He sits up straighter, taking it in. “Not bad? Sam, this place isArchitectural Digestporn. You were a fool for not moving in right away.”
“Wasn’t ready,” I admit.
“You were hiding,” he corrects. “But that’s over, right?”
“It’s over,” I concur. “I’ve got to move some stuff over from my other place and you can help with that.”
“I don’t do manual labor,” Derek grumbles.
“Sure you do,” I reply with a pointed look that saysYou’re going to do whatever needs to be done to get me where I need to be. “Your duties include moving me into my new house, which is representative of my new life you want me to accept.”
We step inside, and as usual, it’s difficult for me to comprehend this is mine. I imagine one day it will feel natural, but today is not that day.
Derek drops his bag in the foyer, turns in a slow circle, and whistles again. “I’m serious. This is movie star territory. We should be filming your reveal video right here.”
I give him a pointed look. “Not everything has to be a spectacle.”
“Oh, it does,” he insists. “You’re stepping into the spotlight, Sam. Own it. This”—he gestures to the vaulted ceiling, the gleaming floors, the light pouring in from the windows—“is the new you. Successful, mysterious, untouchable.”
“I’m not mysterious.”
“You’re a six-foot-two romance author who looks like he should chop firewood shirtless,” Derek says. “Lean into it.”
I shake my head, amused despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it,” he says,heading straight for the kitchen like he owns the place. “Now pour me coffee. We’ve got work to do.”
For the next two hours, Derek walks me through all the ways in which my life is about to change. The Raleigh signing this weekend is only the start, and by the time I do the press tour for my book releasing next month, my life will be radically different.
He must be able to tell I’m overwhelmed because he says, “You know… we can do a soft launch today, if you want. A video on social media—”
“What do you mean video?” I ask, subconsciously running my hand through my facial hair that hasn’t been touched in a few days.
Derek raises his phone like a director about to shoutAction!“Think dramatic music, close-up of your hands typing, maybe a slow-motion shot of you walking across that porch with a mug of coffee. We’ll caption it ‘Meet S. P. Rochelle.’”
“Hard pass.”
He grins. “You say that now but wait until you see the engagement numbers. Readers eat that stuff up.”
“You know I’m not really into this rebranding thing, right? I just want to start living an authentic life.”
Derek takes a long sip, assessing me over the rim. “Sam, it’s not a rebrand. It’s an evolution. You’ve been a mystery for years—fans have built entire Reddit threads debating whether you’re a woman, a man or a collectiveof elves. You stepping into the spotlight doesn’t erase that. It amplifies it. The curiosity doubles.”
“Curiosity,” I repeat. “That’s one word for it.”
“You’re nervous,” he observes, not unkindly.
I shrug. “Wouldn’t you be? I’m about to show my face to the world after hiding behind a pen name for years. That’s a lot of mystery to ruin.”
He chuckles and sets his cup down on the counter. “You’re not ruining anything. You’re humanizing it. Readers want to connect, and when they see you—when they realize S. P. Rochelle is a real guy from a small town who happens to write sweeping fantasy romances about love and loss—it’s going to make them fall even harder for you.”
I massage my jaw again, uncertain.
“You built this life, Sam. Literally. You wrote your way into this house, this view, this freedom. Now you just have to own it.”
“I’m trying,” I say quietly.
He turns, his tone softening. “I know. That’s why I’m here—to make sure the world catches up with you. We can skip the video and just focus on the Raleigh signing. Oh, and I arranged for security at the event.”
