The entire crowd goes still.
Then, for good measure, I add, “They’re just good for the circulation!”
Sam groans, laughing as he buries his face in my neck and squeezes me. “You’re gonna get us run out of town.”
“Maybe.” I grin, pulling away from him. “But at least we’ll go viral.”
I start walking backward toward my car, keeping my gaze on him because he looks too good to walk away from. And the way he’s staring at me makes me feel lighter than I’ve ever felt before. I remember that buzzy feeling when I got my job offer and moved to DC. I walked the streets feeling like nothing could hold me down.
This feels even better.
Just looking at this man makes me feel that way, andit intrigues as much as it worries me. I’m concerned that I’ve never felt this way about another man and yet, I don’t want to turn away from it.
Sam points at me. “What time are you going to be done at the diner?”
I continue my backward walk. “Close to nine.”
“Come by my place? I’ll have a good bottle of wine, and we’ll celebrate my coming out.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, and when he winks at me, I have to turn away or else I’ll die from the euphoria of it all.
CHAPTER 14
Sam
The road tomy parents’ house is the same as it’s always been—two lanes of faded blacktop, shouldered by ditches, blackberry bramble, and rusted mailboxes. I drive with the radio off so I can hear the parts of my head that are arguing.
My life has flipped upside down, twisted, and then flipped again—between me coming out to my fans, the entire town losing their shit over my books and my longtime crush on Penny that has turned into something tangible. Last night when we kissed, it wasn’t fireworks. It was quieter than that—steady, easy, like a door I thought had been locked swinging open. Penny laughed into my mouth once, and I felt it everywhere.
She then showed up for me at the signing today and vocally put those protestors in their place. The woman is amazing and sexy and kind, and man, am I crazy about her.
Which is exactly why my foot keeps easing off the gasthe closer I get to my folks’. She’s leaving in a few weeks. Washington has her name on a door and Whynot has mine carved into it with a pocketknife. I don’t want to be stupid about this—don’t want to be the man who falls hard, waves at taillights, and pretends it doesn’t hurt.
It begs the question… continue on or cool off?
The road turns to gravel a mile past the church. My parents’ place sits back under a stand of pines, a gray rancher with a porch Paw Paw helped build before I was a gleam in my daddy’s eye. Mama’s azaleas are still showing off, even though they shouldn’t be because everything here refuses to mind a calendar.
I park next to my daddy’s truck. For a stupid second, I consider backing out and driving until the questions get quieter, but I know this can’t wait any longer.
A text chimes and I grab my phone from the passenger seat and see it’s from Derek.Good luck. You got this. Also, I got a call from the Ginny Norton Show. They want to book you.
I have no clue who that is, only that in order to calm Derek down from the protesting, I had to remind him that he has more important things to do, like market me to the world. That seemed to work, and by the time I left him at Millie’s, he seemed to be trucking along.
I don’t reply and instead, kill the engine, roll my shoulders, and go open the door I’ve been walking through my whole life.
Mama stands there in her housedress, glasses on achain around her neck, but I note she’s still wearing her pearls, always the jewelry of choice for moral outrage. I know the Bible tucked under one arm is for my benefit. Her mouth pulls tight when she sees me, then loosens into a line that’s not quite a smile.
“Samuel.”
“Hey, Mama.”
She steps aside, tilts her head to accept a kiss on her cheek, which I suppose is progress. I smell a pot roast in the background and Daddy sits in his recliner like he was poured into it, remote in one hand, TV muted on an episode ofWheel of Fortune.
“Sam,” he says with a nod. That’s as warm as he gets when he’s bracing.
I take the end of the couch. The cushion gives the same way it always has and there’s a dent where I used to fall asleep after Friday night games, cleats by the door, grass stains making Mom sigh and smile in the same breath. Nothing in this room has moved except me.
Mom settles in the rocker, Bible on her lap, fingers smoothing the ribbon marker as if it gives her comfort. She then looks to my dad. “Roy… tell your son that I am thoroughly embarrassed by this.”
