A Forged Promise (Sierra Rose Ridge #7)

Chapter 1

My phone won’t stop buzzing.

I’m standing in the romance section of Wildflower Books—my bookshop, my baby, my entire world for the last five years—and my phone is having what can only be described as a complete maniacally excited meltdown in my back pocket.

At best, it’s drunk and dancing. And I already know what’s causing its excitement.

Author notifications. The kinds that make my stomach flip and my brain scream Holy shit!

I pull it out of my pocket.

The screen explodes with notifications. Instagram.

Twitter. TikTok. All of them are lighting up like someone is setting off fireworks.

Wildfire Summer went viral overnight. Number three on , and climbing to number one in so many categories.

Reviews are pouring in. BookTok videos of my book have millions of views.

Readers are losing their minds over the ‘small-town bookshop owner and the patient carpenter hero who’s been secretly in love with her for YEARS. ’

Is this actually happening?

I wrote this book. Sure, it’s under my pen name, Sienna Saguaro. And no one except my best friend Jess knows that, and probably the KDP gods who needed my real identity. But the readers don’t, nor do they care. They are loving it.

I need to call Jess. Pop some champagne. Dance around the shop like an idiot.

“Morning!”

I jump so hard I nearly drop my phone. I shove it in my pocket and spin around to find Macy bouncing through the door like a golden retriever discovering tennis balls for the first time.

“You’re early,” I manage.

“Couldn’t sleep! I stayed up until three in the morning rereading the most amazing book.“ She dumps her bag behind the counter and grabs the feather duster, already talking at lightning speed. “Wildfire Summer. Oh my God, Sadie, have you seen it on BookTok? It’s everywhere.”

My heart does a little flip. She’s talking about my book.

“The heroine owns a bookshop—which, hello, total representation—and the hero is this quiet, put-together carpenter who’s been secretly in love with her for years.“ She sighs dramatically. “The pining, Sadie. The yearning. I literally cried three times.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling too widely. “It sounds really good.”

“Really good? It’s incredible. The tension? The slow burn? Chef’s kiss.“ She’s practically vibrating. “And it’s set in this small Southwest town that feels so cozy and real. You have to read it.”

Pride swells in my chest. My book. The first book set in Sierra Rose.

The one I poured my heart into after three books that did okay but never quite connected with readers.

This one’s different. This one’s personal.

Macy loves it. She stayed up all night rereading my words.

She’s read my book twice! And it’s only been out three weeks.

“I’ll definitely add it to my Tbr,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Maybe we can add it to our shelves.”

I should probably stock my own books at some point. That would be the smart business move.

“You should! Actually—“ Macy pauses, grinning. “I suggested it to Carol for the book club last week. We’re discussing it tonight!”

My throat dries. “Book club?”

“Yeah! We needed a new pick, and everyone’s been wanting something spicy but emotionally devastating. This is perfect. Carol ordered copies for everyone and gave them to us a few days ago.” She grins. “We’re going to have so much to talk about!”

Oh no.

Book club. Tonight. At my shop. Discussing the book I wrote. About a small Southwest town. With a bookshop owner heroine.

A book I set in Sierra Rose Ridge, even if I didn’t name the town Sierra Rose Ridge.

”—and the hero never said anything to her because she was dating some asshole who didn’t deserve her.“ She sighs like she’s personally swooning.

Shit.

“Macy—“

I turn back to the display I’m straightening, keeping my face carefully neutral.

“Sadie, it’s everywhere. Sienna Saguaro is a romance genius.“ She’s definitely reading off her phone now. “The reviews say it’s ‘a love letter to small-town bookshops and the romance readers who find home in their pages.’ Doesn’t that sound like us?”

It sounds exactly like us because I wrote it about us.

Macy launches into a story about her weekend, something about her roommate, and a dating app disaster. I let her voice wash over me while I go through the motions of opening. Straighten displays. Brew coffee. Update the staff picks board.

Anything except thinking about the local book club reading my book.

Except my phone keeps buzzing like a ticking time bomb.

Macy gives me the entire plot of Wildfire Summer, including all of the heart-string-tugging quotes that she’s apparently memorized and the NSFW sex scenes that caused her cheeks to color pale pink.

And she tells everyone who walks through the door about the book, even though it’s not on our shelves.

Maybe no one will notice it’s set in Sierra Rose Ridge.

Readers won’t connect the dots. There are so many authors who write about small towns and bookshops. Viral or not, the premise isn’t new.

“And get this—“ Macy’s still scrolling through her phone. “Someone on BookTok is doing a whole theory thread about which real Southwest town inspired the book. They’re analyzing landmarks and everything.”

Oh, no. “What?”

“Yeah! It’s kind of fun, actually. Like a scavenger hunt. People are guessing everywhere from Sedona to Tucson.” She grins. “Wouldn’t it be funny if it were actually Sierra Rose Ridge?”

I force a laugh that sounds strangled even to my own ears.

I need air.

“I need to run an errand,” I tell Macy.

“Want me to go?”

“No,” I squeak. “I’m just picking something up. I’ll be back in twenty.”

I slip out before she can ask questions.

The November air hits me the second I step outside, cool and crisp against my flushed face, with a hint of warmth from the still-blazing sun, and the Red Rock Cliffs glowing amber in the distance. I start walking with no real destination in mind, just needing to move, to breathe.

To think.

Owen knows I write romance. The thought hits me like a slap. He used to mock me for it after he found out—called it my “little hobby,” asked when I was going to write something “real.” But I never told him my pen name. Never let him read a single word.

He’s not going to figure this out.

Right?

Except what if he does? What if someone else does? What if the BookTok theories spread?

Why the hell was I so stupid to use my book as a love letter to Sierra Rose Ridge?

I pull out my phone and call Jess.

She answers on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re calling to scream about hitting number three.”

“Book club is reading Wildfire Summer tonight.”

Silence.

“Jess?”

“Book club. Your town’s book club that meets weekly at your bookshop. Discussing your book. Tonight.”

“Yes.”

“The book you set in your town.”

“Yes.”

“With a bookshop owner heroine.”

“Yes.“ My voice cracks. “And Macy just told me someone on BookTok is doing a theory thread trying to figure out which real Southwest town inspired it.”

“Okay.” Jess takes a breath. “Okay, this is... manageable. They don’t know you’re Sienna Saguaro. You’ve been careful.”

“Have I?” I’m walking faster now, my feet carrying me through the familiar streets without conscious thought. “I wrote about a bookshop in a small Southwest town, Jess. There’s a legend about star-crossed lovers. The town square layout. The—“

“Lots of small towns have legends and town squares, Sadie. Practically all small towns have those two things,” she cuts in, her voice firm.

“You changed enough. The town doesn’t have the same name.

The bookshop in your story is called Desert Pages, which is completely different from Wildflower Books.

It’s okay. You changed enough. Stop panicking. ”

“I don’t think I’m panicking. I’m being realistically concerned.”

“You’re spiraling. I can hear it in your voice. The last time this happened—“

“We don’t need to bring that up now.”

I can hear her moving around, probably pacing her Portland apartment.

“Look. Listen to me. Tonight, you host the book club like the professional bookshop owner you are. You listen to your readers discuss your book while you remain in the background. You smile, nod, and keep your poker face. Then you go upstairs to your apartment, pour yourself some wine, and breathe. No one is going to connect Sadie Pierce to Sienna Saguaro.”

I want to believe her. I really do.

“And if they do?” I ask quietly.

“Then you deal with it. But Sadie? You wrote a beautiful book. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Jess says. “Look, I hate to do this, but I have to get to work. But you’re going to be fine. Just breathe. Host the book club. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know. But you’ve got this. No one will find out. Call me after, okay? I want to hear how it goes.”

“Okay.” I take a shaky breath. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Anytime. And Sadie? Congrats on hitting number three. You deserve this.”

“Thanks.” I smile through the nerves.

The line goes dead. I lower my phone and look up, realizing for the first time my feet have carried me to Herrera’s Forge.

How did I end up here?

The wide doors are propped open, and I can hear the rhythmic clang of metal on metal drifting out into the street. That sound always does something to my chest, settles something restless I can’t quite name.

The bookends. That’s why I’m here. Mateo said he’d have those bookends ready this week, and I need them for the shop.

That’s the only reason.

I take a breath and step inside.

The temperature jumps about twenty degrees the moment I cross the threshold, making it feel like an early summer morning rather than a cool pre-winter afternoon. Heat radiates from the forge in the back, and my eyes take a second to adjust to the dimmer lighting after the bright November sun.