Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Samuel
Iwoke to sunlight streaming through the curtains and Farley’s head on my chest.
For a long moment, I just lay there, cataloging the details.
The weight of him against me, and the soft rhythm of his breathing.
The way his hand rested over my heart — like it belonged there.
Outside, birds were singing, and the cabin smelled like wood smoke, sex, and something that felt dangerously close to happiness.
Purrsephone was curled at the foot of the bed, having apparently forgiven us for the eviction. She’d scratched at the door around dawn, and Farley—soft-hearted Farley, who pretended to be prickly but melted for that cat—had let her back in.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Farley mumbled against my skin.
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“Liar.” He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, then another, working his way up my neck. “What time is it?”
I glanced at the window. “Late morning, maybe? I have no idea. I don’t care.”
“Mmm.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with sleep-mussed hair and a satisfaction in his eyes that made my chest tight. “Good answer.”
I reached up to trace the line of his jaw, still marveling that I was allowed to touch him like this. That last night had actually happened. That it hadn’t been some fever dream brought on by mountain air and too much isolation.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” His smile was soft, unguarded—nothing like the sharp, defensive Farley I’d first met. “Sleep well?”
“Best sleep I’ve had in years.”
“Flatterer.”
“Truth-teller.” I pulled him in for a kiss, morning breath be damned. He came willingly, melting against me, and I thought: I could get used to this. I could get used to this for a very long time.
We eventually migrated to the kitchen, where Farley made coffee—his precise pour-over method that took forever but produced something transcendent—while I scrambled eggs and tried not to burn the toast. We moved around each other like we’d been doing this for years, as if our bodies already knew how to share space.
I’d abandoned my phone on the nightstand. I hadn’t looked at it since yesterday. Hadn’t wanted to. Whatever was happening in the outside world could wait. This—this bubble, this moment, this man—was all that mattered.
We were just sitting down to eat when someone knocked on the door.
Not a polite knock. A rapid, aggressive pounding that made Purrsephone’s ears flatten against her head.
Farley and I exchanged looks.
“Gladys?” I guessed.
“Who knows?” He was already moving toward the door, and I followed, a prickle of unease crawling up my spine.
Farley opened the door, and my agent Sabrina pushed past him like he wasn’t even there.
“Samuel, finally.” She was already talking, already in motion, a whirlwind of designer clothes and manic energy. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called and texted? Do you have any idea what’s happening right now?”
I stared at her. My soon-to-be-former agent. Standing in Farley’s cabin in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains, looking like she’d just stepped off a red carpet and into a war zone.
“Sabrina. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Saving your career. You’re welcome.” She finally stopped moving long enough to look at me—really look—and her eyes narrowed.
“You look... rumpled. Why do you look rumpled?
And why is he “—she jerked her head toward Farley—”also rumpled?
Why does this cabin smell like—" She stopped.
Sniffed. Her expression shifted into something calculating. “Oh. Oh, this is perfect.”
“What’s perfect?” Farley asked, his voice cold. “And who are you?”
“Sabrina Vance. Samuel’s agent.” She extended a hand without looking at him, already pulling out her phone with the other. “And you must be the mystery man. You’re cuter in person than in the video. That’ll play well.”
Ice flooded my veins. “What video?”
Sabrina looked up from her phone, eyebrows raised.
“You don’t know? God, you really have been hiding up here, haven’t you?
” She thrust her phone toward me. “This video has been trending for the past twelve hours. The one that has your name at number three on X. The one that’s about to make you the most talked-about actor in daytime television. ”
I took the phone. Farley moved to stand beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.
The video was grainy, clearly shot on a phone. I recognized the fluorescent lights of Shifflett’s General Store. Recognized the toiletries aisle. Recognized myself, leaning close to Farley, saying something that made him blush.
And then I watched Farley close the distance between us and kiss me.
The caption read: OMG DR brOCK BLAZE KISSING SOME GUY AT A STORE IN VIRGINIA??? #midnightatmagnoliageneral #brockblaze #gay #shiffletsgeneralstore
Two point three million views.
The phone nearly slipped from my fingers.
“Oh my God. The clerk,” Farley said, his voice hollow. “At the counter. They weren’t texting.”
“No.” I felt sick. “They were filming.”
“This is incredible,” Sabrina said, apparently oblivious to the fact that we were both spiraling.
“The engagement is through the roof. The network’s been calling all morning—they want to discuss your contract.
Your leverage just went through the roof, Samuel.
We can get you another million, easy. Maybe more if we play this right. ”
“Play this right?” I stared at her. “Sabrina, this is my life. It isn’t a publicity stunt.”
“Everything’s a publicity stunt if you spin it correctly.” She waved a dismissive hand. “The question is, do we confirm the relationship or keep people guessing? Keeping them guessing might generate more buzz, but confirming has the benefit of—”
“Stop.” Farley’s voice was quiet, but it cut through Sabrina’s chatter like a knife. “Just... stop talking.”
Sabrina blinked at him, clearly unused to being interrupted. “Excuse me?”
“You’re talking about us as if we’re products. Like this,”—he gestured between himself and me—"is something you can package and sell. It’s not. It’s private."
“Sweetie.” Sabrina’s smile was patronizing. “Nothing is private when you’re dating a celebrity. You should have thought about that before you kissed him in public.”
Farley flinched like he’d been slapped.
“Sabrina,” I said, and my voice came out harder than I’d ever heard it. “Shut up.”
She actually looked surprised. “Samuel—”
“No. I mean it. Shut up.” I stepped between her and Farley, some protective instinct I didn’t know I had kicking into gear.
“You don’t get to come in here and talk to him like that.
You don’t get to treat what’s happening between us like it’s a brand strategy.
And you definitely don’t get to make him feel like this is his fault. ”
“I’m trying to help you—”
“You’re trying to help yourself. You’ve always been trying to help yourself. Every leaked story, every manufactured rumor, every time you sold pieces of my life for clicks and engagement—that was never about me. That was about your commission.”
Sabrina’s face hardened. “Without me, you’d still be doing regional theater in San Diego.”
“Maybe that would have been better.”
Before she could respond, there was another knock at the door—this one more frantic.
Farley crossed to open it, and Gladys burst in, her face flushed with anger.
“What in the sam hill is going on?” She jabbed a finger toward the window. “There are people at my gate. Lots of people. With cameras and microphones and those big fuzzy things they use in movies. Someone tried to bribe my farmhand two hundred dollars for information about which cabin you’re in.”
My stomach dropped. “Gladys, I’m so sorry—”
“I’ve been holding them off at the main road, but they’re threatening to go around. Saying it’s public interest or some nonsense.” She looked between me and Farley, her expression softening slightly. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m guessing it’s not good.”
“There’s a video,” Farley said quietly. “Of us. At Shifflett’s general store.”
Gladys’s eyebrows rose. “A video of what, exactly?”
Neither of us answered. We didn’t have to.
“Ah.” She nodded slowly. “Well. That explains the circus.”
Circus. The word landed like a stone in my chest.
“This is actually perfect,” Sabrina said, apparently recovered from my outburst. “The more attention, the better. Samuel, we should go out there. Give them a statement. Control the narrative before—”
“Nobody’s giving any statements,” Gladys snapped. “This is private property, and those vultures can wait until hell freezes over for all I care.”
I could have kissed her.
But before I could thank her, I heard it: the crunch of snow outside. Multiple footsteps. Voices calling my name.
“Samuel! Samuel Bennett! Can you confirm you’re in a relationship?”
“Dr. Blaze! Over here!”
“Is it true you’re quitting Midnight At Magnolia General?”
Farley moved to the window and twitched the curtain aside. His face went pale. “There are... there are at least a dozen of them. In the yard.”
“They got past my gate,” Gladys said grimly. “I’m calling the sheriff.”
Purrsephone had retreated under the couch, her fur puffed to twice its normal size. I knew exactly how she felt.
And then the door opened and a man walked into the cabin.
He was handsome in an obvious, polished way—the kind of handsome that came from expensive haircuts and careful grooming. He wore a cashmere coat that probably cost more than my first car. And he was looking at Farley like he owned him.
Farley made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oliver Sandborn. Farley’s boyfriend.”
“Ex,” Farley said, his voice shaking. “Ex-boyfriend. Very ex.”
Purrsephone emerged from under the couch just long enough to hiss at Ollie—a long, venomous sound that perfectly captured my feelings—before disappearing again.