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)
Her mouth is warm, a little unsure at first, then steady and sure as we find a rhythm. I taste wine and pecan pie, and it makes me want to pull her closer, forget we’re standing under a streetlight in front of half the town.
For a few long seconds, I do.
When we finally break apart, she’s breathing fast, lips slightly swollen, looking at me wildly, like she’s trying to figure out what just happened. Truth is, I’m doing the same.
“Guess there’s something to be said about a man following through on his promises,” she says with a smile that could undo me.
I laugh softly, resting my forehead against hers. “You’re dangerous, Penny Pritchard.”
“Only if you’re smart enough to notice.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.”
She pulls back, still smiling. “Good night, Sam.”
“Good night.”
I watch her walk up the porch, unlock the door, and before slipping inside, she waves to me. I hold up my hand in acknowledgment and then she’s gone. I just stand there for a few beats and think about how the entire evening played out. I should head home, but I don’t. I stay rooted to the sidewalk, recalling the sound of her laugh, the way her hand felt against mine, and consider that I’ve never liked someone as much as her.
Sure, I’ve dated, but I’ve never been interested in anything serious.
With Penny, I could see a future with her. She’s amazing in all ways and I’d be a fool not to recognize that.
The only problem is that her future is in DC and mine’s here in Whynot.
CHAPTER 12
Sam
To bibliophiles, the smell of new books is supposed to be calming. Right now, it’s making me slightly nauseated. The indie bookstore in downtown Raleigh is small but charming—exposed brick walls, a creaky hardwood floor, strings of Edison bulbs draped across the ceiling to create a magical atmosphere.
A table has been set up in the back of the store near the romance section and velvet ropes have been placed to guide the crowd.
Jesus… a crowd so big it needs to be guided?
I’m currently waiting in the employee break room, but I can peek through the door and see my signing table. It’s covered in a white cloth and has stacks of my upcoming release, The Ruin of Gods. There’s a fancy pen on the table and a small, framed sign that reads S. P. Rochelle printed in elegant black script.
I’ll never admit to a single soul that I practiced my signature last night to make sure it looked all right.
Well, I might admit that to Penny. She wouldn’t make fun of me but rather empathize first—and then tease me about it.
Speaking of Penny… I glance at my watch. She should be here any minute.
Until then, I take up nervous pacing, but the break room is so small that I can go no more than three steps before having to turn around.
Derek bursts in, phone in one hand and a grin that’s about three sizes too smug. “You’re not going to believe this. There’s a line out the door. Down the block. They’re wrapping around the corner.”
“Seriously?” I ask, my stomach dropping and then settling into a more turbulent swell of nausea.
“Seriously,” he exclaims with excitement. “We’re talking full-on mob of book lovers. Half of them are holding some of your past releases—the other half are holding cameras. This is the real deal, Sam. You’re officially a thing.”
I drag a hand through my hair, my palm damp. “A thing,” I repeat, because it’s all my brain can manage. “That’s terrifying.”
Derek laughs. “You’ll be fine.”
I glance down at the outfit I chose. Derek and I had fought about the options. He wanted me in skinny pants and loafers, which I emphatically shot down. I explained that not only did I want to be comfortable, but I wanted to be me.
In the end, I got him to acquiesce to let me wear jeans, a black Jack Daniels T-shirt and black cowboy boots, and the only reason he agreed to it is that it shows off my chest and arm muscles and the women will love it.
He looks me up and down and waves his hand. “You’ve got that whole brooding romance author meets hot cowboy vibe going for you.”
“Pretty sure the vibe is scared man about to pass out in a bookstore.”
He ignores me, glancing at his watch. “Just remember—these people aren’t here to judge you. They’re fans. They love what you do.”
“Right,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “Fans.”
What I don’t say is that I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on the edge of something huge. This isn’t just a signing. It’s when I stop hiding. It’s my trial run out of anonymity and after my photo is released tomorrow on social media, I predict it will be around Whynot in about five seconds.