and I stopped talking,” he says, his stupid blue eyes locking with mine.

Will knows.

He’s known … for all this time? Why did he never say anything?

My shoulders dropped. “I thought you said you stopped talking after he decided to stay behind instead of join you guys.”

Dylan intervened. “They had a pretty epic fight the night Will heard about you and Ian. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. The whole town raved about it.”

Ben laughs, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His messy brown hair is in his eyes, so he shoves it away, revealing two chocolate hued orbs. A small dimple appears with the grin he casts me. “I think they made posters.”

Bash nods, putting his arms behind his head to get more comfortable. “Maybe even made a YouTube video.”

I gape at them all. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if any of that was true. Nothing exciting happens around here. The biggest event we had that made the town paper, besides Relentless’s return, was when the town store was supposedly robbed. One pumpkin was missing from the stand out front. Not even a month later, it was revealed that one of the employees just miscounted the inventory.

The damn pumpkin was there the whole time.

So, yeah, the town would rave about a fight breaking out. Especially between two guys who were supposed to be friends.

And over me, no less.

I frown. “I’m the reason you two stopped talking?” I ask quietly.

Ian gives me a pleading look. “Don’t get all emotional on me, Freckles. I don’t do well with crying. Yes, Will and I stopped talking because of what went down between you and me. But it wasn’t your fault we stopped talking. He was pissed at me because he warned me to stay away from you, and I didn’t. I broke the bro code.”

Dylan sits back down on the couch, an amused smile plastered on his face. “He punched you right in the face. I wish I got that on camera.”

My jaw drops. “He did what?”

Ian has the nerve to laugh. “I deserved it. Left me with a bruised eye not long before we left. It took the makeup artist who was doing some promo shots for our tour posters an hour to cover that son of a bitch up.”

I’m still trying to wrap my head around Will doing something like that. He’s never been violent toward anybody. And what real reason did he have to act out on Ian? They were friends! Who cared if Ian broke the bro code. That was a stupid code anyway.

“You look confused,” Ben muses.

I shift from one foot to the other. “I guess I just have a hard time picturing Will doing something like that. It doesn’t seem like him.”

“Chicks make dudes do crazy things,” Bash murmurs, sounding like he’s speaking from personal experience.

Dylan shoves his shoulder with his. “Thinking about Opal, are you?”

“Shut up,” Bash grumbles.

“Opal Anderson?” I question, remembering the quiet girl in the grade above me. I knew she and Bash dated for a while before they left. What I remember even more is the breakup.

I was in Coyote’s Café the day he ended it—the day she walked out the door. I never knew her well, but I could see how much she loved him. I could also see how much the whole breakup hurt her, and I respected her for being the one who walked away that day.

I know a lot about their story, like a news story I needed updates on. Like how they were once best friends before they started dating. Part of me wants to ask Bash how they decided to be more—why they risked it.

“The very one,” Dylan answers for him.

“You guys …” I bite my lip in hesitation. “You two were friends, right? Before you got together?”

Bash’s lips twitch. “Yeah. Once upon a time, we were friends. Can’t really say that now.”

And that is why the risk isn’t always worth it.

“But,” he adds, sighing heavily, “that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her any less than I did. We all have our reasons for doing the shit we do. I wanted her to have opportunities that didn’t tie her to us. I did it because I loved her.”

That makes my heart fill with hope. “Do you still love her?”

Ian laughs. “He talks about her just about any free chance he can,” he answers before Bash can. “The guys and I were debating tossing his ass off the bus.”

Dylan ruffles Bash’s hair, and Bash shoves him away, a disgruntled expression on his face.

“Shut it you guys,” he warns. His eyes go to me. “If you’re asking because of you and Will, don’t let what happened with Opal and I be the judge of what happens between you two. The second Will punched Ian, it became abundantly clear how he felt.”

Ian nods along in agreement. It’s like he doesn’t even care that he was punched, or that he got a black eye from it. I’ll never understand his cool and collected attitude toward things. He’s like a walking contradiction.

I shift where I stand, pulling at the sleeves of my shift. “So do you guys want to talk about the pictures for your shoot?”

Dylan claps his hands, rubbing his palms together. “I’m glad you brought that up, because I have some pretty good ideas about what we can do.”

Bash slaps him upside the head. “We’re not doing a nude shoot, ass wipe.”

My eyes bulge out of my head.

Dylan sighs heavily. “I’m just saying, it’s not fair. I mean, Tess has only seen Ian naked. She’s missing out on what real men look like. I’ve been told that I’ve got a lot to offer, and you can’t tell me that it wouldn’t get sales up.”

Words are beyond me at the request.

“We’re trying to sell our music, not our bodies,” Ian retorts, shaking his head.

Dylan opens his mouth to argue, but Ben stops him. “Yeah, man. And I’m not doing a photo shoot with a bunch of naked dudes. If you’re into that, I’m not judging. But that’s not my thing.”

Bash snorts. “If anyone is going to be naked, it should be some chicks.”

Dylan’s eyes light up. “Not a bad idea, Everly.”

“For Christ’s sake,” I burst, putting my hands on my hips. “Nobody is getting naked!”

Dylan frowns. He actually frowns.

Ian laughs at my outburst. “She’s right, guys. If we want to be authentic, we shouldn’t do what everyone else does. We need to stick to who we are.”

“But I like being naked,” Dylan mutters.

My jaw ticks. “I’m not taking pictures of you naked, Dylan.”

He shrugs. “Your loss, sweetheart.”

I want to reply with something snarky, but Ian cuts me off. “Listen, we need to think of something that will make us stay true to who we are. That means not selling out. We should try doing some group shots, and individual ones. Kind of like a meet-the-band type of thing.”

“But we’re already past that point,” Bash points out, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed on his chest.

“So we’ll do something better,” I tell them confidently. “Ian’s right. If you guys want to sell your music, you need to stick to your roots. If you become like every other band, there’s no originality. How will your fans stick around if they think you’re just like other bands? What makes you different than, say, One Direction?”

They all scoff. “One Direction?” Ian repeats in disgust.

“They’re not even together anymore,” Ben mentions.

I roll my eyes. “I’m trying to make a point,” I deadpan. I sigh. “I’m not photographing anybody naked. But …” Dylan perks up at the addition. “I might be willing to do shirtless ones. Only if it’s something that fits you. And, honestly, I can only picture two of you doing that and still sticking to the image you’ve portrayed this whole time.”

Dylan grins. “You’re talking about me, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dylan. You and Ian.”

Ian nudges me, smirking. “Are you trying to get me to take my shirt off again?”

“Seems so, bro,” Bash laughs.

I shoot them all a glare. “Don’t make me change my mind. I’m helping you out by doing this. And it would look good in a portfolio if I have experience working with you guys. Especially if the shoot is successful.”

“It will be,” Ian assures.

I don’t see how he can be so sure.

“You’ve got talent, Tessa,” he tells me.

Bash nods. “He’s right. Those photos you took at our welcome back gig last month were awesome. There’s no doubt you can make these ones just as great.”

I blush from the compliments, nudging my shoe against the cement floor.

“So what do think about the rest of us?” Ben asks, scooching forward on the couch. “Think you can work your magic on us?”

I give him a small smile. “I think I can manage.”

“So when does this go down?” Bash asks.

“It’ll take a few days to get all the shots I need if we do group shots and separate ones,” I tell them. “Maybe we can start tomorrow? I can get the group shots done, maybe in a few different locations. Some around town, where you guys started off. I’m sure Marty would be cool if we did a few shots in the bar.”

They all seem to be cool with that.

“Then,” I continue, plotting in my head, “maybe we can start one by one every day after that. The order doesn’t really matter I suppose.”

“I call first!” Dylan shouts.

Ian snorts. “Whatever, man.”

“I don’t care when mine are done,” Bash tells me, smiling.

“Same,” Ben agrees.

That makes it easier. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll let you know when we can get the rest of them done when I have a solid plan.”

They voice their agreements, which makes me smile. Being able to capture them is making me more excited to work with my photography. Like maybe, just maybe, I can make a career out of it. Something I love. Something to control.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

Ian gets up and guides me toward the chair he was sitting in. When I’m seated, he turns toward the guys.

“She needs our help in return,” he informs them.

Come again? “Uh … I need what?”

He looks over his shoulder at me. “Consider it a grand gesture to put all those touchy-feely emotions out there. You like Will, right?”

That seems obvious. Didn’t we have this discussion at the diner? I nod.

“You love him?”

If I nod, I’m admitting it. And if I admit it, I don’t know what will happen. Things will change, and I swear I’m as finicky about change as my damn cat.

I’m willing to do a lot for Will, and that should say enough. But after all this time, all the years of crushing on him, I don’t know what I feel. It’s strong, whatever the feeling. Not as strong as the feeling holding me back from making a move, from letting Ian get what he wants with us. Plus, I’m determined to make sure that I’m ready—strong enough to handle a change in my life and move on from my past.

“She doesn’t need to,” Bash cuts in, giving me an assuring smile. “It’s written all over your face, Tess.”

I fight off blushing.

“Tessa told me earlier that our boy Will is having problems with the family farm again,” he informs the guys, sitting on the arm of the chair I’m in. “I think we should help him. Help them both.”

I stare at him. “I’m not seeing how this will help me. I mean, I think it’s great you want to help him, given the fact that you two aren’t that close, but … why?”

The smile he gives me is warm, genuine. A good look on him, quite frankly. “Will might have stopped being my friend, but I never stopped being his. Friends stick together, and I know how much that farm means to him. I say we throw him a benefit, help raise some funds. It may not turn out to be much, but if we get enough publicity out there …”

It’s actually not a bad idea. “That might just work.”

Ian shrugs. “I have my good ideas now and again. Although, you’re the mastermind behind it all by telling me. Plus, you’re going to help spread the word. I can’t do it all on my own.”

Dylan speaks up. “This is all good and dandy, but how is her helping you raise money for his family going to benefit her? I mean, he could just assume that she’s doing it on a friendly level. They’ve been skirting around each other for how long? It needs to be something big that opens his blind eyes.”

I’m about to defend both Will and I, but Ian decides to jump in before I can. I mean, we haven’t been skirting around each other for that long. Will dated a few times, so it’s not like he pined for me. And me? Well … I’m a different story.

Ian sighs. “They’re on the outs right now.” He gives me a pointed look. “You didn’t have to tell me for me to know. You didn’t even want him coming to the hospital.”

Crossing my arms on my chest, I lean back in the chair without saying anything.

He continues. “Her planning this means something, even if they make up before the benefit.”

My eyes widen a fraction. How long does he think Will is going to keep avoiding me? Based on when the benefit is, that could be weeks!

Dylan snickers. “Look at her face.”

I pick up an empty Mountain Dew can and throw at him. Thankfully, his reflexes suck, so it hits him right upside the head.

The guys all laugh. I stick my tongue out at him.

Ian looks to me, chuckling. “I’m not saying you two aren’t going to talk. You’ve had fights before, right?”

I go to tell him yes, but stop myself. I press my lips together, trying to think of a time when we’ve fought. The problem is, besides arguing over what to watch on TV or where to go to eat on campus, we never really argued.

And are we arguing now? I’d say him completely avoiding me in every way, shape, and form is beyond arguing. We’re practically on different ends of the planet.

The question is: why?

I let out a defeated breath. “No, I guess not.”

Bash picks the can up from between him and Dylan and puts it on the coffee table in front of them. “It was bound to happen eventually. Guess it’s just your time to have an out.”

I groan. “But I don’t know what we’re fighting about! He just stopped talking to me!”

They all look at each other.

Dylan rubs his hand against his stubbly jaw. “Okay, I can see where that might be confusing.”

“You need to find out why,” Bash encourages. “He probably thinks it’s worth laying low, whatever it is.”

“Dudes are idiots,” Ben intervenes. “There might not be a reason beside that.”

My eyes widen.

Ian scoffs. “Not helping, dude.”

Ben just shrugs.

Ian pulls me in for a quick side hug. “Right now, let’s figure out how to help him. That’s our end goal, right? Besides you two riding off into the sunset together?”

I blush. I never said I wanted that.

Ian pulls his phone out of his pocket, and plays around with it for a few minutes. I notice the calendar app pulled up, and his eyes trained on next month’s date.

“What kind of benefit are you thinking?” I ask slowly, nibbling on my lip. Depending on his plans, this could be a good thing. But I wasn’t sure how much money we could raise in a small town like this, especially in as little time as we have left of the summer.

Ian slips into the chair, squeezing me to the side of it. He shows me his phone, with a highlighted star next to the August twenty-twelfth date.

“Oh-kay?”

“An end of the summer concert,” he says, wearing a proud smile like he just solved all of our problems.

“Could work I guess,” Ben says slowly, processing the possibility.

The date is familiar. Then it clicks. “The County Fair! Isn’t this the last day of it?’

He winks at me. “You got it, Freckles. They wanted Relentless to perform there before we headed back out. I told them no at first, but they said they’d be willing to negotiate.”

That piques Dylan’s interest. “Negotiate how, exactly? They’ll want proceeds if we do perform. Would hosting the benefit there be worth it?”

Bash intervenes. “Think about the town,” he points out, nodding along. “We live in a place that takes care of their own. If we tell them about Will’s situation, there’s a good chance they’d be willing to let us do this. Even if they get part of the profit from the ticket sales or something.”

“We could sell merchandise,” Ian adds, taking his phone back. He goes to the web browser and types something into the URL bar. Their band’s website pops up.

I gape at all of them, amazed that they’d be so willing to do this. “You’re all willing to let your concert proceeds go to Will?”

They all nod. Even Ian.

“Online profits for a set time can even go to the cause,” Ian tells me, showing me the band T-shirts and posters, among other things, showcased on the screen. He scrolls through everything that they have for sale.

“Won’t your manager have something to say about that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ian promises.

A heavy, but warming, feeling fills my heart. A lump forms in the back of my throat as I study their genuine faces.

Dylan winces. “Oh, shit. She’s about to cry.”

I want to throw something at him, but I don’t. “I’m just thankful you guys want to help. I know his family is going to really appreciate it. They wouldn’t normally ask for help. Especially not Will.”

“Which is why he shouldn’t know about this,” Bash concludes.

My face screws. “Um, how is he not? You guys have been this town’s top news ever since you got back. Anything you do is going to get around.”

“Plus,” Ben adds, “we’re going to need as many people to know as possible. I don’t know shit about farming, but I know it’s expensive. Our normal sales from concerts would be able to cover a fraction of what they’d probably need. What makes this one any different?”

Ian puts his arm around me. “Simple. We’ve got a small-town to back us up. How many cities have we been to that’s just a place where people live? When we performed there, the only community vibe I got was from the people who attended the concert. They were all there for a reason—to watch us play. But on the streets? They were just bodies passing by each other. Maybe some who knew each other, but not enough to look up from their screens.”

“So you’re saying that we’ve got a family to back us up,” I say, sighing.

He smiles at me. “We’ve got a community.”

“They are obsessed with us,” Dylan agrees, leaning forward. “This could work, Wells. I’m impressed that your mind is off women long enough to come up with it.”

He flips Dylan off. “You know damn well how I’ve been spending my time here, Hilton. And it hasn’t been buried in girls like I might have preferred.”

My brows go up. “Oh?”

Ben laughs. Out of the group, he’s the quiet one. The wallflower. I can relate to that, especially up against a wildcard like Dylan and the mastermind that is Ian.

Despite how different they all seem, they work. A pairing that reminds me of how Will and I are … or were. Even though we tend to like different things—for some reason he prefers Superman over Batman, and dogs over cats—we work together in a way people don’t understand.

Before college we were like the notes on a music sheet, playing in perfect harmony with each other. Creating a melody we didn’t know we needed. Until one day, that day, our ethereal sound turned jarring and cryptic.

Ever since, we were dancing around each other, me more than him, trying not to cross any lines that would be too much. Maybe if freshman year hadn’t happened, we would have found each other in the way we needed most.

Found our sound again.

Sometimes, I hear it. See it. I know it’s there, waiting to be played again.

Other times, I have no idea if it’ll be the same.

Ian nudges me out of the worry. “I’m sure you’re shocked that I’m not always calling the numbers women stuff in my pockets, but I’ve got better things to do.”

I can’t help but probe, because for as long as I can remember, Ian has had the player image attached to his name. He acknowledges it like the cocky ass that he is. “Like …”

Ian directs his gaze at Bash. “Like help friends when they need them.”

Bash looks away, a small smile on his lips.

I study the two of them. “Let me guess,” I tease, poking his side, “you’re playing matchmaker for him, too?”

“Something like that,” Ian muses, but the grin on his face and tint to his icy eyes say all I need to know.

“He’s a regular fairy godmother,” Bash snorts.

Dylan pulls Bash into him, locking his head under his arm. He ruffles Bash’s long hair, making it look like some serious bedhead by the time he’s done.

“Don’t pretend you don’t appreciate it, Cinderella,” Dylan laughs, letting go of him.

Bash grumbles something to himself and fixes his hair.

“All right, children,” Ian declares, standing up and clapping his hands. “We’ve got a concert to plan, and a month to do it. We’ll keep what we’re donating to a secret on the promotions we send out, and try spreading limited word of mouth.”

He turns to me, offering me a hand up. “You ready to do this, Freckles?”

“Lead the way, Godmother.”