“Security?” I repeat. “What the hell for? I’m not Taylor Swift.”
He smirks. “You’d be surprised what rabid romantasy fans will do for a signed copy and a photo op. Trustme, you’ll thank me when someone with a fake sword tries to hug you.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, my fingertips lightly circling my temple. I lean against the island, the reality of it starting to settle in. “Three hundred people.”
“Three hundred and counting,” he corrects. “Remember the waiting list.”
I let out a low whistle. “You’re not making this less terrifying.”
“Good. A healthy amount of fear builds character.”
“Pretty sure I have enough character for one lifetime.”
He ignores me, launching into the next item. “After Raleigh, we’ll do the official press reveal. I’ve hired a publicist and she has a schedule lined up with online interviews, podcasts, and—wait for it—a TikTok Live withThe Spicy Page Sage.”
I groan. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack. She’s the biggest fantasy romance influencer on the planet. Her lives get half a million views in an hour. She wears elf ears and you’ll love her.”
I ignore the elf-ear comment. “Half a million people watching me talk about kissing scenes?”
He smirks. “Or sword-fighting, or both, depending on how spicy you’re feeling. The point is, this is your moment. You’ve built something incredible, and it’s time to show the world.”
I can feel the weight of it pressing in, equal parts thrilling and suffocating. “This is it,” I murmur. “No going back.”
“None,” Derek says, not missing a beat. “You’re about to become a household name. Fans will know your face, reporters will call, your books will fly off shelves. This is the start of your second act.”
I try to picture it. Pap shaking his head with that half smile that means he’s proud but pretending not to be. Floyd organizing a betting pool on how many church ladies faint. My mother, sitting in the front pew Sunday morning, praying for my soul between hymns.
The image makes me smile and ache all at once.
It also makes me want to talk to Penny, and a phone call doesn’t seem good enough. But first, I think it’s time I brought my parents in on this secret of mine, which is about to get blown wide open.
I pull my keys from my pocket. “I’ve got to run an errand.”
“Where to?” he asks.
“To none of your damn business,” I reply, shooting him a wink. “I’ll be back soon.”
CHAPTER 10
Penny
The breakfast rushhas finally sputtered out, leaving the diner in a blessed lull where we can catch our breath. While the kitchen gears up for the lunch crowd and Ruby, our longest tenured waitress, covers the stragglers, I work on tallying receipts and making notes for the next supply stock.
The bell over the door jingles—the universal welcome sound for all Whynot businesses—and I glance up to greet the next customer with a smile, only to have my insides turn to butterflies when Sam strolls in. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a red flannel that looks too good for how ordinary it is—and an expression that says he’s in need of something important.
“Well, look what the wind blew in,” I say, grinning. “You look like a man in need of pie.”
His smile lights up as he heads my way, plopping down on the counter stool closest to the register. One heel propped on a stool leg, the other stretched long tothe side, and yeah… his jeans pull nicely against his muscles.
Sam leans a forearm on the counter, mischief flickering across his expression. “You don’t even know my ailment.”
“Don’t need to because pie is a cure-all for everything.” I grab a clean plate and a knife, slice into the apple crumb that many people swear is the reason half this town stays civil and slide it in front of him. “On the house. Doctor’s orders.”
He lifts a brow. “You a doctor now?”
“Of dessert therapy? Board certified.”
