Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Got lost in girl talk and a wonderful Weissburgunder that Jason recommended,” I say, sinking onto the swing beside him.
He chuckles, arm coming around my shoulders to pull me in for a gentle kiss. “Dangerous combination. All good at the diner today?”
“Yeah… it’s running smoothly. Muriel’s starting to come in and do some oversight management and a few employees have really stepped up to the plate. How was your day?”
“It was quiet,” he says thoughtfully. “I wrote all day… sitting right at my new desk. It was very productive.”
“I’m glad you’re settling into all of it. Did Derek get that Good Morning America spot booked?”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, but only after I refused to go to New York for a studio interview. He about had a fit, but it turns out, they’re willing to come here so they can show the whole country boy, masculine author in his native environment. That’s what makes the story, according to Derek. A producer is coming tomorrow to shoot something called B-roll footage and get background on me.”
“Wow,” I murmur at the implications. “Fame is sneaking up on you.”
“Yeah, and not sure I like it. I’m going to have to play this all by ear.”
“You’re going to be fabulous at managing it, I promise.”
The swing creaks gently as we rock. It’s peaceful, too peaceful, and that’s probably why my nerves start buzzing.
He glances sideways. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
I lift a shoulder. “Been thinking about tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that.”
“And one day, the day will come that you’ll head back to DC.”
“Yeah,” I murmur softly. “Muriel needs me less. And that means leaving this behind. It means leaving you behind and I’m not liking that.”
“I’m not liking it either,” he admits. “But I know how much your career means to you. You’ve got a lot to consider.”
“And how do you feel about it?” I ask hesitantly.
“I don’t want you to go,” he admits, and the relief makes me dizzy. “But I can’t ask you to stay. I’ll never ask you to give up your dreams for me.”
Even if he’s one of my dreams, I think to myself.
“I’m struggling,” I admit, not feeling the slightest bit foolish about exposing my insecurities. I trust him. “I love my job. I love the city. But… my feelings for you are running pretty deep. I don’t know how those things fit together.”
He takes a slow breath, looking out at the horizon. “You’ve got wings, Penny,” he says softly. “And I’ve got roots. It’s going to be hard to meet in the middle. Maybe one of us just learns to reach higher… or dig a little deeper.”
My throat tightens. “You’re such a poet… you make it sound so easy.”
He smiles faintly. “Nothin’ worth keepin’ ever is.”
We fall quiet again, the swing moving in slow rhythm. I watch the fireflies flicker across the yard, little bursts of light that appear and vanish before you can decide if they were real. The kind of beauty you have to accept is temporary, but you know it will be back tomorrow.
Something heavy and hopeful twists in my chest. Sam reaches over, links his fingers with mine, his thumb tracing idle circles against my skin.
“I don’t know if I can stay put,” I whisper. He squeezes my hand, gaze steady on the fireflies dancing through the dark. “And I can’t ask you to leave.”
I stare at him, wanting him to push me to ask him to let go of Whynot. Instead, he leans in and kisses me. A soft touch, then his tongue slides in my mouth and I groan from the contact.
With his lips against mine, he rumbles, “How about we put that on the back burner and you let me take you to bed?”
“Would there be orgasms involved?” I ask with a smirk.
“More than one, you lucky girl,” he says, and just like that, I forget about roots and wings.
CHAPTER 19
Sam
The first thing I feel when I wake up is warmth and I admit it’s not a chore to find a beautiful woman wrapped around me. Penny’s hair is a copper spill across my chest, one arm flung over me like she’s claiming territory. I like that more than I dare admit.
My thoughts strangely don’t focus on the fact that she’s very naked and very accessible, and that we did dirty things to each other last night, proving that we are like peas and carrots in bed. Rather, I think about how we’ve talked about roots and wings. For all the ways we’re perfect for each other, that’s a difference I’m not sure we can overcome.
I trace my fingers along the line of her arm, careful not to wake her, and think about what it means to want something you can’t keep. She has a whole life in DC—a career that lights her up from the inside. I’d never forgive myself for asking her to stay, not when I know how hard she’s fought to build what she’s got. But damn if it doesn’t hurt to imagine her gone.