“Penny. Pull. Over.”
I do, but my heart’s hammering as he jumps out and strides toward the group of protestors like a man marching into his own intervention.
The crowd parts when they see him. Murmurs ripple down the line. And then, because Whynot loves spectacle, one voice rises above the rest.
“Well, if it isn’t the sinner himself!”
“Fuck,” I drawl under my breath as I rush after him.
Sam’s mom is front and center, clutching a sign that saysBooks of Lust Have No Place in God’s Town. Her expression is a mix of righteous indignation and maternal betrayal.
“Mama?” Sam says with exasperation. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t you mama me!” she fires back. “Do you know how humiliated your father and I are? How could you write something like this? Dirty books!”
Sam looks irritated, but he holds his composure. “They’re romance novels.”
“They’re filth, Samuel Peter Rochelle!” She cuts a glance at me as I come to stand at his side. “I raised you better than this!”
He blows out a breath of frustration and rakes a hand through his hair. “I was on my way to tell you when I saw this going on in town. Wait a minute… how did you even find out?”
That’s a good question because the only two residents of Whynot who know this about Sam are me and Pap, and I know neither of us would reveal that secret.
Her eyes flash. “Delores Jenkins’s sister Beth Ann was in Raleigh visiting her grandbaby, and she stopped in that bookstore for a latte. She saw your name on those books and nearly dropped dead when she saw you. She called Delores, who called Betty Sue, who told Patty at the salon, who told her husband, who told his mama, who called me!”
Sam blinks. “That’s… impressive.”
She sniffs. “Sin moves fast, son. Faster than gossip, and that’s saying something.”
The old gossip mill.
Not the most reliable way to find out the news, but it’s existed for hundreds of years, I’m sure.
I bite the inside of my cheek to contain my laugh—it would’ve popped out if not for the fatigue I see etched in Sam’s features.
He tries to reason with her. “Mama, I’m not writing anything bad. My stories are about people falling in love. There’s hope, redemption, emotion—”
“There’s fornication,” she hisses.
“There’s consent,” he counters, exasperated. “And context. And—Mama, have you even read one?”
“Of course not!” she says, horrified. “I don’t fill my head with trash.”
“Maybe you should,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “And his writing is amazing. There’s nothing wrong with fiction about two consenting adults who choose to have a loving, intimate relationship.”
Because honestly… that’s probably where Sam and I are headed, if evidenced by the way he’s kissed me so far.
Sam whips me a look likePlease don’t, but I just shrug.
His mom gasps and clutches her chest. “Oh, I am praying for you both.”
“You tell him, Nancy.”
“Your father’s at home lying down,” she continues dramatically. “His blood pressure shot right up. The mannearly fainted when he heard!”
“I’m sure he’ll pull through,” Sam says dryly.
“Don’t get smart with me, young man! You need to put a stop to this foolishness immediately.”
