His Road Home

Chapter 1

SAM

Of all the things Samantha MacMillian expected today, getting pulled out of her writer’s block by hearing the word “smut” was not one of them. But who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth? If it meant a light at the end of the tunnel for this predicament she was in, she’d take it.

She was set up in her favorite cafe a few blocks away from her apartment, her gaze fixed firmly on the blank page glowing at her from the screen.

The relentless and much-dreaded blinking cursor taunted her with each passing second, a flashing reminder that if she didn’t start coming up with something soon, she was in trouble.

She hissed out a groan as she rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension there. Blinking a few times to shake the sleep out of her eyes, she began the torturous mental loop that had accompanied her every day the past few weeks.

How was she supposed to know that after publishing the last book, the well of ideas she’d had for something new would dry up?

Her popular detective mystery series had finally wrapped up last year with its final installment, a thrilling conclusion that had been well received by both critics and readers.

But after she wrapped up the press releases and book tour for it, when her publisher had asked her what was next, she quickly realized that she didn’t have anything planned next.

If only she could time travel and slap that stupid contract out of her hand. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time that she didn’t even consider the scenario she would end up in.

While she was still in process of writing the fourth book in her series, her publishers generously offered her a brand-new contract for whatever else she wanted to write.

After her mystery series had wrapped up with the planned ninth installment, she’d have free reign to write, well, anything she wanted. A creative person’s dream come true.

She’d already expressed back then that once she was done with this series, she wanted to take a break from writing mysteries, and they had been excited about the prospect of her creative flair in a new genre.

It was a smart business decision on their end.

Sam was basically a guaranteed payout for them, as every single one of her books had hit the New York Times bestseller’s list at least once.

That said, in her excitement about writing something completely new, she failed to realize what a creative slump she would enter immediately after publishing the last book.

Her book tour wrapped up just shy of a year ago, and she still had nothing to show for it in terms of her next project.

Her publisher had been more than patient with her, something she was eternally grateful for.

She’d told them that she wanted to take a bit of time off to decompress from the whirlwind that the past few years had been.

She’d started writing her first book right before she’d graduated from college, and as she was now pushing thirty, she’d had little time for herself.

They’d extended the contract to allow for her to have a much needed break, but she knew that her grace period was swiftly coming to a close.

She’d have to give them something soon, or she’d be breaching her contract.

But the second she’d started to brainstorm ideas, absolutely nothing came.

It was like she’d used all her best material on her mysteries, and now there was nothing left.

A reminder popped up on the screen, temporarily distracting her from her spiral and causing another groan to escape her.

She had almost forgotten about the video call.

Granted, it was a weekly occurrence, and normally she looked forward to it, but with absolutely nothing to tell her agent, Angel, she wasn’t exactly leaping with joy.

She gave a languid stretch before getting up and walking over to the counter. Another cup of coffee might help wake her mind up, or at least that was what she tried to convince herself as she waited for her order.

The Oak House was her favorite coffee shop in downtown Durham.

Not only was it one of the closest coffee shops within walking distance of her apartment, it was relatively quiet during the daytime, so she could work in peace.

Plus, Sam couldn’t help but adore the cozy atmosphere embedded into each inch of the space.

Coffee shop during the day, craft beverage lounge at night—the ambiance alone was unmatched.

Sam collected her iced latte from the barista and went to sit back at her table, nestled comfortably in the back corner of the space.

She allowed herself to sink into the comfortable leather seat as she gazed outside.

Every time she came to work here, she always picked the same spot.

It was far enough away that even the morning rush didn’t disturb her, and it had the best ambient lighting of the entire space.

It also didn’t hurt that the floor-to-ceiling exterior window perfectly displayed the bustling downtown activity outside, currently showcasing the pitter-patter of a late spring shower as it created a sheen of water on the ground.

It was the perfect kind of peace that almost made Sam forget her troubles.

Almost.

As she settled back into her seat, a familiar name popped up as a new text notification dinged.

We still on for dinner tonight? I can pick you up from the complex if you want?

Sam smiled involuntarily, the movement tugging at the freckles speckled across her nose. It wasn’t like they hadn’t just spoken half an hour ago—before he’d gone into the office earlier and about this very topic—but her best friend was anything but subtle when he had his mind set on something.

And though he would never find this part out, there was a high likelihood that her car would never leave the shop again after she’d taken it in a few months prior.

Yes on dinner, no on the ride, I told you I’m fine to take the bus

She was in the process of saving up for another car, so the bus would have to do for now.

She could practically hear the groan from there when his response quickly came back, choking back a laugh as she read it.

Ugh, fine, just sit FAR FAR away from the sniffer this time

Smiling at the inside joke, Sam set down her phone.

She was jolted back to reality, however, when the tell-tale jingle of the incoming video call started blaring through her laptop’s speakers.

The suddenness of it caused her to nearly spill her coffee, an expletive leaving her lips as she placed the cup on the table and quickly placed her headphones on to limit the sound spreading to the rest of the building.

“You’re early,” Sam half-scolded as Angel’s face lit up her laptop screen.

Angel feigned shock as she placed a finely French-manicured hand on her chest, the subtle jingle of her gold bracelets accompanying the gesture. “Only by five minutes.”

“That’s five minutes I could’ve spent in peace and quiet,” Sam teased, seeing the immediate frown appearing on the screen.

“Someone hasn’t had enough coffee in their system yet, I see. Or do I sense bad news on my horizon?”

Sam sighed, rubbing the back of her neck before reaching for her coffee. “Both?”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Sam chuckled. “You love me because I’m your best client.”

Angel glowered at her. “Alright, I may be your agent now, but you forget I’ve been putting up with your antics for years.”

This time Sam let out a genuine laugh. It was true, technically, Angel had first been her roommate back in college.

It was only her good fortune that Angel had decided after graduation to move up to the Big Apple to work in publishing.

The two of them had spent hours talking about books, Angel acting as a soundboard for the ideas Sam had for her first mystery novel, which she’d started working on at the time.

It was sometimes hard, seeing Angel all prim and proper now, with her Manhattan-esque fashion sense and polished appearance, when a few of the memories Sam held dearest were the times when the two of them were sitting in their dingy little university student apartment, eating cup ramen.

“Still,” Sam said as she leaned back in her seat, “it doesn’t hurt that I’m also your bestselling client.”

“No, it certainly doesn’t,” Angel conceded before quickly adding, “luckily for you, though, because any other agent would be throttling you right about now.”

“I still have time.”

“You have three months. To write an entire book. From scratch. And not a mystery,” Angel reminded, a smile gracing her lips as she reached for the sleeve of her blush-colored blazer and deftly rolling it up to her elbows.

Regardless of the time of day, Angel almost never looked less than a million bucks.

She possessed a sense of fashion that Sam couldn't help but envy, always appearing so effortlessly put together and professional no matter what she had on. She’d been that way since they’d met during their freshman orientation almost ten years prior, the only major change to her wardrobe now being a larger budget.

It was a far cry from the raggedy pajama set she often remembered Angel wandering around their old apartment in.

A stark reminder of how different they were—Angel now all posh New York City girl who came from a rural town in North Carolina, while it felt like Sam had hardly changed at all.

The same old type-A homebody who preferred the comfort of the local coffee shop down the street from her apartment over exploring most of the downtown area she lived in.

“Should we have another brainstorm session?” Angel asked as she leaned back in her office chair, the view of downtown Manhattan peeking in over her shoulder.