Chapter 17
Sam
Last night with Penny is still at the forefront of my mind as I find a parking space in the town square.
She lingers now, just as she has throughout much of the day.
I was able to get some decent words down on my current work in progress, and Derek and I worked on a few of the finer details of the press tour I’ll be doing.
But she’s always there… I could taste the whisper of Penny’s laugh against my mouth and the way it felt to be inside her.
It’s like finding a part of myself that I didn’t realize was waiting just out of reach all along.
I’ve written a hundred versions of connection and somehow, they all look pale next to the real thing.
The way her knees bracketed my hips, the tremor in her breath when she said my name, the way she curled into me afterward and went so quiet, the peace of it all felt weighted.
Now I can’t stop the thought that keeps circling… I’m falling for her.
Not in a free fall with an inevitable crash. But rather in a steady, deliberate way—like the tide coming in because it can’t help itself.
Yes, she’s leaving soon. DC is more than just her job… it’s her purpose. She has a life there and friends who stay up too late in restaurants that serve dinner at eleven. Whynot has a piece of me on every damn surface. There’s no way we could really work.
And yet—she keeps showing up for me. At the signing. In front of my mother. On my porch, telling me to stop thinking and just feel. Every time I needed a shoulder, she handed me both.
I don’t know what we’ll do when the map pulls us in two directions. I know I’m not ready to pretend last night was a fluke, or that “right now” isn’t already rewriting my plans. Maybe that’s foolish. Maybe it’s just romance. Around here, those two things are kissin’ cousins.
By the time the sun slides low enough to turn the sky orange, I’ve convinced myself I can hold two truths at once.
I’m a man in love with this town, and I’m starting to be a man in love with Penny Pritchard.
But tonight, I’m supposed to be the author, so I tuck those other truths in my pocket with my truck keys and head toward the bar.
The square looks like someone declared a holiday by committee.
Handmade posters flap off lampposts—BOOKS & BOURBON NIGHT, FEATURING WORLD-FAMOUS AUTHOR S.
P. ROCHELLE!—using a photo of me behind the bar at Chesty’s.
I consider tearing one down just to stop seeing my own face everywhere, then figure it’s good practice for embarrassment.
Inside Chesty’s, it’s all laughter, glasses clinking and some country music on the jukebox. Lessa’s behind the bar tonight and she’s hopping because it’s packed.
Pap is at the door to welcome patrons, and he beams me a Fourth of July smile. “The star has arisen.” He cackles and slaps me on the back.
I take in the crowd, mostly faces I know and a few I don’t. My nerves fire hot and I decide this was a very bad idea. I have to force myself not to pivot and walk right out, instead shaking Pap’s hand. “I appreciate your support.”
“Of course, my boy. Of course,” he says and then points to my left.
Floyd has built himself a makeshift bookstore with two tables shoved together and covered with a checkered cloth. He’s got stacks of my books with a hand-drawn sign that says $15 signed paperback, $25 signed hardback.
Larkin’s husband, Deacon, stands behind him, beer in hand and talking to Morri, who’s perched in glitter heels and a tank top that says READ ME GENTLY. He’s gesturing with a glass of wine that miraculously doesn’t slosh over the edge.
And then there’s Penny.
She appears through the crowd like I pulled her forth from a dream.
Jeans and boots and a soft blouse, her red hair in loose braids over each shoulder.
She looks 100 percent Whynot and not an ounce of Washington, DC.
When she spots me, something brightens in her whole face and knocks loose my last bit of nervousness.
She comes toe to toe and stares up at me. “Let’s put the gossip mill into meltdown mode.”
Before I can even garner what that means, she puts a hand up over my neck and pulls me down for a kiss.
She has zero fucks to give if anyone’s watching, and neither do I, for that matter.
Vaguely, I hear someone wolf whistle and when I pull back, I find Morri bearing a shit-eating grin as he nudges Deacon in the ribs.
“You ready for this?” she asks as we break apart.
“I was born ready until five minutes ago,” I say. “This is either a really good or a really bad idea.”
“It’s a fantastic idea,” she says, looping her arm in mine. “We’re showing those stuck back in the Dark Ages that romance and sex is natural and not going to land everyone a seat in hell.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, but I appreciate the sentiment,” I assure her.
Pap appears and hands me a copper mug. “A new drink I created today,” he announces. “I call it a Romance Mule. Tastes like love with a hint of ginger. We made it with bourbon, though, rather than vodka.”
I take a tentative sip and lick my lips. “That’s really good.”
Pap slides me a look that says, Of course it is, son.
Suddenly, the jukebox cuts and I hear Floyd’s voice come over the speakers. I look to see he’s got a mic at his mouth, and it crackles, then shrieks like a banshee. The whole bar flinches in unison and he gives it a hard shake until it behaves.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellows, and I swear he sounds exactly like the pastor in the pulpit. “I would like everyone to give a warm welcome to our guest of honor tonight… Whynot’s very own Sam Rochelle!”
The applause is thunderous with an adjoining chorus of stomping feet and whistles.
Floyd eats it up, patiently waiting for the din to die down before continuing.
“Now, we want to celebrate our very own hometown boy as he embarks on a new career, but for those of you who don’t know, Sam has already reached levels of success that make him a celebrity.
He’s a New York Times best-selling author and for those of you who didn’t know, he just built a multimillion-dollar house out on Haws Run Road. ”
People gasp and my face flames red. I turn to Penny. “Why did he have to say that? It’s so embarrassing.”
“Just go with it,” she murmurs back.
“Sam has graciously agreed to read to us from his newest book that’s releasing next month called The Ruin of Gods. I can tell you, folks, I got an advance copy, and it’s a humdinger. I’m already smelling another bestseller. So, let’s give it up for Sam!”
The room erupts—whoops, whistles, one voice that absolutely yells, “Take off your shirt!” I laugh since dying is not an option.
Floyd picks up my book from the table and flips to a page that he’s already marked. “This here is a really good passage. I like the hero, Maddox. Honestly, it sounds like he needs therapy and a hug,” Floyd declares, then stage-whispers into the mic, “which we offer here on Thursdays.”
Everyone laughs and it eggs Floyd on. “Lord have mercy, let me tell you folks… if Sam writes like this about all his characters, I can only imagine what sweet talk he’s whisperin’ in real life.”
Floyd’s gaze flicks pointedly between me and Penny, while the grin on his face says he’s enjoying shining the spotlight on our relationship.
I glance at Penny who ducks her head with a knowing smile.
Morri snaps his fingers by his shoulder. “If this man wrote about me, I’d never leave my house,” he calls, and someone in back hollers, “Amen!”
Laughter comes in waves and my shoulders relax. These are my people. Not perfect. Not quiet. But mine. Penny’s fingers intertwine with mine for a second.
Squeeze. I squeeze back, and the touch answers something she doesn’t say out loud.
I’m here.
“All right,” Floyd crows, “we’re gonna let the man read his own words before I ruin ’em any further.”
“Jesus,” I mutter so only Penny can hear. “No telling what passage he picked.”
I take my book, look with trepidation at the scene, and then do a quick scan. Okay, not too spicy at all.
“Quick warning,” I say. “There’s kissing in this book that leads to other things, but there are also swords and fae—”
“What’s a fae?” someone yells.
“Read it and find out,” I call back, and Floyd snickers. “My books are also about people making choices that scare ’em. If you’re allergic to any of that, the exits are behind you and Pap will refund your… actually, Pap will not refund anything.”
Pap points at the tip jar. “No refunds.”
The room laughs. I glance at Penny and she nods with confidence shining in her expression. I look down at the page and let the words do what they’re meant to.
I clear my throat and take a breath. “She’s fighting it—just barely—but I can see the surrender starting behind her eyes before I feel it in the way her body softens in my grip.
If I lifted her now, she wouldn’t resist. She’d melt into me, quiet and sure, like she’s been waiting for me to take control.
“But Zora never gives freely outside the sheets, and I’m greedy enough to take what I can. I draw her in until our breath mixes and tilt her chin so she can’t look anywhere but at me.
“‘Say it,’ I tell her quietly. ‘Say you want this.’
“Her mouth parts and for a long moment, the air between us feels too thick to breathe.
“Then, finally, soft and certain, ‘You already know.’
“It’s not the confession I asked for, but it’s the one I’ll take.
I claim her mouth in answer, one arm sliding beneath her, the other at her back.
The glass in her hand vanishes before it hits the floor—maybe magic, maybe luck—but either way, it’s gone, and all that’s left is the sound of her breath and the weight of her body as I carry her toward the bed without hurry.
Distance can bend but time cannot. Not when she’s wrapped around me like this. ”
“Oh my word,” Morri breathes out, and several murmurs ripple through the crowd as I look up, closing the book.