Chapter 17 #2
It’s dead silent for a few painful heartbeats, and then the bar erupts in a chorus of cheers that hurt my ears.
Penny claps and Floyd grabs my shoulders, giving me an affectionate shake of pride. People swarm Floyd’s table and money starts flying. I sit down and sign books, one after the other, until we run out. I drink a Romance Mule and then another.
At some point, Derek storms in like he’s outrunning a rabid coyote. Sleeves rolled, hair mutinous, phone welded to his hand. He looks like he might need CPR.
“What’s up?” I ask as he comes to a skidding halt before me and Penny.
He grabs my elbow and drops his voice. Curiosity might be Whynot’s official pastime because half the bar leans our way.
“Our announcement clip went viral,” Derek says, eyes bright enough to start a brush fire.
“You’re trending. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook—everywhere.
The ‘romance country boy’ reveal has half a million views.
Good Morning America wants you on their show.
Late night’s circling. Your book pre-order just cracked ’s top ten.
I’m feeling practically drunk on the power of it all. ”
I blink. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding? My left eye is twitching.” He scans the room, then adds, “This looks like it went well.”
Before I can tell him about it, Pap puts his hands around his mouth and yells out, “Attention, everyone. Sam has gone viral and is going to be on Good Morning America.”
The bar detonates again and I just shake my head. There are no secrets in this town.
Floyd lifts his Romance Mule like the Statue of Liberty. “To Whynot’s most eligible author! May his verbs stay strong and his adverbs stay few!”
“Floyd, you’re insufferable,” Mary-Margaret says, dabbing at suspicious moisture. “And correct.”
Then everyone turns toward me. Floyd beckons with both hands like he’s landing a plane.
I try to wave him off, but he doubles down.
Resistance is futile, so I thread my way to his makeshift stage, scrub a hand over my jaw, and face a room that has fed me and scolded me and cheered for me since I was big enough to reach a barstool.
He hands me the mic. “You need to say a few words.”
“No,” I exclaim, trying to step away, but Derek’s there, hands on my back and pushing me forward.
“You better get used to talking about yourself and the book,” he says.
Floyd shoves the mic my way and I’m forced to take it.
I scan the room and Penny gives me a double thumbs-up. Here goes nothing.
“Hey,” I say, into the microphone, my voice doing that low thing that happens when I haven’t cleared my throat. The room hushes politely. “I don’t have a speech. Y’all know I’m better on paper, and I didn’t think I’d have to do anything other than read a short passage from my book.”
I shoot a glare at Floyd and a soft chuckle rolls through.
“When I started, I didn’t know if folks would accept what I write, so I hid behind a pen name.
” I look at them—Pap, Floyd, Morri, Mary-Margaret, Larkin, Deacon.
Half the town in a tangle of elbows and affection.
Penny, near the bar, watching me like she’s a lighthouse and I’m the idiot boat.
“I should’ve had more faith in y’all. Seeing you all here, supporting me…
I promise I’ll have more faith in myself.
Thank you again for your support. I get that there’s some in town who won’t ever accept this about me, and that’s okay.
I know I’ve got friends who have my back. ”
There’s applause, a few whistles, a “Lord have mercy” from the back that I’m ninety percent sure is Mary-Margaret. My chest hurts in a way I don’t mind.
I hand the mic to Floyd and weave my way to the bar through backslaps and handshakes and more hugs than I’ve ever had in one night. Derek is already on another call, pacing and smiling like a man who just won the lottery. Pap slides me another Romance Mule like it’s a sacrament.
“I knew this would be a huge success,” he says. “Just like you. Sometimes we just need a good story to believe in.”
“Thanks, Pap.” My voice comes out rough. I don’t fix it.
I sidle up to Penny and rest my palm over hers, right there on the varnished wood where a hundred other hands have done a hundred other small brave things.
“You were perfect,” she says.
“I was terrified,” I admit. “And grateful.”
“This is what Whynot is really about,” she says, thumb brushing the edge of my hand. “There are more people supporting you than not.”
“I can see that,” I reply, looking around at my friends and neighbors.
“This town doesn’t do anything halfway,” she says. “If they judge, they judge you hard. If they accept you, they do it with all the love in their heart.”
“This is really blowing up. Things are going to get weird.”
“Let them trend your name,” she says. “To me, you’re just Sam from Whynot.”
“And your opinion is really the only one I care about.”
That earns me a soft smile and a brush of her mouth against mine.
Behind us, Floyd is taking requests for the next reading. “Fifty Shades?” he yells, waggling his eyebrows until Mary-Margaret smacks him with her pilfered church bulletin. The crowd howls.
Morri’s shouting, “Tag me! Use my good side!”
I look out at all of it—the glitter on the floor, the crooked poster of my face taped over the dartboard, the frosting smear someone left where a coaster should be. It’s ridiculous. It’s home.
I lift my glass. Penny lifts hers. Our knuckles touch.
I don’t know how to solve a map with two different destinations. I do know I’m going to try. Because last night felt like truth, and tonight felt like being seen, and I’ve spent a lot of years pretending I needed neither. Turns out I want both.
“Guess I finally found my audience,” I say.
Penny smiles into her drink. “Guess they finally found you.”