Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Carlene took the far sofa and spread her tablet, legal pad, and a neat row of color tabs across the coffee table.
The barn had shifted from morning hush to work hum.
Someone had put on quiet music through the ceiling speakers, just instrumental, the kind of guitar that warmed a room without stealing focus.
Sunlight fell in soft grids across the floorboards.
She had not planned on staying all day. She also had not planned on a chorus that hit her in the chest and anchored the entire campaign with one line.
It has to be more than a feeling.
On her screen, she built a structure around it. Not a gimmick. A lens.
Phase 1: Hometown Connection.
Low-stakes visibility in Blossom Springs. No staged paparazzi, no tabloids. Let fans see who he is when he is not chasing a spotlight. Local radio. Mae’s Bakery. A quick stop at the marina. Photos that look like a day in his life, not an ad.
Phase 2: Story Moments.
Short interview clips that tie the lyric to something real. What makes the lights matter? What matters when the lights go out?
Phase 3: Controlled Rumor.
A visible plus-one when the time is right. Not famous. Not loud. Someone who reads as warmth. Hand in hand. Shared laughter. A single image that says he is choosing something steady.
Her pen paused on that last line. She stared at the words until they ghosted. Warmth. Steady.
Livia slid in on the opposite sofa, a bottle of water in one hand and a tidy calm in her eyes. “You look like the world’s neatest tornado.”
“Occupational hazard,” Carlene said. “If I do not color-code it, it doesn't exist.”
“I respect that.” Livia took a sip and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Start with what you need from us.”
“Phase 1 is simple.” Carlene flipped the tablet and showed her a schedule grid.
“Radio at KBS this week. Quick on-air acoustic clip and a short chat. Then Mae’s, unannounced.
We buy a tray of muffins and let staff snap a few photos.
One sunset acoustic on the bluff if the weather cooperates.
No publicity alerts. We let the town do what towns do. ”
Livia considered it. “Real first. Good. That fits him.”
“Phase 2 rolls out short video clips next week.” Carlene opened a folder. “No hard sell. Just Jami answering soft questions. Not about fame. About the first guitar he loved. The first song that felt like home. What he means when he sings that line.”
“Less is more,” Livia said. “He under-explains when he's nervous.”
“I noticed.” Carlene tried not to think about last night in the barn, the way he had asked her what she believed in, and then walked away like it cost him something to say it. “I will prep prompts he can answer in one sentence.”
Tony walked in, reading an email on his phone, then looked up and tipped his chin at both of them. “Label call moved to one-thirty. Sound tech confirmed for rehearsal at two. Axel is pretending he's not anxious about new drum mics.”
“Axel is never anxious,” Livia said, amused.
“He is when the new mics cost what they cost.” Tony looked at Carlene’s layout. “You ready to show them?”
“In a minute,” she said. “One more piece.”
He waited. Tony had the quiet patience of a man who lived in logistics. She appreciated that more than she had expected to.
She adjusted the Phase 3 header. The words would not land cleanly. Her job was to build a visible romance that fans could follow without it feeling fake. It would be easier if she didn't mind who stood beside him in the photos.
“Talk to me,” Tony said gently.
“Phase 3 is a visible partner.” She kept her tone neutral. “If we do it, we do it with respect. No blind items, no planted ‘mystery woman’ stories. One clear image, then we let it breathe.”
Tony’s mouth flattened. “You're not wrong. But if we push that too fast, we'll have a circus. And it's my job to line up our performances. I don't want venues thinking we come with baggage and drama.”
“Which is why we don't push it fast.” Carlene capped her pen and set it down. “Phases 1 and 2 buy us trust. They also buy me time to see if Phase 3 is even necessary. If the song lands the way I think it will, the story may not need a face.”
Livia smiled. “Spoken like someone who heard the chorus and believed it.”
Carlene kept her expression mild. “Spoken like someone who likes results.”
The side door opened, and Axel and Maddyn came in mid-argument about snare tension. Sean followed, carrying two iced teas from Mae’s. He handed one to Maddyn and sat on the arm of her sofa.
“Are we in trouble yet?” he asked, eyes bright.
“Not if you like muffins and local radio,” Livia said.
Sean grinned. “I like both.”
Jami stepped in last. Clean T-shirt. Hair pushed back by careless fingers. He took in the cluster around the coffee table and then looked at Carlene as if he were bracing for whatever came next.
“You ready?” she asked.
“As I will ever be.”
She walked them through Phase 1: KBS Radio, Mae’s, Marina, Sunset Acoustic.
Keep it quiet, keep it real. Then Phase 2: short, simple video clips around the chorus.
Tony nodded through the logistics. Axel joked about needing a personal muffin handler.
Maddyn already had notes about which harmonies worked best with a stripped-out acoustic.
When Carlene finished, the room felt settled. Not excited. Focused.
Jami sat back against the sofa, one ankle resting on his knee. “And Phase 3?” he asked. “The part where I hold someone’s hand and look like I mean it.”
She held his gaze. “We don't move unless we need it.”
His features eased a fraction. “Good.”
Sean glanced at the clock. “We have twenty minutes before the call. You want a dry run for the radio bit?”
Livia nodded. “Do two questions. One about the town. One about the chorus.”
Carlene picked up her pad. “Try this.” She looked at Jami. “First question: Why Blossom Springs, when you could live anywhere?”
“Because I need somewhere that doesn't care about my set list,” he said after a beat. “Somewhere that smells like breakfast and ocean and old wood. Somewhere I've lived my entire life.”
It wasn't polished. It was perfect.
“Second question,” Carlene said, before anyone could fill the quiet. “You sing that it has to be more than a feeling. What is the more?”
He hesitated. She watched him choose the honest answer.
“It's honesty,” he said finally. “Quiet after the noise. Company that feels like family.”
Maddyn’s eyes softened. “That will land.”
“It will,” Carlene said. She felt the words all the way down.
They broke for the label call. Tony took it in the studio so the rest could still move through the space.
Axel and Maddyn sorted gear. Sean tuned and quietly ran the verse progression again and again, as if muscle memory were a prayer.
Jami stood by the open door, looking at the line of the bluff and the bright smear of sky beyond it.
Carlene checked the weather app. The sunset looked clear. She texted a photographer she trusted in town. Shots for socials only. No credits on the images. It needed to look like someone’s girlfriend had taken a photo of him with a phone.
She caught herself on that word and corrected it. Friend. Someone’s friend had taken them with a phone.
Livia reappeared beside her, leaned a hip against the table, and watched Jami watch the sky.
“You don't enjoy thinking about Phase 3,” she said softly.
Carlene didn't pretend. “I dislike pushing people into pictures they cannot get out of.”
“Good answer,” Livia said. “Also true.”
“If I can run this on truth,” Carlene said, “I will.”
“You heard the song,” Livia replied. “You can.”
Tony waved them all in for the call. The label asked for numbers.
Tony gave them numbers. The label asked for a hook and a plan.
Tony handed the questions to Carlene. She laid out Phases 1 and 2, kept Phase 3 lightly worded, and anchored everything to the chorus.
She used calm phrases. The line itself did the heavy lifting.
When the call ended, Tony grinned. “They want a teaser clip by Friday.”
Jami looked at Carlene. “You have what you need?”
“Almost.” She glanced at the clock. “If rehearsal runs smoothly, I want five minutes at the bluff after. You, a guitar, the line. No production. I will cut a fifteen-second clip for socials.”
He looked out the door again. The sky was already leaning into late afternoon. “All right.”
Rehearsal at two felt less like rehearsal and more like a room remembering itself.
The new chorus sat where it belonged. The bridge sketch tugged at everyone until they all agreed it should stay that raw for now.
Sean kept the verse grounded. Axel played with patience.
And Maddyn’s harmony braided the line a little tighter.
They took a short break and then played it through once more.
When they stopped, nobody spoke for a time, and that felt like respect.
Carlene didn't direct. She studied the shape the song made in the room and wrote three words on her pad.
Quiet. Promise. Home.
They walked to the bluff while there was still color in the sky.
The photographer waited a few yards back with a small bag and a lens that did not scream press.
The wind lifted Jami’s shirt along his back and ruffled his hair.
He sat on the low wall and tuned by ear, eyes on the water, as if he’d done it a hundred times.
“Two takes,” Carlene said. “We want it to look like someone just happened to video without him looking at the camera.”
He nodded and began to play. The guitar sounded different outside, salt and sky in it. On the first take, he kept his eyes on the horizon. On the second, he looked into the lens after the last word, not smiling, not performing, just there.
“That's it,” the photographer said, pleased. “You want a still?”
“Two,” Carlene said. “Hands on strings. Then eyes up.” She'd been wrong about him not looking at the camera. That sent a chill through her.
They finished in under ten minutes. On the walk back to the barn, the air tasted like heat easing off the day. The others peeled away toward the bar. Jami fell into step beside Carlene without speaking.
At the door, he stopped. “Phase 3,” he said quietly. “If we do it, we need to be careful. When I think about it, my gut twists. I don't like dishonesty. And shit like that can come back and bite us in the ass.”
“I know.” She kept her voice even. “I don't plan to make your life harder to post a number.”
He watched her for a long second, like he was testing for truth under her words. Then he nodded once. “Thank you.”
“Tomorrow,” she said, because it felt like a promise and not a delay. “KBS at nine. Mae’s right after.”
He smiled a little. “I'll try not to cause a muffin riot.”
“You will fail,” she said, and surprised herself by smiling back.
When he went inside, she stayed a moment on the gravel, the barn warm at her back and the night opening its mouth. She sent the stills to Tony and the fifteen-second clip to herself to trim. She added a single caption line to the draft post and sat with it before she hit save.
More than a feeling.
Not a tagline. A truth.