Chapter 23
Sam
This is my first visit to Nashville, and I must say—I’m a big fan. The whole city hums—neon guitars, honky-tonk laughter, and the faint twang of a pedal steel somewhere down the block.
Derek and I are at a bar that’s equal parts smokehouse and music joint, wedged in at a high-top table.
A local guy with a voice like gravel is singing about his girl leaving and his dog dying, and the air’s thick enough with hickory smoke to cure humans along with the pork and beef BBQ they’re serving.
Derek looks wildly out of place. His suit’s tailored, his cuff links catching the bar lights, his hair perfectly in place. I’m the opposite—jeans, boots and a faded Carolina Cold Fury T-shirt I’ve had since the hockey team first came to reside permanently in our state.
We make quite the pair, and Derek has garnered his fair share of admiring lady stares, probably because he looks so different.
He tips back a beer and grins at me over the rim of his pint glass. “You realize you crushed that interview today, right? The host was practically swooning by the end.”
I shrug, pulling a rib from the platter between us. “She liked the book.”
“She loved the book,” he corrects, stabbing at his phone like he’s about to produce hard evidence. “Sales are spiking, TikTok’s losing its collective mind over the ‘small-town fantasy romance author with soulful eyes,’ and we’re going to have to hire someone to handle all your fan mail.”
I snort. “Soulful eyes? Pretty sure those were just bags from lack of sleep.”
“Whatever works,” he says cheerfully. “The important thing is—”
He stops mid-sentence, staring down to his screen. His face changes. “Oh… holy shit.”
I glance up. “What?”
He looks at me like Santa just landed in the bar. “We got an email from Harper & Laud. They’re offering you a multi-book deal. Print, audio, foreign rights, the works.”
Derek stares at me expectantly, as if I’m missing the biggest piece of information. I lift my eyebrows. “And…”
“The offer is two million dollars,” he wheezes.
I set the rib down, wipe my fingers, and stare at him. “That’s… two million dollars?”
“Two fucking million dollars.” He cackles in disbelief, tapping the screen like he’s afraid it’ll disappear. “This is it, Sam. You’re not just S. P. Rochelle anymore—you’re the brand. You’ve arrived.”
I nod slowly, the sound of applause from a nearby table blurring into the music. I should feel ecstatic. This is the dream—years of quiet writing finally paying off.
My talent is being recognized and that’s really all I ever wanted. Especially with so many in my hometown thinking that what I write is frivolous, this is the validation I need.
But instead, the joy doesn’t quite reach me. It hits the surface and slides off.
Derek’s still talking—words like tour schedule and publicity circuit—but all I can think about is Penny.
It’s been a week since she boarded that plane, and it feels like a year.
We talk every night, sometimes for hours. She calls on her lunch break, texts when she’s in meetings, sends photos of her office plants like they’re our adopted children. I sent her flowers after her first day back, and she sent me a card that said, “Distance makes the heart text fonder.”
It’s sweet. It’s us.
But it’s not enough.
I miss her laughter ricocheting around my kitchen, the way she leans her hip against the counter while she talks, how her hair smells faintly like citrus and sunshine.
Every hotel room feels too quiet. Every city, too sterile.
The guy on stage strums the last note of a heartbreak song, and it feels personal.
Derek looks up from his phone, silly smile still in place. “Don’t tell me you’re already negotiating in your head. Let me enjoy this high for five minutes before you start asking about royalty splits.”
“Not negotiating,” I say. “Just thinking.”
He studies me for a beat. “About what?”
I shrug. “Everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Didn’t think you’d want the real one.”
He casually props an elbow over the back of his chair. “Try me.”
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. “She’s been gone a week, and it feels like I left half my brain behind in Whynot.”
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “Penny.”
The way he says her name—half question, half judgment—grates.
“Don’t do that,” I warn.
“Do what?”
“Say her name like she’s a bad investment.”
Derek winces. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just—” He gestures helplessly. “You’ve got this once-in-a-lifetime career opportunity, and you look like a man at a funeral.”
I pick up my beer, stare into the foam. “Maybe because success feels weird when the person you want to celebrate it with is hundreds of miles away.”
He’s quiet for a second. “I’m sorry, man. Love is wasted on a skeptic like me, but I do know this… I don’t like seeing you so out of sorts. Can you squeeze in a visit soon? Somewhere in between press stops?”
I laugh, the low, mirthless type that makes it clear that’s a ridiculous question. “We tried to find a weekend to see each other and between our two very hectic travel schedules, the earliest we could both manage was five weeks from now.”
“That’s not good,” he murmurs.
“I hate this goddamn situation,” I growl, pushing my plate away.
Derek’s eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t comment. He takes a long sip of beer, then sets it down with a sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to suggest this, but you don’t have to stay in Whynot.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“You could move to DC.”
I laugh, certain he’s joking. “You’re the one who told me to keep my roots planted. Said my whole brand was built on small-town charm and biscuits.”
“Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug, “DC has biscuits. Probably overpriced, but still.” He glances around the restaurant, then back to me.
“Look, you’ll be in New York constantly with this deal.
DC is closer, easier travel, better airports.
You love Whynot, but let’s be honest—you’re barely going to be there.
You can write anywhere, Sam. The stories live in you, not your ZIP code. ”
The thought lands like a spark in dry grass. I stare at him, mind whirring.
I can write anywhere.
I could be with Penny.
I don’t have to stay in Whynot to keep the small-town author charm that’s been part of my branding.
The ache in my chest twists, turning into something else—energy, maybe. Purpose.
“You’re serious?” I ask.
“Dead serious.” He lifts a shoulder. “And who knows… maybe your romances will get even better with love fueling you.”
I lean back, imagining it—waking up beside her, writing in the mornings while she’s at work, having dinner together at night. A normal life.
A shared one.
But it would mean leaving Whynot. My parents, my friends… they’d be left behind. The town that’s part of my identity. The thought of it feels like I’d be cutting off my right arm.
Ah, but what I’d gain in return.
Penny.
“Hell,” I say quietly. “It’s perfect.”
Derek grins. “You look alive again.”
“I am alive again.” I pull out my phone and start tapping at flight apps. “I’m going to go see her… tell her the news. Of course, she hasn’t exactly invited me to move in with her, but that’s semantics, right?”
Derek groans. “Slow down, cowboy. You’ve got press in Atlanta tomorrow and the next day, then we fly to Pittsburgh.”
“Reschedule something,” I say, scrolling through flights.
“Fuck,” he mutters, but to my surprise, he starts flipping through the calendar on his phone.
“I’ll move up the second interview in Atlanta, and if you get the late flight, you can head to Washington that night.
Then you’d have to take an early flight the next morning to Pittsburgh, but we can make it work. ”
I nod, already picturing it. My fingers fly over the screen, looking at options. “Perfect.”
“You gonna give her a heads-up?”
I shoot him a sly grin. “Nope. I’m making it a surprise. Otherwise, I know she’ll try to talk me out of it. She knows how important Whynot is, so I need to see her face-to-face so she understands she’s more important.”
Derek laughs, low and incredulous. “That’s either the most romantic or most idiotic plan you’ve ever had.”
“Probably both.” I raise my beer in mock salute. “To idiotic romance.”
He clinks his glass against mine. “To you, my friend—New York’s newest bestseller and Washington’s newest tenant.”
It takes me no more than five minutes to book my flight. The musician onstage starts another song—a slow one, about finding your way back home. The crowd quiets, and the melody fills the gaps in conversation.
For the first time since Penny left, my chest doesn’t ache. I switch over to text and type out a quick note to her. Miss you tonight.
She replies before I even set it down. Miss you more.
Not for long, I think.