He studies me for a beat. “About what?”
I shrug. “Everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Didn’t think you’d want the real one.”
He casually props an elbow over the back of his chair. “Try me.”
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. “She’s been gone a week, and it feels like I left half my brain behind in Whynot.”
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “Penny.”
The way he says her name—half question, half judgment—grates.
“Don’t do that,” I warn.
“Do what?”
“Say her name like she’s a bad investment.”
Derek winces. “I didn’t mean itthat way. It’s just—” He gestures helplessly. “You’ve got this once-in-a-lifetime career opportunity, and you look like a man at a funeral.”
I pick up my beer, stare into the foam. “Maybe because success feels weird when the person you want to celebrate it with is hundreds of miles away.”
He’s quiet for a second. “I’m sorry, man. Love is wasted on a skeptic like me, but I do know this… I don’t like seeing you so out of sorts. Can you squeeze in a visit soon? Somewhere in between press stops?”
I laugh, the low, mirthless type that makes it clear that’s a ridiculous question. “We tried to find a weekend to see each other and between our two very hectic travel schedules, the earliest we could both manage was five weeks from now.”
“That’s not good,” he murmurs.
“I hate this goddamn situation,” I growl, pushing my plate away.
Derek’s eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t comment. He takes a long sip of beer, then sets it down with a sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to suggest this, but you don’t have to stay in Whynot.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“You could move to DC.”
I laugh, certain he’s joking. “You’re the one who told me to keep my roots planted. Said my whole brand was built on small-town charm and biscuits.”
“Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug, “DC has biscuits. Probably overpriced, but still.” He glances around the restaurant, then back to me. “Look, you’ll be in New York constantly with this deal. DC is closer, easier travel, better airports. You love Whynot, but let’s be honest—you’re barely going to be there. You can write anywhere, Sam. The stories live in you, not your ZIP code.”
The thought lands like a spark in dry grass. I stare at him, mind whirring.
Icanwrite anywhere.
Icouldbe with Penny.
Idon’thave to stay in Whynot to keep the small-town author charm that’s been part of my branding.
The ache in my chest twists, turning into something else—energy, maybe. Purpose.
“You’re serious?” I ask.
“Dead serious.” He lifts a shoulder. “And who knows… maybe your romances will get even better with love fueling you.”
I lean back, imagining it—waking up beside her, writing in the mornings while she’s at work, having dinner together at night. A normal life.
