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)
Penny’s covering her mouth with both hands, her shoulders shaking in barely contained laughter.
I take a breath, force a grin, and gesture toward the woman. “Surprise!”
Her shock melts into astonishment, and then into sheer delight. “You’re joking! You’re really him? You wrote The Shadow Princess and The Chronicles of the Stone Veil?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, voice calm, hands steady even though my heart’s going full speed. “Guilty as charged.”
“Oh, honey,” she gushes, stepping closer, her excitement bubbling over. “You have no idea what those books did for me. After my divorce, I was in a bad place—then I picked up The Revelation of Light and Dark, and I swear, that series helped me believe in love again.”
Something in her voice hits me square in the feel-good. I had not expected such a personal story. I smile, genuinely moved. “That means a lot to hear. I wrote those stories hoping they’d matter to someone. Sounds like they did their job.”
“They sure did,” she says, blinking fast to keep from tearing up.
I nod down to the book. “Who do you want this made out to?”
“Allison,” she breathes.
I write a note, Thanks for reading, and then scrawl my signature carefully, trying not to smudge the ink. I slide the book back across the table and she stares at it like I just handed her the Holy Grail.
“Can I get a picture?” she asks, already fishing for her phone.
“Of course.”
I stand, and the store manager steps in to take the photo. The woman positions herself beside me, grinning ear to ear. Her hand brushes my arm once—then again, slower, as if confirming I’m real.
Click. Flash. Done.
“Thank you so much,” she says, throwing her arms around me in a hug that could qualify as a chiropractic adjustment.
“You’re very welcome,” I manage, laughing as I hug her back.
Before she lets go, her hand presses against my biceps and she gasps. “Oh my, he’s ripped!”
The whole front of the store bursts into laughter.
She turns to the rest of the line and calls out, “Ladies, S. P. Rochelle is a man—and he’s built like a Greek god!”
The chatter surges again, half disbelief, half giddy excitement. Someone whistles.
I glance over at Penny. She’s doubled slightly at the waist, one hand clamped over her mouth in an attempt to control her laughter. Derek, beside her, just shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I grin helplessly, trying not to laugh myself, and call out, “All right, folks, one revelation per person. Next?”
The next woman steps forward, clutching her book and trying not to giggle. “You’re really him?”
“Last I checked,” I say, motioning her closer with a smile. “Come on up. Let’s make this official.”
And just like that, the line begins to move—nervous laughter giving way to genuine excitement. The tension breaks, replaced with the hum of voices, the scratch of my pen on paper, and the occasional shout of disbelief that S. P. Rochelle is, in fact, a man from a little town called Whynot.
Through it all, Penny stands off to the side, proud and glowing, and every time I look her way, the nerves ease a little more.
By the time I’ve signed the tenth book, I’m grinning for real because this doesn’t feel so terrifying after all.
CHAPTER 13
Penny
Sam and I are still running on post-signing adrenaline, the kind that feels like I’ve had five cups of coffee before bed. Scores of swooning readers, beaming smiles and selfies galore. Sam handled it like a natural, except I could tell he was uncomfortable when women tried to flirt with him. His magnetic, golden-brown eyes and bulging biceps were mentioned on more than one occasion, and all I could think was, “Same, girl. Same.”
“I can’t believe how well that went,” I say as I merge onto the two-lane highway toward Whynot. Sam’s riding home with me, while Derek, much to his dismay, is driving Sam’s truck back. He grumbled about it, but Sam merely pointed out that it was the price he’s paying for Sam’s newfound fame.
“You had people crying with happiness to see you, Sam,” I muse, watching firsthand proof that his stories deeply resonated with those women.
“They were crying because I looked like a fish out of water,” he says dryly.
“They were crying because you made them feel something,” I say gently, side-eyeing him. “Which is a gift. Most men can’t evoke such feeling because they’re not great at managing emotions.”
He shoots me a look, half-amused, half-exhausted. “I’ll have to disagree with you on that. Besides… I’ll have you know, I’m capable of at least three emotions… hunger, sarcasm and panic.”
“Truly incredible,” I tease. “Men everywhere need lessons from you.”
He smiles, leaning back in the seat, his hand finding mine on the console. It’s a move that’s strange given our recent reconnection and yet feels totally natural, like our digits should have crossed long ago. “Thanks for being there,” he says, head rolling to look at me. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you until I looked up and saw you laughing in the corner.”