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She’s surprised when Luca, of all people, is the first person to say something. “I’m sorry, Toni,” she says earnestly. “When?”

“Pretty much the moment I came home.” Toni studies the callouses on her hands. “Apparently, I have the emotional availability of a brick wall.”

“That’s not true,” Florence objects.

“Okay,” Toni says.

“Do you want to talk more about it?” Miray asks gently.

Toni’s response is instant. “Not at all.”

There’s a moment of silence. Outside, the rain has started, filling the air with petrichor. The candles flicker as the wind picks up.

“So,” Izzy says, “where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know,” Florence admits. “I thought . . . I was hoping we’d have signed with a label by the end of the tour.” It sounds embarrassingly naive in hindsight. “I suppose the first thing we have to do is decide if we want to keep going.”

“Do you want to keep going?” Izzy raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one who could easily go off and have a solo career.”

Florence tries to imagine it: Standing alone on a stage, singing a song that only she had a hand in. Long grueling drives across the continent spent all by herself, or perhaps with employees on some label’s payroll. Coming back to the hotel after a show and falling asleep in an empty room.

Living the kind of life her father chose: sex and money and drugs, and no one at all to share it with.

“I don’t want to do this on my own,” she says. “I want us to keep playing together. Even if it’s just in Earl’s basement. Even if it’s weddings and pub nights for the rest of my life.”

“That sounds fucking bleak,” Izzy says. “I’m in.”

Toni nods. “Me too.”

“I’ve always liked playing weddings,” Miray says.

Florence turns to look at Luca. “And you?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” Luca says. The smile she meets Florence with is warm and wide enough to make her eyes crinkle at the corners. Florence laces their hands together, giddy at the realization that she can do that now, in front of the band and everything.

“Then it’s settled,” she says. “We keep going until we can’t anymore.”

“What about the album?” Izzy questions. “Is that still happening?”

Up until now, Florence has been too scared to think that far ahead. “It won’t be easy without a label,” she admits. “We’ll have to find people to work with us and pay for studio time. And that’s without even thinking about marketing and promotion.”

“It’s not impossible.” Miray takes a thoughtful sip of tea. “We’ve been doing okay on our own so far.”

“We’ve been doing more than okay,” Izzy cuts in. “Just look at our streaming numbers and follower counts. Look at the outcry about the whole disaster with Florence’s dad. We’ve got eyes on us now that we didn’t have before tour. That’s way more than most bands just starting out can say.”

For the first time that evening, something behind Toni’s eyes comes to life, like a pair of shutters being flung open. “Izzy’s right. We’re in a good position. We can figure out the logistics along the way.”

“We can use the streaming revenue to pay for studio time,” Florence says. “And I’ll take on more shifts at the pub. Maybe find a few more kids to give piano lessons to.”

“I’ll ask for more hours at the café,” Luca says.

“We could design merch,” Izzy adds, looking at Miray. “Add an online store to our website.”

Miray immediately lights up. “Oh, good idea! We could do T-shirts with our scorpion logo, maybe some tote bags—”

“A ‘swallow me’ T-shirt,” Luca says.

Izzy gasps. “Brilliant.”