Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Yeah… and give my notice.”
Penny’s voice drops. “I’m sorry. I know how much you love that old man.”
“Yeah… but that’s not what I’m meant to do and I know he’ll understand.” I glance at the clock and know I need to get moving. “I’ll call later and we’ll set up that date.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
♦
Pap’s old Ford sits in its usual spot, the bed full of scrap wood and an empty bait bucket. I find him behind the bar with a rag slung over his shoulder, wiping down bottles that don’t need it. He looks up when I walk in.
“Well, if it isn’t my part-time philosopher,” he says. “You’re not on duty today.”
“Need to talk,” I say, sliding onto a stool.
He cuts me a quick glance. “You look like a man who’s about to confess something.”
“Depends… you going to judge me?”
“Son, I was a Marine for thirty years. I’ve seen worse than whatever you’re about to say.”
That gets a faint laugh out of me. “Fair enough.”
I take the opportunity to collect my thoughts and glance around the bar. It’s been a second home to me at times. From the paneled walls to the scarred bar top, every bit of it speaks to a comfort I’ve enjoyed.
“You giving me your notice?” Pap asks, and the question so startles me, I bobble on the stool.
My head whips his way, but no use denying it. “Am I that obvious?”
Pap scrunches his face, looks upward as if considering, and then offers me a wry smile. “Yeah… you’re that obvious. And of course, I accept your notice. You going back to school? Always figured you would.”
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.”
Pap glares at me. “You better not be going to work for that dive bar out on Route 20.”
I bark out a laugh. “No, not going to bartend anymore.”
Pap goes still, sets the rag down, and leans his forearms on the bar opposite me. “If you’re not going back to school and you’re not going to bartend, then what?”
I rub at the back of my neck, the smile on my face sheepish. “Jeez… didn’t realize it would be this hard to come clean.”
“Did you murder someone?”
“No.” I laugh.
“Then anything other than that is easy to confess. Spill it.”
I take a breath. “Okay… this might be hard to believe, but here goes.” Pap watches me curiously. “I write fantasy romance novels, a fact I’ve kept hidden for six years, but now I’ve decided to out myself and give this career my all, which means I have to do shit like press tours and stuff, so I can’t keep it secret.”
Pap just stares at me.
Doesn’t blink.
Stares and stares.
“Are you going to say something?” I demand.
He finally blinks and then doubles over laughing. He laughs so hard, he slaps the top of the bar, and I roll my eyes. I wait him out until he ends up wheezing, but eventually, he stands upright and drags his hand over his face to wipe the tears.
When he’s doing nothing more than grinning, I snap, “This isn’t a joke. I’m being serious.”
Pap chuckles again, shaking his head. “Son… I know you’re serious and I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because I can’t wait to see the reaction of everyone in this town when they find out we’ve got a famous author in our midst. They’re going to lose their damn minds. Let me ask… are your books the kind that Sissy likes to read? You know… what do they call it, mommy porn? Because that stuff really gets—”
“Stop!” I hold up my hand, palm outward. “I don’t want to know anything about that, but yes, my books are… spicy.”
“Well, don’t worry, Sam. All those church ladies will pray for your soul.”
“If they’d just pray for good sales too, I’d be appreciative,” I mutter.
“Well, I for one am proud of you. Not sure I really understand it all, but I’d love to hear more about it.”
“I’ll fill you in tonight when I come on shift,” I say, slapping the top of the bar and popping off the stool.
“That won’t work because you won’t be here,” he says, stopping me in my tracks.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t need notice. Got plenty of people to work here and you got more important things to do. You should be polishing prose, not bar glasses.”
“Clever,” I mutter.
Pap’s smile spreads across his face. “Proud of you, boy. Not everyone’s got the guts to chase what they’re good at, let alone own it.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t think it’s… weird?”
“Writing love stories?” He snorts. “Hell no. World needs more of ’em. You build something people care about—ain’t nothing weird about that.”
I exhale, the weight easing off my chest. “Thanks, Pap.”
“Don’t thank me,” he says, reaching for his coffee. “Just don’t forget where you came from—and maybe dedicate one of those books to an old Marine who drinks too much Budweiser.”