Heath calls them the twins even though they are in no way related. In fact, they didn’t even meet until he started throwing together his original crew. But their hair might be a shade of dirty blonde apart. Nate has had his glasses on since coming off the bus, and both have dimples in their chins.

“Adams would be ideal,” Nate answers absentmindedly. He looks up fast, panicked he overstepped. “I’m sorry.”

A symptom from working under Heath. We’re still working it out of my crew’s systems.

“Don’t be. You’re right.” I toss in a smile, hoping it comes across as encouraging. “Adams would be perfect. He knows how to work the glasses best to frame a shot.”

Almost like he’s experienced—or the reason I started using them in the first place.

All the sprinkles of Foster’s influence along my path are glaringly obvious from the glasses to the damn industry I work in the most. Fortunately, he’s the only one who can play connections with it all. Unfortunate, too, considering he might very well hate me.

“We’ll plan on him wearing a pair,” I tell them, checking to see if we need to cover anything else ahead of time.

Since I might change my mind by the day of, I keep it vague most of the time. They’ll get an equipment list each morning, but nothing’s ever set. It’s one of the alluring parts of filming unscripted, realizing you have the shot halfway through it.

“When is the group interview?” Nate asks, so cautiously it almost hurts. I think his hand even trembles. “It’s the last scene on here, but without a date or time.”

“Call that one wishful thinking on my part. I want to try to get them as a band before the break in Texas next week, but Christian won’t commit to anything yet. Depending on how much time he can find us and how much of a heads-up he gives me, we’ll figure out the logistics.”

“And the one-on-ones will be when we’re back on the road?” Glory finally looks up from her screen.

“Either then or during the break since they’ll be easier to coordinate.”

She nods. Nate nods. Then the not-twins-twin energy really kicks in when they share a furtive glance before Nate throws my smile from earlier back at me, his equally supportive.

I’m not sure what exactly I need supported until he clears his throat, staring at our circle of feet.

“The, uh … Adams interview.”

A half-second of silence from me sets them both into a panic.

“Sorry,” Nate blurts.