Sam.

~~~

The next morning, I woke early, my mind a jumbled mess. It wasn't just the events of the previous night weighing on me, but the thought of my book signing later that day. Breakfast with Rose didn't do much to settle my nerves, but at least Alyssa had promised to come along for support. I appreciated that more than I could say.

With a tray of food and drinks in my hands, I made my way to the guest room where Alyssa was staying. We hadn't talked much since I got back, and with Mom constantly lurking, any conversations we had were surface-level at best. I knocked on her door and waited for an answer.

"Please enter," Alyssa called from the other side.

I couldn't help but smile at her formal tone as I pushed the door open. "Please enter? Seriously?" I raised an eyebrow, stepping inside.

She shrugged, barely looking up from her phone as she lay sprawled on the bed. "I thought it might be Amber. You know I don't know how to act around her."

"Well, it's just me," I said, still lingering by the doorway.

"Are you going to come in, or are you just planning to hover?" she teased, arching an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes but stepped forward, setting the tray down in the middle of her bed. Alyssa sat up, propping herself against the pillows, while I took a seat at the edge and grabbed a cup of coffee.

"So," Alyssa began, picking at the raisins on a bun roll, "why did Tom leave the house soaking wet yesterday?"

I groaned, already dreading the retelling. "It's a long story."

"I've got time," she said with a shrug, biting into her roll and gesturing for me to spill.

"He kissed me," I admitted, my voice unsteady as I took a sip of my coffee.

Alyssa's eyes widened theatrically. "I'm shocked!" she deadpanned, rolling her hand in a circle to nudge me to explain.

I sighed. "So, I accidentally pushed him into the pool."

Alyssa choked out a laugh. "Right. Accidentally." She mimed quotation marks with her fingers. "So, the new guy wins?"

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips as I thought of Ray. "The new guy wins."

Her curiosity piqued, and Alyssa leaned closer. "Tell me about him."

I hesitated for a moment, savoring the memory. "We met at the party. His name is Raymond."

"Mom already told me his name. Is he hot?" she asked bluntly, her tone gleeful.

I grinned. "Do you want to see him?"

"Obviously," she said, tilting her head expectantly.

Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through the photos Ray and I had taken in Paris until I found one of him sitting at a café, looking effortlessly cool. I turned the screen toward Alyssa, who squinted at it like she was examining a piece of fine art.

"That's the vocalist from Purple Rain," she said, smirking.

I laughed. "Yes."

"If you're faking a boyfriend, you should pick someone less famous," she teased.

"I'm not faking anything!" I protested, but she waved me off.

"Sam, even pop music fans know Purple Rain. They're blowing up, especially with teens like me. But Mom and Dad won't know, so you'll probably get away with the lie."

"He's not a lie!" I said, exasperation creeping into my voice.

Alyssa grabbed my phone again, zooming in on the photo. "I'll give you points for excellent Photoshop skills. I didn't know you had it in you."

"I don't!" I snapped. "You seriously don't believe me?"

"That you met Raymond Lawrence at a party and started dating him?" she asked, her expression flat. "No, Sam. I don't believe you."

I wagged my finger at her, forcing a playful tone. "You're going to regret that later."

"Look, Sam," she said, her voice softening just a fraction. "I get that you don't want Tom. God only knows why you ever loved him in the first place." She shook her head like it was an unsolvable mystery. "And if, by some miracle, you really are dating the guy from Purple Rain, I'll apologize."

"You'll be eating your words," I said, grinning as I grabbed my coffee.

"Sure, we'll see," she replied, smirking as she leaned back against the pillows, her skepticism firmly intact.

I sipped my coffee, letting the warm bitterness settle on my tongue as I glanced at Alyssa. "So, how do you even know about Purple Rain?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My boyfriend's obsessed with them," she replied casually, lifting her tea to her lips. "He introduced me to their music, and honestly, most of my friends are into them now too."

"You have a boyfriend?" I nearly choked, setting my cup down a little harder than I intended. "And you didn't tell me?"

"It's not like you're around much," Alyssa said, her voice soft but pointed. Her words hit me harder than I cared to admit.

I dropped my gaze to my cup, the guilt bubbling up as if it had been waiting for its moment. "I know... but I'm here now. So, tell me about him," I urged, though my voice faltered slightly.

Alyssa smirked, leaning back on her pillows. "Well, unlike some people's boyfriends, mine is very real." I narrowed my eyes at her and she waved me off. "His name is Ashton. We go to school together, and we've been seeing each other for three months now."

"Three months?" I practically shouted, my coffee almost spilling from the sudden jolt.

"You heard me." She shot me a knowing look. "And as I said, you're not exactly around."

"You could've told me over the phone," I pointed out, still trying to process the revelation.

"Oh, like you keep me updated?" she retorted, arching an eyebrow. "Speaking of secrets... what else are you hiding, Sam?"

I hesitated, glancing at the door to make sure it was shut. "This stays between us, okay?"

"Scout's honor." Alyssa crossed her heart dramatically.

I leaned in slightly. "Do you remember Scott? I brought him for Christmas one year."

"Vaguely," she said, tilting her head.

"Well, he's been stalking me," I confessed, watching her reaction closely.

Her eyes widened. "For real?"

"Yeah." I nodded, setting my empty coffee cup aside. "That's why I left Los Angeles."

"Are you moving back?" she asked, her tone more serious now.

I shook my head. "I don't think so. But with Grandma's health... I feel like I should." I paused, the weight of the thought pressing on my chest. "The thing is, I don't know what that means for Ray and me."

Alyssa groaned, throwing the covers off her legs. "Here we go again. Listen, we have to get ready if we don't want to be late." She grabbed a pile of clothes from the chair, effectively ending the conversation.

Later, I sat in the car, my fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel as I honked the horn for what felt like the hundredth time. Finally, Alyssa strolled out of the house, her phone pressed to her ear, moving at a snail's pace.

"Sorry," she said, hopping into the passenger seat. "Ashton called."

I pulled out of the driveway, my anxiety spiking with every passing minute. "I get it, but I really don't want to be late," I muttered, turning up the radio to drown out my nerves.

"It's your event. They can't start without you," Alyssa teased, flashing me a mischievous grin.

Despite myself, I laughed. "Fair point."

When we finally arrived at the bookstore, my hands were clammy against the steering wheel. I tapped my fingers restlessly, my rhythm growing more erratic.

"Stop," Alyssa said, taking my hand in hers. "The book is amazing. You've got this."

Her confidence steadied me, if only slightly. I nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the car. The air inside the bookstore was charged with excitement, but all I could feel was a gnawing sense of unease.

"There you are!" Marcy's voice rang out the moment we walked in. "You're late!"

I glanced at the clock and raised an eyebrow. "We still have half an hour, Marcy."

"Actually," she said with a sheepish grin, "you've got an hour."

"Then why did you say we were late?" Alyssa chimed in, her voice rising with irritation.

When Marcy grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the corner of the room, I barely had time to protest. Alyssa scoffed dramatically, plopping onto a couch by the window.

"Go read a book, child. Adults need to talk," Marcy quipped, her no-nonsense tone softening Alyssa's eye-roll into an amused smirk.

"We have to hurry. You need to prepare," she added, turning her full attention to me.

"I'm ready. Don't worry," I said with a laugh, though the flutter in my chest betrayed my confidence.

Marcy narrowed her eyes, scanning me from head to toe. "You look decent, Samantha. But I brought an outfit for you—and there's a stylist who will do your makeup and hair."

I shook my head firmly. "I'm not changing. I bought this dress specifically for today."

She raised a brow, her expression a blend of resignation and defiance. "Fine, keep the dress. But makeup and hair are non-negotiable. Deal?"

I sighed. "Deal."

After what felt like an eternity, I was deemed "presentable" by Marcy's standards. As the crowd trickled into the store, my nerves returned with a vengeance. The bookstore looked beautiful.

A podium stood in the center, flanked by shelves bursting with paperbacks and hardcovers. Rows of chairs filled quickly, and a table off to the side displayed stacks of "Detective Noah and the Last Case". A poster with the book cover stood nearby, announcing our names in bold lettering: A Novel by Michael Morris and Samantha Morris.

Seeing my name printed so prominently made my stomach twist. It felt surreal, overwhelming, and awkward all at once.

Marcy ascended the podium with practiced ease. She spoke about Michael—his work, his celebrated Detective Noah series, and his legacy. After ten minutes, she turned to the audience, a warm smile on her face.

"And now, please welcome Samantha Morris."

The crowd clapped politely as I approached the podium. My heart raced, my hands trembling as I clutched the stack of note cards Marcy had forced on me. I cleared my throat, staring down at the first card.

"Hi, I'm Samantha Morris," I began, my voice barely steady. "Which, I suppose, you already know since Marcy just introduced me." I glanced at her, and she shook her head slightly as if to say focus. The audience chuckled softly, but my shoulders stiffened.

"You know what? Forget this," I said, setting the cards aside and raising my head to meet the sea of faces.

"Michael was a wonderful writer, but above all, he was the best grandfather anyone could ask for," I said, my throat tightening as I spoke. "When I was little, he would read me stories and share his love of literature. That love shaped me—and my sister." I motioned to the back of the room, where Alyssa stood holding up her phone to take pictures.

I swallowed hard, glancing at the poster of the book. "When Michael was diagnosed with cancer, he made it his mission to finish this story. His last wish was to give his readers closure with the characters they loved." My voice cracked, but I pushed forward. "It was an honor to help him. I didn't feel like I deserved to have my name on the cover, but he believed in me. I miss that belief more than I can say."

For a moment, I thought I had said too much, exposed too much. My cheeks burned as I surveyed the audience. "Does anyone have questions about the book?" I asked, desperate to shift the focus. Hands shot up everywhere, and I finally let out a breath.

The Q&A flew by in a blur. Then the signing began.

The line seemed endless. My wrist ached from signing my name over and over, and my thumb twitched involuntarily. I glanced at the dwindling queue every chance I got, counting down until I could escape. Finally, a book landed in front of me with the cover open and a note scrawled inside:

Josie also has a crush on you.
Samantha.

My breath hitched. I knew that handwriting. My pulse raced as I looked up to see him. His familiar smile—bright and self-assured—sent a ripple through me.

He leaned in close, his voice low and intimate. "I'll be at the café across the street," he murmured, his warm breath brushing against my ear.

I couldn't speak. My throat felt tight, my hands trembling as I nodded wordlessly. He stepped back, leaving the book in front of me. As he walked away, I followed him with my eyes, my cheeks blazing.

The girl behind him cleared her throat, placing another book in front of me. My heart pounded, but I forced myself to focus. Still, my mind was elsewhere—already across the street, waiting for what would come next.