Page 72 of Starstruck
My parents. The concert.
You.
It’ll be great. They would be proud of you. I know I am.
And I’m thinking about you too.
I never stop.
JULY 5 11:35AM
Lover Boy
What’s your favourite flower?
Wait, let me guess. Roses? You seem like a roses girl.
Trouble
I don’t really have one. Roses are nice. Why?
Wouldn’t you like to know?
That’s…ominous.
You’ll see soon enough, Lenny girl.
[31 ]
JUST TONIGHT
LENNON
“SEX ON FIRE” BY KINGS OF LEON
Baxter comes home in sixteen days.
I never thought I’d say it, butfuck, I’ve missed him. I lied when I told him I wouldn’t and when I told him I didn’t. It’s been hard to be apart—this distance has only shone a brighter light on my feelings for him, and it worries me because the concert is now just under two months away.
Which means so is the end of our arrangement.
But even though I’ve been missing him desperately, being apart has forced me to find other things to distract myself with. So now that the setlist has been finalized, I’ve been spending every waking moment focusing on the other aspects of planning the concert: vendors, volunteers, merchandising, marketing, fundraising, and all the other things necessary for a successful show. Though, if ticket sales were any indication, I’m sure it will be.
Getting Baxter as a headliner was truly the best thing I could have done for this show, even if I didn’t want to admit it at the time.
In the past few weeks, I’ve also managed to secure a handful of vendors and created a social media page to advertise, which I’ve been running myself. I’ve had some interest in a donation page for those who want to contribute but didn’t get a ticket, so I got that set up a few days ago. It’s been blowing up, and once I get merchandise created to sell online and at the show, I have no doubt I’ll hit my goal.
I’m in the midst of going through some merchandise options when my office phone rings. I hit save on the Excel spreadsheet and pick it up.
“Lennon Thorne,” I say to whoever is on the other end.
“Hey, Lens,” Addie’s voice comes through the phone. “A delivery came for you. Just letting you know it’s on its way up.”
My brows furrow. I don’t usually get packages sent to me at work, and I haven’t ordered anything for the concert yet, so I have absolutely no idea what it could be. “Huh, okay. Thanks, Ad,” I tell her, confusion laced in my tone. “Wanna tell me what it is?”
She lets out a soft laugh. “You’ll see,” is all she says before hanging up.
A few moments later, a knock sounds on my door. I open it to find a teenager—maybe seventeen—holding a gorgeous bouquet of red roses.
