A table has been set up in the back of the store near the romance section and velvet ropes have been placed to guide the crowd.
Jesus… a crowd so big it needs to be guided?
I’m currently waiting in the employee break room, but I can peek through the door and see my signing table. It’s covered in a white cloth and has stacks of my upcoming release,The Ruin of Gods. There’s a fancy pen on the table and a small, framed sign that readsS. P. Rochelleprinted in elegant black script.
I’ll never admit to a single soul that I practiced my signature last night to make sure it looked all right.
Well, I might admit that to Penny. She wouldn’t make fun of me but rather empathize first—and then tease me about it.
Speaking of Penny… I glance at my watch. She should be here any minute.
Until then, I take up nervous pacing, but the break room is so small that I can go no more than three steps before having to turn around.
Derek bursts in, phone in one hand and a grin that’s about three sizes too smug. “You’re not going to believe this. There’s a line out the door. Down the block. They’re wrapping around the corner.”
“Seriously?” I ask, my stomach dropping and then settling into a more turbulent swell of nausea.
“Seriously,” he exclaims with excitement. “We’re talking full-on mob of book lovers. Half of them are holding some of your past releases—the other half are holding cameras. This is the real deal, Sam. You’re officially a thing.”
I drag a hand through my hair, my palm damp. “A thing,” I repeat, because it’s all my brain can manage. “That’s terrifying.”
Derek laughs. “You’ll be fine.”
I glance down at the outfit I chose. Derek and I had fought about the options. He wanted me in skinny pants and loafers, which I emphatically shot down. I explained that not only did I want to be comfortable, but I wantedto be me.
In the end, I got him to acquiesce to let me wear jeans, a black Jack Daniels T-shirt and black cowboy boots, and the only reason he agreed to it is that it shows off my chest and arm muscles and the women will love it.
He looks me up and down and waves his hand. “You’ve got that whole brooding romance author meets hot cowboy vibe going for you.”
“Pretty sure the vibe is scared man about to pass out in a bookstore.”
He ignores me, glancing at his watch. “Just remember—these people aren’t here to judge you. They’re fans. They love what you do.”
“Right,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “Fans.”
What I don’t say is that I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on the edge of something huge. This isn’t just a signing. It’s when I stop hiding. It’s my trial run out of anonymity and after my photo is released tomorrow on social media, I predict it will be around Whynot in about five seconds.
My phone buzzes and I grab it out of my pocket, relieved to see a text from Penny.Parking now. Be there in 5.
Relief hits me like a lungful of air. I choose the heart emoji on her message and turn to Derek. “Penny’s here.Go out and meet her at the door so she can come back.”
Derek frowns at me. He learned about this new girl in my life when I told him I couldn’t join him for dinner since I had my date at Clementine’s. Then I told him I wanted a ticket for Penny to come, but he told me there weren’t any more. I told him to figure a way to get her in here and he said he’d try. I told him don’t try,do, because if she’s not here, I’m not going out there. That led to a discussion about Penny with Derek asking about her, but he didn’t seem overly interested in my answers. Which is no bother on me. Derek’s a friend and my agent, but he’s not a confidant.
“You can’t afford distractions right now,” Derek says cautiously. “I mean… I know you know this, but it bears repeating. This is the biggest launch of your career. We’re talking late-night TV, big press, interviews with people who’ve never even read a romance in their life but love a good tagline. You need to keep your head in the game.”
I look over to him in question. “You think Penny’s a distraction?”
“I think she’s… timing.” He gestures vaguely toward the door, where the hum of the crowd filters through. “And the timing’s not great. You’re about to go from small-town secret to national spotlight. I just don’t want to see you screw this up.”
I cross my arms, voice even but firm. “I can handleboth. I’m not letting one good thing cancel out another.”
“Sam.” His tone softens, but the concern stays. “I’ve seen this happen before. You get caught up, the career momentum stalls, the personal stuff implodes, and next thing you know, I’m chasing you down for deadlines while you’re writing poetry about heartbreak.”
My jaw tightens. “You done?”
He exhales through his nose. “I’m just saying—don’t let yourself get knocked off track.”
“You’re my agent.” I nod toward the door. “I depend on you to handle that shit out there. But you don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t handle, Derek. Or who I can or can’t see. You’re not my keeper.”
