Page 75 of Seven Lost Summers
She spreads the printed pages across the table, the behind-the-scenes shots she posted, the ones that blew up online. Late-night writing sessions. Theo passed out with his guitar still strapped on. Me, hair sticking up like I’d been electrocuted. Ace flipping someone off mid-solo. Xander locked in one of his hyper-focused moods. All the messy stuff. The real stuff.
“These weren’t just liked,” she says, tapping each photo. “They connected. Made people feel like they’re part of what we’re building.”
She looks up. “Picture it as a souvenir book. A way to bring them closer. Not as fans, but as part of the story. What do you say?”
We glance at each other and nod.
No hesitation.
We trust Kit. If she says this will work—if she believes it’ll help get us in front of more people—we don’t question it. It’s happening.
“I’m all in,” Xander says, looking at the rest of us.
I give a nod.
“Why not,” Theo says before turning to Ace. “Well, what about it, Hotshot. Want to show your sparkling personality to the world.”
Ace doesn’t even look at him, just flips him the finger.
“Fine,” he mutters.
“Perfect,” Kit says, flipping through her notes, eyes skimming fast. “I’ll see what I can do about getting a photographer in. They need to be here while you’re learning the new songs, catching all the behind-the-scenes chaos the fans eat up. But on short notice… it might be tricky.”
Theo kicks his feet up on the chair beside him, arms behind his head like the smug bastard he is.
“I might know someone,” he says.
Kit looks up, one eyebrow arched. “Of course you do. Who?”
Theo grins. “You do realize I’m a man of many connections.”
Ace snorts. “Yeah, mostly bartenders and groupies.”
Theo waves a hand. “Details. But this time, I actually know someone legit. She takes photos, owns a camera, knows where the shutter button is. What more do you want?”
Kit pinches the bridge of her nose. “Are they good, Theo?”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s fucking rude,” he mutters, pulling out his phone. “Fine. I’ll call her. If she sucks, you can throw a drink in my face.”
“Deal.”
“Not beer, though,” he adds quickly. “That shit’s sacred. Aim for water. Or better yet, Xander’s green juice. That shit is just swamp water filtered through gym socks. I can’t believe people drink that shit.”
Kit watches him, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“If you call some random chick you hooked up with once who owns a Polaroid, I swear to God, Theo.”
Theo holds up a finger, cutting Kit off. “First of all, rude. Second, this person is legit.”
He taps his screen and lifts the phone to his ear.
We all hear it ringing, once, twice, then the sound of a voice. It’s a little muffled but clear enough for all of us to catch it.
“Hey, Theo,” Quinn says on the other end of the line.
