“And no one knows? Not even your family?”
He meets my gaze. “You’re the only one.”
My heart does a little stutter. I cover it with a sip of beer. “You can’t keep this hidden forever, Sam. It’s too wonderful not to share.”
He looks down at the condensation ring under his bottle. “Whynot’s a good place, but it’s also… small. People talk. Folks here have strong opinions about what’s decent. I don’t want to spend every grocery trip defending book covers.”
“Or sex scenes.” I grin.
“Exactly. Last thing I need is a bunch of scandalized church ladies telling me I’m going to hell every time I run into one.”
“I think you have to suffer that.” I sweep my hand toward the gleaming kitchen, the wide windows, the life he’s quietly built. “You should be proud of this—it’s amazing. You worked for it, you earned it. You can’t let someone else’s judgment make you shrink.”
He studies me for a long beat. “You always this fiery?”
“Only when thoroughly compromised by admiration. Seriously, Sam… this is all kinds of amazing and should be shared with all your friends and family.”
That earns a slow grin, the kind that hooks in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I rest my chin in my hand, watching him. “Fuck anyone who thinks it’s wrong.”
Sam’s eyes flare wide at my vulgarity, but he chuckles. “You really think that?”
“I know that.” I tilt my head, smiling. “Besides, if Whynot can handle Pap dating Sissy Givens, and Floyd supporting Morri’s drag shows, they can survive finding out Sam Rochelle writes steamy bestsellers.”
That gets a real laugh, bright and full, and he leans back against the counter, looking at me like I just rewrote his gravity. “You’ve got a way of making the world sound simple.”
“Not simple,” I say. “Just fair.”
He stares at me. “It feels good to share this with someone. The success, that is.”
Something soft twists inside me. “I’m honored,” I say, and mean it.
He nods once, looking down at the bottle in his hands, and for a heartbeat, the world feels suspended—just the two of us and all the unsaid things hovering in the air.
CHAPTER 7
Sam
Sunlight leaks throughthe bare windows, sneaking in through my eyelids until they’re forced to flutter open. I’m briefly disoriented.
The ceiling’s too high and the air smells of new paint. There’s no clatter from my duplex neighbor, and hell… even the mattress feels too comfortable.
And then I remember.
I’m in my new home.
Myhome.
I stayed here last night, for the very first time.
I let my gaze drift to the crown molding, a design I picked out myself. Just as I picked out every color of paint, every piece of furniture, and will eventually pick out future artwork.
I slept in my house, and it has been almost a year in the making—from the purchase of the property to construction to the final stages of filling it with all the things to make it livable.
I’ve long told myself I wasn’t ready to move in—that I liked the simplicity of my small place in town, but the truth is, I knew that living here meant I needed to embrace my full life.
I had to accept the new Sam Rochelle.
