“We did?”Stevie said, catching up.
“I’ll see you at work after I get Beaufort squared away.I’m sorry I made you rush over,” Corinthia added, feeling a bit silly for all the fuss.
“Oh, no problem.How else would I hear stories about you getting naughty in the library and having the Refuge crash your yard?”
“I did not get naughty in the library, thank you very much.”
“Don’t worry,” Stevie said.“It was only a natural phenomenon!”
Corinthia pretended she hadn’t heard.
It was a busy morning at work, thanks to the local author festival taking place that day.The library didn’t need quiet to be peaceful, and in fact Corinthia welcomed the extra bustle as a pleasant distraction.The plan for the day included a free-flowing meet-and-greet with the authors, followed by lunch for the authors, then a public panel where visitors could ask the authors questions.The day would finish up with a special guided hike for the guest authors, led by Stevie and Corinthia.
Corinthia loved a good plan.
Local writers were allocated tables all around the center of the library.They unfurled their pop-up banners, arranged their stacks of books, and sat behind their tables with expressions of anticipation.
Patrons browsed the tables and wandered into the stacks, and all in all the robust chatter made a nice change to the usual hum of the fluorescent lights.
The Shadow Ridge Library was short on clerks that day, so Corinthia took it upon herself to put some of the returned books back on the shelves.She wheeled one of the small carts into the fiction section and set to work, straightening the already-shelved books as she went and tweaking the angle of the single books that were on display in the empty shelf spaces.
She shelved the rest of the books on the cart, put the cart away, and took a turn around the local author festival.There were thriller, mystery, and romance writers; children’s book authors; and a few local history buffs and self-help gurus as well.They sold books, signed them, and chatted with the library patrons who browsed the tables.
To thank the visiting authors and provide them with a midday break, the library ordered in from an Italian restaurant.The breakroom tables were covered with trays of baked ziti, chicken parmigiana, and eggplant parmigiana, plus cheese bread and antipasto salad, and if all that wasn’t enough, there were boxes of Italian cookies and cannoli.
Corinthia was sorely tempted by the cannoli.But she refrained, nobly—in the knowledge that if there were some left over, she might partake of one.Or two.
When the authors had finished their lunch, it was time to host the author panel.Corinthia made the announcement over the loudspeaker and headed to the meeting room, where tables and chairs had been arranged ahead of time.The Refuge peeked in the windows, and birds flitted past.
The authors filed in and took their seats behind the table at the front of the room, and the audience shuffled in after.Many of the attendees held notebooks and pens for note-taking.
Corinthia welcomed everyone and introduced each of the authors.Though she used their names to the audience, secretly she had labeled them Mr.Thriller, Ms.Mystery, and Ms.Romance, like characters in a game of Clue but with book genres instead of colors.
Mr.Thriller wrote airport-style books in which a lone man faced down sinister assassins, kidnappers, and government-toppling villains, all of whom could be dispatched in the nick of time with a few well-placed bullets and pithy catchphrases.His latest was calledDark Mountain Danger.
Ms.Mystery wrote cozy sewing-themed mysteries filled with small-town charm, sewing puns, and cat sidekicks.Her most popular book wasMeasure Twice, Stab Once.
Ms.Romance specialized in romance books with witches, vampires, and fairies; occasionally, demons and angels made an appearance.She had broken onto the scene with a steamy paranormal romantic comedy calledGood Witches Make Good Neighbors.
Corinthia opened the floor to questions and immediately got the old chestnut, “Where do you get your ideas?”
Mr.Thriller jumped in.“My books are ripped straight from the headlines.Just turn on the news andbam!There’s a story idea.”He nodded toward the romance author.“She probably doesn’t need any of that.Boy meets girl, yada-yada-yada, there you go.”
Ms.Romance looked ready to respond but words tumbled out of Corinthia’s mouth before she could think to stop them: “Are you saying romance is simpler than thrillers?”
“It’s a formula,” Mr.Thriller replied easily.
“And thrillers aren’t?”
The audience had perked up, and several people were leaning slightly forward in their chairs.
“Well, maybe,” he admitted.“But at least they don’t give women unrealistic expectations, am I right?”
“What unrealistic expectations?”Corinthia asked.“Women’s happiness?Women’s pleasure?”
All heads in the audience swiveled to Mr.Thriller.
“Now we’re getting to why women really read those books,” he said.
