Chapter 19
Sam
The first thing I feel when I wake up is warmth and I admit it’s not a chore to find a beautiful woman wrapped around me. Penny’s hair is a copper spill across my chest, one arm flung over me like she’s claiming territory. I like that more than I dare admit.
My thoughts strangely don’t focus on the fact that she’s very naked and very accessible, and that we did dirty things to each other last night, proving that we are like peas and carrots in bed.
Rather, I think about how we’ve talked about roots and wings.
For all the ways we’re perfect for each other, that’s a difference I’m not sure we can overcome.
I trace my fingers along the line of her arm, careful not to wake her, and think about what it means to want something you can’t keep.
She has a whole life in DC—a career that lights her up from the inside.
I’d never forgive myself for asking her to stay, not when I know how hard she’s fought to build what she’s got.
But damn if it doesn’t hurt to imagine her gone.
She stirs beside me, then blinks up, eyes heavy with sleep and affection. “You’re staring,” she mumbles.
“Just admiring the view.”
Her lips curve, the slow smile that always splits me apart. “Flattery before coffee? You’re growing as a person.”
She pushes up on an elbow, hair a mess, full breasts taunting me, and she’s looking very much like my favorite reason for existing.
Her hand presses against my chest. “You ready for your big day, Mr. TV Star?”
“Not even remotely,” I reply drolly. I know fame is part of the deal, but today’s going to be painful when the producer rolls into town.
“Good.” Penny slides out of bed, naked ass also taunting me, and disappears into the closet, her voice muffled. She emerges wearing one of my button-down shirts. “Means you won’t overthink it.”
Overthinking is my default setting, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I think about getting her out of my shirt that looks way too good on her, but she ducks back into the closet.
She emerges with two shirts of mine on hangers. One is a red and blue plaid button-down, the other is a black Henley.
She holds up the plaid shirt. “This one says small-town writer.” Then waves the Henley. “This says hot country boy. Choose wisely.”
I groan and sit up in bed. “Really? Clothes have meaning?”
“They will to your fans,” she replies with a grin. “Especially the female ones. Remember, you’re marketing yourself.”
“I’m feeling like a slab of meat,” I mutter.
Penny tosses the Henley at me, still attached to the hanger. “Black Henley it is. I can attest to how damn fine you look in it.”
“You’re not being supportive,” I growl, tossing the shirt on the duvet and climbing out.
“I’m being a very supportive girlfriend,” she says, turning to put the other shirt back in the closet so she doesn’t see the smile she elicited by calling herself my girlfriend. “I’m preventing potential embarrassment on national TV.”
I’m across the room and meeting her in all my naked glory by the time she comes back out.
Her mouth drops open when she sees me, and I don’t waste time pulling her into my arms. I kiss her softly, but there’s no mistaking what I really want by the bulge pressing into her stomach.
“I’m going to make an official request we get you naked. ”
“You’ll be late,” she murmurs against my mouth. “Derek will be here soon.”
I glance at the table clock. “We’ve got an hour. Plenty of time to wring an orgasm out of you, shower and have coffee. Deal?”
“Deal,” she murmurs and jumps into my arms, where I carry her back to bed.
?
Almost an hour later, on the dot, Penny has a tumbler of hot coffee, and I’m walking her to the front door. When I lean in to kiss her, she tastes like cinnamon from Larkin’s sweet rolls we polished off. “You’ll do great,” she says against my mouth. “Be yourself. Maybe don’t cuss.”
“No promises.”
She laughs, grabs her keys, and heads for her car. “Knock ’em dead, hot stuff. Text me when you’re done.”
I stand in the doorway long after she disappears down the gravel drive. Every instinct in me wants to run after her.
Instead, I take another sip of coffee and tell myself the truth—wanting her here forever doesn’t mean I get to keep her.
The crunch of tires in my driveway pulls me back to the present.
A silver sedan slows to a stop. Out of the passenger side steps a blond woman in her forties, sleek and polished.
She stares at my house, then around the front yard.
From the driver’s seat, a man steps out casually dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and at the same time, Derek unfurls from the back seat.
All three move my way and I come down the three steps to greet them.
“Caroline Marks,” the woman says, extending her hand. “And this is my cameraman, Chris. Thank you for having us, Mr. Rochelle.”
“Please, call me Sam.” We shake, and I give a nod and smile to Chris, who reciprocates. “And thanks for swinging through town to pick up Derek.”
She glances at my agent. “It was no problem, plus we wanted to get a feel for Whynot before we shoot some footage. Such a charming town.”
“Would you like to come in for coffee?” I ask, a way to be genial, but honestly, I just want to get this done.
“Thank you for the offer,” she replies with a smile. “But we’ve got an afternoon flight out of Raleigh, so I’d like to get started.”
I take another sip from my mug. “And what exactly are we doing?”
Derek answers, as he apparently got the rundown on the way over. “Today is all about B-roll footage and getting background information for the actual interview.”
“It’s going to be very casual,” Caroline assures me with a reassuring smile.
I deadpan. “So just stand there and look pretty?”
Caroline chuckles. “If you can manage, that’d be great.”
“Um… all right,” I say, looking around. “Are we doing it here at my house?”
“Actually,” she drawls with a coy smile, “I was hoping maybe you could show us around the area. Maybe we could hop in your truck and head back into town?”
“Ah,” I say with a knowing nod. “You’re going to lean into the country-boy aspect.”
“It’s why we want you,” she replies with no apology in her voice. “The fact that you’re a small-town guy is what makes you marketable.” She waves at my house. “Your place is beautiful, but we don’t want that to be the focus.”
“Fair enough,” I reply. “But I make no apologies for Floyd if we run into him.”
“Who’s Floyd?” Chris finally pipes up.
“Just the town eccentric. He’ll make for great TV.”
Caroline looks positively delighted. “Excellent. Shall we get started?”
While Chris gets his camera equipment out of the trunk, I take my coffee cup inside to rinse out and pull on a pair of cowboy boots. I grab my keys and load everyone in my extended cab truck.
To my surprise, a camera’s been mounted to the passenger dash, pointed to record footage of me talking as we drive. Caroline explains we may or may not use it and to just “act natural.”
We start down the two-lane road that cuts through the heart of the country, heading toward Whynot. The sun’s just high enough to turn everything gold and I assume my usual position of one hand on the wheel with the opposite elbow propped on the center console.
Caroline’s got her notepad out, pen hovering. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself, Sam?”
I give her the general info, which isn’t a whole lot. It takes no more than a minute to tell her about my journey from Whynot to Chapel Hill for two years of college and back to Whynot to bartend while I wrote.
“And why did you keep it secret?” Carolina asks.
I shrug. “Honestly… I never thought anything would come of it. I was writing for myself because I loved it and it didn’t seem important to share.”
“But then you sort of blew up,” she says, checking her notes. “Three best-selling titles, thousands of adoring fans. And now you’ve decided to go public.”
I glance in the mirror at Derek, who’s surfing his phone, and Chris, who’s watching the countryside roll by. “Yup. Figured it was time to embrace that this is my career.”
“What’s it like living in a place that just found out you’re famous?”
“Equal parts flattering and terrifying,” I say.
“Terrifying?” she asks, her interest piqued. “I’d think you’d be somewhat of a hometown hero.”
I consider how to answer, because I don’t want to get into town politics. I don’t want anyone to spin anything about my town in a negative way, even though there are some who are very unhappy with me and what I write.
I glance in the mirror again at Derek, his attention now on me. I can see that he wants me to reveal to her that I’ve been boycotted by the church ladies. He knows this will make for excellent exposure, but I give a slight shake of my head and a glare that insists he keep his mouth shut.
“It’s been a bit of a surprise to everyone here, but for the most part, folks have embraced my work. They treat me mostly the same, except now I get unsolicited book ideas.”
She laughs, jotting notes. “Why romance?”
I think for a second. “Because it’s the only thing people haven’t figured out how to fake.”
That earns a small smile and she glances out at the rolling farmland. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Nowhere like it in the world, in my opinion.”
“And do you ever wish you lived somewhere bigger?” She angles in her seat to face me. “With your new fame and money, you could live anywhere.”
That’s right. I could live in Washington, DC, for example. “If I did, I’d just end up writing about here anyway.”
She studies me like I’m a quote she wants to underline. “You realize that’s the kind of thing that makes middle America fall in love with you, right?”
“Guess we’ll test the theory.”
Caroline nods and thumbs at the window. “Chris… we need to get some of this rural footage.”
“Roger that,” he says.