Another beat of silence, then a resigned sigh. “Fine. You win. I’ll book a flight and come down in a couple of days. But I swear, if I end up in a Hallmark movie, I’m billing you for therapy.”
“Deal,” I say, and hang up before he can talk himself out of it.
The phone feels heavy in my hand, like the weight of everything I just agreed to is catching up. I set it down, the screen going black, and stare out the kitchen window.
The morning’s gone quiet again. Outside, sunlight filters through the oaks, dappling the lawn. A pair of wrens dart across the porch rail, and that ordinary little movement hits me harder than it should.
Because this is it. This is me, saying yes to the thing I’ve been running from.
A press tour means stepping out of the shadows. It means the world knowing S. P. Rochelle isn’t some mysterious woman but a bartender from Whynot who’s been writing about love and sex and supernatural creatures in secret for years.
It means my parents will find out. My friends. Pap.The entire town.
But it also means finally being seen—for all of it.
I glance down at my phone again, half expecting it to light up with Penny’s name. She doesn’t know what I just did, but it feels like she’s the reason I could do it at all.
I grab my coffee and walk through the house barefoot, my steps echoing faintly on the hardwood. In my office, I sit down behind my desk. I’ve never written here, but I expect that will change as well. I start to make a mental list of what I need to do to move in completely.
People will eventually find out about this place. I’ll have to tell my parents, and while they might be boggled about it, I can almost hear my mama telling her church friends, “That house was built on sin.”
That alone will ripple through the gossip mill like a tsunami coming on shore.
Whynot’s not exactly the kind of place that embraces scandal—or creativity, for that matter. We’re proud of our church bazaars and barbecue cook-offs, not romance novels about queens and fae princes who wield swords and fall in love mid-battle.
But there will be a few who’ll embrace it. Pap is one. He’s about honor, discipline and Marine precision, but he’s one of the most progressive men I’ve ever known. Plus, he doesn’t think sex is a sin.
And I’ll need to tell him soon because embracing thislife as an author means I’m going to have to walk away from Chesty’s. At least from one side of the bar.
Once this announcement hits, everything will change. The anonymity I’ve guarded for years will vanish. There will be interviews, photo shoots, people picking apart what I look like, how I sound, how I smile.
Part of me wants to crawl back into bed and pretend I never made that call.
But then I think of Penny again—her grin, that spark of awe when she flipped throughThe Shadow Princess. The way she saidextraordinary,like she meant it.
The thought steadies me.
She was so alive in this space. Like the house had been waiting for someone exactly like her to walk into it and make it real.
I rub a hand over my jaw and smile, faint and private.
I want to see her again.
Not just to tell her about the press tour, though that’s part of it.
But because she’s the only person who’s ever made me feel like what I do matters—and I need that right now.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and scroll to her name, having exchanged information last night before she got out of my truck.
She picks up on the third ring, her voice light and bright, although slightly harried. “Hey, Sam!”
“Is this a bad time?” I ask, because I know she’s elbow deep in customers and biscuits.
“It’s all good. Got a full staff today, so I’m more of the conductor. What’s going on?”
“So…,” I say, letting the word hang to create a little suspense. “I called my agent, Derek, this morning. I agreed to do this huge press tour that they’ve been after me to do when my next book releases.”
“Whoa,” she murmurs. There’s a pause, and then a rush of warmth in her tone. “That’s pretty big.”
