What’s it like to finally meet someone you’ve admired for years, someone you have come close to meeting through mutual friends but didn’t for one reason or another, and so you resigned yourself to the fact that it would never happen! Carly Simon has always been an inspiration to me through her song lyrics and through her written words, and to meet her, although for only a few minutes…. well, it was down right awesome, nerve wracking and surreal and all I hoped it would be.
After 40 years of being a fan and admirer of Carly Simon – 5 concerts (MV with Harry Connick Jr, NJ art center, Lincoln Center, the Apollo and Joe’s Pub in NYC)…
After a lifetime of both of us having a connection to Martha’s Vineyard and never ever meeting each other it finally happened on Oct 24th here in NJ at Carly’s book signing for her new book ‘Touched By The Sun’ about her long time friend ship with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.
How did this come to be after all these years? Carly has done signings of CD’s and books over the years in NYC but I’ve never been able to make them, but when it was announced she was going to be on this side of the Hudson River in New Jersey and not far from where I live, and an early evening appearance… we knew it had to be now or possibly never.
My daughter got off from work early and we left around 3 for the 6 o’clock signing. We got to Bookends in Ridgewood, NJ around 4. There were already maybe 7 people in line outside, we went into the book store to purchase our reserved copies of the book which were our tickets into the event, got a refreshment and then got in line which had swelled to about 12 people by then. I was so relieved to be near the front, and my daughter could relax knowing she had delivered me bright and early to the event. I tend to get anxious sometimes and this was absolutely one of those times. The final estimate was between 250-300 people. Around 5 they led us into the bookstore and downstairs into a large room where they had a sort of roped off maze of lanes which led up to the front of the room where there was a desk. My description is horrible but the concept was great as it kept everyone orderly and in order of how you first got in line. As in most cases when you’re in a line for awhile for something you begin chatting with those around you, some were sitting on the floor already reading Carly’s book, my daughter was knitting socks, everyone was friendly, happy and anxious for 6pm to roll around.
A little after 6 we were all led back upstairs where Carly was seated behind a desk waiting for her eager fans.
Carly looked gorgeous, she was charming, gracious and warm, she didn’t rush anyone and spoke to you like the two of you were the only ones in the room. I was afraid I would turn out to be one of those ‘gushy’ fans that says the same things she’s heard a zillion times so I practiced in my head what I wanted to say in the short amount of time I had. I did not gush, I did not blather, I did not forget my name, or hers, I was my version of cool.
I wonder if we were both thinking the same thing…
If you’re wondering why the pictures show the back of the jacket I have on, it’s from Carly’s tour in 1978 when her ‘Boys In The Trees’ album came out. I came into possession of the jacket through two mutual friends of mine and Carly’s and thought she might get a kick out of seeing it. She did.
Thank you Carly for all the years of your incredible music,your heart felt lyrics (there’s a Carly song for every emotion), and for books, you are truly an inspiration.
I will be the first to admit that I am not generally a huge fan of Christmas books. I don’t mean to come off as a Scrooge, but I totally am one, so why deny it. Christmas romances, in my experience, tend to be Christmas books with a dose of romance. Maybe this Christmas, however, is a fantastic romance that just happens to take place over several Christmases.
The second I started reading, I was hooked on these characters and their journey from the first page and devoured most of it in one sitting. Well–I read it in the dark while my husband slept. Thankfully, it is a novella and I only stayed up kind of too late instead of waaaay too late. And the book still had all the great things I’ve come to except from Nix’s work: smart characters, fantastic dialog, and a love story worth rooting for.
Maybe This Christmas is on sale today, and it is totally worth the $.99!
Two best friends. Ten Christmases. One happy ending.
When best friends Alexandra and Lucas share a first kiss on Christmas night their senior year of high school, it feels like the best years of their lives are ahead of them.
Then Alex goes off to college, and Lucas stays behind to work at his dad’s construction business in the small beach town where they grew up. Life, as they say, happens. And somewhere along the way these two high school sweethearts find they don’t have as much in common as they once did.
Lucas’s life is on Beaufort Island, and Alex is all about getting away and moving on. So he makes one of the hardest decisions of his life and lets her go.
But every year when Alex comes home for the holidays, fate conspires to reunite the two former lovebirds on Christmas Day. Year after year, through good times and bad, Lucas and Alex meet up, catch up, and reconnect on the anniversary of their first kiss.
Is it too much to hope that one year they’ll find their way back to each other permanently?
Both books do have basic Table of Contents, but they’re basically just laying out the techniques. It doesn’t seem strictly necessary to spell them out for you.
The In-Depth Look:
This is a two-fold review, if only because both books arrived at the same time from the same publisher and have so many similarities.
Both books are stitch dictionaries. Both are originally published in Japan (in 2012, I believe), and recently translated into English and published here. (Tuttle Publishing has a great “Books to Span the East and West” program.)
Yoko Hatta’s “Japanese Knitting Stitches” is primarily stitch patterns–200 of them, according to the cover. They’re beautifully photographed and well illustrated via really excellent graphs. The stitches make up about 3/4 of the book, with the back section explaining each symbol with a description of the what exactly you’re supposed to do with each symbol/stitch as you read the graph. There are a handful of project patterns at the back, but the only illustrations of them (so far as I can see) are tiny thumbnail-sized photos in the Table of Contents.
The other book, Keiko Okamoto’s “Japanese Knitting Stitches” is similar in that it is filled with stitch patterns–but they’re different. Rather than just being basic cable, lace or knit/purl patterns, these are a little more enthusiastic in their color and texture–stranded color and bobbles, and open-work. There are more elaborate projects included–only seven of them, but more intricately detailed and photographed. (That Nordic Coat is to die for!)
Both books are fantastic stitch dictionaries. Like all Japanese knitting books, they rely heavily on graphs–don’t expect elaborate written instructions–but how necessary is that, really?
Published by: Tuttle Publishing, 2019 (English Translation)
Type: Knitting for kids
The In-Depth Look:
Such a fun book!
So, when I was about nine, I remember riding my bike around our neighborhood with a ball of yarn in the basket (because I’m old enough that my childhood bicycle had a basket). I would ride for a while, and then stop in the shade of a tree and pull out my ball of yarn and finger-chain for a while before getting bored and riding some more.
Because, just making an endless chain of yarn with my fingers was cool (making something with just my fingers!), but also kind of boring because, well, it was just a chain. What good was that?
I would have adored this book.
The whole point to this book is that it’s possible to actually MAKE things using your fingers and yarn and nothing else. How can you not love that?
The fact that the things being made are adorable just makes it that much better.
I think there’s a very specific age-group meant for this book, since when you get a little older, you want to actually use knitting needles and get a little more serious (if you’re me, at least), but as a way to start? Something to play with just using your native wit and the pretty yarn your Mom buys you?
Read & Write is the third book in the Try Again series. It is an interconnected stand alone, so if you haven’t read Ethan & Juliet or Sparkle & Shine, never fear. You can dive right in to Colleen’s story on October 29th. Here’s your exclusive first look at Chapter One!
Colleen parked in the
farthest space from the entrance out of habit. That she needed to walk the
extra steps into the grocery store was ingrained. It was only one of the many habits
her mother had expected of her since childhood. The rest she imparted as
helpful text messages like an unwanted fitness app. Park as far back as you
can. Always take the stairs. Take walks on your lunch break. Always leave food
on your plate. Drink more water. Eat more vegetables than anything else. Save
sugar for special occasions.
Her mother lived by those rules. Colleen did not. That Colleen
neither kept a journal where she tracked her food intake, nor cared if her
calories burned measured more than her calories consumed had always a point of
contention between her and her mother. She’d always told Colleen that it was a
woman’s job to be conscious of her figure. A woman’s appearance affected her
place in the world. For that reason, her mother had always been quick to pick
at Colleen’s eating habits at family barbecues and church picnics. She would
criticize the food on Colleen’s plate no matter who was listening while Juliet,
Colleen’s naturally thin older sister, was allowed to eat as many pieces of pie
as she liked.
Colleen had always been on the round side of thin growing up and
had only recently crossed over into being plus-sized. A person could only
juggle so much and when she felt like her entire life had been falling apart, a
few pounds had seemed the least of her worries.
Now that she was back in Goodland though? It had been the only
thing her mother had talked about. In truth, the first few days it had almost been
a relief. She could compare step counts and food journals with her mother
instead of discussing exactly why her youngest daughter had given up her
apartment in Denver and was living in the studio above the garage.
It was only a stalling tactic. Colleen knew that. Because even if
being thin was one of her mother’s measuring sticks, it wasn’t one of Colleen’s.
No, what made Colleen feel like as failure as she tripped out of
her boat of an old Buick and into the blustery Walmart parking lot was that
she’d been asked to resign from her underwhelming day job and just flat out
fired from her “just for fun but I really need the extra money ha ha,” barista
gig. Which was bullshit. She had not been rude to that guy. She’d called him
out on staring at her boobs, which she considered harassment. But when had
anybody ever taken the woman’s side in a harassment case? Easier just to fire
her and not deal with it.
Luckily, the people at Holy Grounds, the coffee shop where Colleen
worked now, thought Colleen moving back home to Kansas from Denver showed good
sense. Which was good for, because without the tips she’d made this last week,
she wouldn’t be able to afford this trip to the grocery store.
Just like she hadn’t been able to afford much of anything since
Derek had moved out last year. Colleen shoved any thoughts of her ex out of her
mind. She didn’t have the energy to waste on him right now.
So, here Colleen was, at twenty-six, kind of, almost, not really
living with her parents and working as a barista–again. She’d left her
umbrella in a half-unpacked box by the door, so she was also getting slowly
soaked by the cold, misty October rain. Colleen pulled her denim jacket tighter
around her waist and jogged as fast as her heeled booties would let her run.
The lights were too bright, like noon in July compared to the dank
bluish gray cold outside. Colleen had to blink as she spun in a circle,
gathering her bearings in the massive store. She hadn’t been in a Walmart since
she’d come home last Christmas.
Colleen had expected to be stopped by every person she met and
interrogated about how her life was and what she was up to and how magical
Juliet’s wedding had been, and how were the bride and groom? Any babies on the
horizon? How perfect was it that their little hometown midwife had found a baby
doctor of her own? They were going to be so happy, and when was Colleen going
to settle down?
She’d been through the same conversations six times a day at the
coffee shop since she’d been back, but Walmart was different. It was big,
sterile, anonymous. She could have been at any Walmart anywhere in the world.
She didn’t even recognize the elderly greeter by the door who pointed her in
the direction of the shopping cart bay.
As much as Colleen was appalled by the idea of Walmart being the
only real grocery store in town anymore, she was thankful to be someplace where
she could be alone. She didn’t want anyone to remind her about her perfect
sister and her sister’s perfect husband and her sister’s perfect house in the
mountains and the baby Juliet was going to have in the spring. Colleen didn’t
want to be reminded that no matter what Juliet did, she succeeded and no matter
what Colleen did, she failed.
She picked out some new kitchen towels and roamed the aisles for
the ground turkey. She paused in front of the vanilla Oreos, her hand almost
grasping the yellow package before her mother’s voice rang in her head, citing
again how much weight Colleen had put on recently. She forced her back straight
and her chin up. She didn’t need her mother’s voice, and she didn’t need the
damn cookies either. She might be home with her tail between her legs, but she
had a plan damnit, and that started by not spending money on extras.
Saying no felt good. And hey, Katy Perry was playing on the store
radio. Colleen bopped along to Katy’s encouragement to be a firework as she
turned into the spice aisle. She had brought all the kitchen essentials with
her from Denver when she’d moved but had tossed most of her spices. She hadn’t
cooked often even though she’d had a gorgeous kitchen with a stainless-steel
range and long, granite countertops. She hadn’t had time. She’d spent all her
time at work to be able to afford the gorgeous kitchen that she didn’t have
time to cook in. Takeout had been so good and so varied in Denver, it hadn’t
But in Goodland? The choices were pizza, fried chicken, fast food
burgers or the all you can eat buffet. There was the one Chinese place, but
Colleen hadn’t eaten there since the summer after her senior year, and she
still couldn’t think about that night without her stomach rolling, so cooking
At ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning, Colleen was the only person
in the aisle. She was debating whether she should buy the Walmart brand curry
spice blend or the name brand kind when she caught a movement out of the corner
of her eye. Colleen glanced over her shoulder to see a man and his young son.
But then she did a double take.
A man bun? She hadn’t seen a man bun yet. It was so common in
Denver, she never would have noticed, but in this sleepy Kansas hamlet, this
Norse god had her full attention. He was tall with strawberry blonde hair
pulled back in an artfully messy bun. He’d complemented that with a sculpted
beard just a touch redder than his hair. Broad shoulders and a muscled torso
pulled his black t-shirt tight across his chest. The predictable logo printed
over his impressive pecs read Wright’s Gym. Of course he wore a gym
logo. Nobody got a body like that without considerable time lifting
ridiculously heavy things.
Yup, it was like someone had walked into her mind and pulled out
all her favorite attributes then molded them into one gorgeous package. Colleen
checked that she wasn’t drooling and tried to turn her attention back to her
spice purchases. She’d go for the expensive curry blend. If she was going to
eat butternut squash, she was at least going to do her best to pretend that it
was takeout from her favorite curry shop back home.
The Norse god and his heir stopped in front of the powdered sugar.
According to her eavesdropping, they were making a cake for Grandma, which made
Colleen’s ovaries jingle to life. She felt herself edging closer despite her
resolve to stay away from anything that gave her mother more cause to complain.
Father and son were going to make the frosting from scratch and were debating
whether they needed one bag of sugar or two. Colleen wanted to swoop in and
give them the best cake baking advice they’d ever heard and then be invited
over to help them bake said cake and . . . possibly other things once the kid
was in bed, but alas, Colleen had never baked a cake. She wished she had,
because this man obviously hadn’t touched sugar in years, and he was likely
more clueless about baking than she was. She at least could make cookies.
She dumped the rest of the spices she needed into her cart, then
made her way down the aisle. She paused just on the god’s left to grab a bottle
of the vanilla stevia that had to be beyond reproach. And would you look at
that? No wedding ring. She offered the man a small, sweet, but apologetic smile
for invading his space. He nodded at her, then stopped, cocked his head to the
side as something like recognition lit in his eyes. He finished his nod and
turned back to his son as Colleen navigated her cart away.
“Let’s get two bags just in case,” he said, and Colleen booked it
into the next aisle. That little kernel of recognition had shaken her, and her
heart pounded in her chest. Colleen would have remembered if she’d encountered
that level of physical perfection before, wouldn’t she? There was really only
one person she could think of. One voice with that particular timbre, one man
with hair that color, and that height. With a child that age. But she wouldn’t
let herself believe it.
Colleen leaned against a support pole in the coffee aisle, fanning
herself as she tried to convince herself who he wasn’t. The most damning evidence
was his shirt, because he almost had to be one of the Wrights by stature alone.
Colton and Court had gone to school with Colleen and Juliet, and they had been
tall and thin as telephone poles back then. The Colton Colleen remembered had
been boring and obsessed with Juliet. She had always found Courtney more
interesting, cute even–before he’d turned out to be a total bastard. But both
brothers had moved away for college and never come back, and Wright’s Gym was
one of those big franchises wasn’t it?
No, it couldn’t be that Wright.
Maybe he’d thought she was someone else. She was fifty pounds
heavier than she’d been high school and had way better fashion sense now.
Colleen looked down at her skinny jeans and brown suede booties.
She’d paired them with a sage green tunic that matched her eyes. Because of the
rain, she’d worn her denim jacket with the gray triangular scarf Juliet had
given her for Christmas last year. She looked fucking amazing–if she didn’t
think too hard about those fifty extra pounds. Colleen knew she’d thought about
them a lot less before she’d moved home, and her mother hadn’t stopped
reminding her about them on a thrice daily basis.
It was part of the reason that she was here grocery shopping
instead of at home putting the finishing touches on her freelance website.
Because if Colleen had to share one more meal with her mother as she made
passive aggressive comments about the amount and type of food she ate, Colleen
might commit matricide. And she liked her mother–sort of. She didn’t really
want to kill her, but one more comment about butter or white potatoes, Colleen
was likely to lob her butter knife right into her mother’s forehead. She was
pretty sure she’d be found not guilty by reason of grave provocation, but still,
Colleen didn’t want to be sad unemployed chick who’d killed her mother. Nobody
would ever hire her to be their social media manager.
Colleen needed work that wasn’t coffee shop work. Colleen refused
to be the aging barista who still lived with her parents. That wasn’t an
option. Even the apartment over the carriage house was a temporary arrangement.
Colleen had given herself six months to get her freelance business off the
ground and then she was hoofing it back to Denver just in time for the snow to
melt and enjoy the sunshine through her balcony window.
Colleen grabbed a box of organic green tea and smiled as she
pictured herself tapping away at her laptop, sipping the tea and looking out
the window to see Pikes Peak in the distance, and then writing the best fucking
sentence of her life. Of course, in the fantasy Colleen was writing fiction and
not web copy, but she couldn’t be too picky about that. No one was going to pay
her to write the romance novels she only touched in the dead of night. Everyone
needed a social media manager these days.
Ooo. That was a good niche market to target though. Romance
authors would probably rather spend more time writing and less time marketing,
she could think of two different promotional packages she could offer off the
top of her head, and a good brainstorming session could churn out something for
everyone at any price point.
Colleen dug out her phone and started tapping out notes before she
forgot. See, she was fantastic at this marketing and promotions shit. She just
needed to work for cool people who liked the word, “Fuck.” Turned out the History
Colorado, where she’d tried to be conservative and educational for three years
hadn’t been much of a fan of the hip, edgy perspective that had got her hired
in the first place.
Whatever. She was gonna rock as an indie.
Colleen had just dropped her phone back in her purse when the
Norse god and his dark-haired son passed her aisle. The little boy, who had to
be seven or eight, pointed down the aisle. “Didn’t gramma say we were out of
One huge, rugged hand steered the boy toward the next aisle over.
“Not that crap. I’ll stop by Holy Grounds on the way home from work tonight and
grab some of the good stuff.”
Colleen’s heart almost stopped. She didn’t hear whether the kid
also had an opinion on coffee. She was too busy thinking about how she worked
tonight, and how she would be able to convince Thor to meet her in the supply
closet for some moka java and a quick grope.
Unless he was who she thought he was, in which case the only
option was a swift kick in the shins, and by shins, she meant balls.
And if it wasn’t him, he probably wasn’t interested in her anyway.
She looked down at herself again, noticing the tummy pooch and wide hips. Not
for the first time, jealousy over her sister’s naturally lithe, lean yoga
instructor’s build swept over her. The Norse god probably only went for women
like Juliet. Thin. Beautiful. Perfect.
Whatever. Colleen didn’t need him. Didn’t want him. What did she
need a god for? She didn’t. Especially not one with a kid. She was so not
mother material. That was one thing Colleen would cede to her sister. Juliet
could have all the babies. Colleen’s one run in with pregnancy had been more
than enough for her. No thank you. Never again.
Sexy Man Bun–who definitely wasn’t Courtney Wright, aka the man
who’d broken her heart at eighteen–hadn’t come into Holy Grounds that evening.
Not that she had been looking for him or anything. Because she totally hadn’t
been. Colleen had been too busy being interrogated by Ms. Wrathbone, the
elderly woman who had been her Sunday School teacher up through sixth grade,
and who was so desperately curious to know about Colleen’s life in Denver that
she stood right beside the register while she stirred extra cocoa into her hot
chocolate and smacked her scone.
“Big city wasn’t all it was cracked up to be then, huh?” had been
her opening line.
Colleen had shrugged and attempted the same vague answer she’d
given to most people who’d asked her about why she was back so far: “Denver was
fun, but it was time for a change.” Most Goodland natives had taken that to
mean that it was time for her to come home to where she belonged, but Ms.
Wrathbone just kept on spitting scone and yammering while Colleen counted out
“Big cities aren’t for soft girls. You have to be sharp to make it
Colleen did her best to ignore the insult, not sure if she’d just
been called fat, or stupid, or both. The old Colleen would have said something
smart and cutting, but today, Colleen didn’t have the energy.
Vi, the only other coworker she had that wasn’t eighteen, plunked
a latte on the counter next to Colleen. “And what do you know about big cities
Ms. W. You’re still living in the house you were born in.”
“My Hal was from the city.”
Colleen frowned, and she felt a little bit of her old self perk up
as she remembered that Ms. Wrathbone’s long dead husband had gone to school
with her grandfather. Her parents were from a town in west central Kansas that
seemed big compared to Goodland, but still only had a population of around
20,000. “Well, I understand Hays was rough back in your day, what with all the
gunslingers and the cattle rustlers and the brothels, but there’s plenty of
space for savvy curvy girls to make their way outside prostitution these days.”
Ms. Wrathbone’s jaw gaped for a moment, showing the attractive
sight of her partially chewed blueberry scone. “Well, I never,” she said, as Vi
edged Colleen off the register with a bump of her hip.
Colleen took up her position at the espresso machine, thankful for
the save, though Ms. Wrathbone remained undeterred. She stood by the register,
talking over the line of customers looking for an afternoon pick-me-up talking
about the last girl she knew who came home from the big city. She’d been pregnant
and penniless because she’d been living as a kept woman and her sugar daddy had
left her for somebody else. She’d actually said, “Sugar daddy.”
“You can’t trust men from the big city. They’re vain and fickle as
a feather,” Colleen heard her say over the grinder. And she rolled her eyes at
Vi, but her heart panged in her chest. Colleen hadn’t been a kept woman. She’d
worked hard to pay her half of the apartment she’d shared with Derek. But he
had been fickle, and her being destitute and depressed had been a direct result
of him moving out to date a younger, thinner blonde than Colleen. He hadn’t
gotten her pregnant though, so at least Colleen had that point in her favor.
She was still working on forgiving herself for trusting him, and
it was made even harder by the fact that he’d somehow gotten wind of her
moving. He’d been texting her three times a day for the last week.
Eighty percent of Colleen knew that he was only reaching out
because Younger and Blonder had dumped him, but the other twenty percent still
stupidly missed him and the fun they’d had together. That had been their
pattern for years. How many times had Colleen let him back into her bed? She’d
called it a convenient arrangement with her best friend because it made her
sound less pathetic, but really it had been Colleen taking whatever scraps of
affection Derek spared her. Now she knew better.
“I suppose you know that from experience?” Colleen said, just
loudly enough for Ms. Wrathbone to hear over the phlegmy sound of steaming
milk. Colleen actually hadn’t known anything about Ms. Wrathbone’s personal
life, but the way the woman stuck her nose in the air and turned on her heel,
leaving her scone wrapper abandoned on the counter suggested that Colleen had
struck a little too close to home.
When the cranky old woman had disappeared out the front door, Vi
high-fived Colleen. “Score one for us, City Girl.”
Colleen liked Vi a lot, even though she hadn’t expected to make
any friends in town. All her high school friends had either moved away or were
busy being married and pregnant with their second or third kid. And really,
Colleen had been kind of a loaner in high school. She’d worked with her dad,
did her best to fit in at youth group, but spent most of her time hiding behind
books so nobody noticed how much she didn’t fit in at all.
It hadn’t been until that summer after her senior year that
Colleen had really felt seen by anyone. When it had been Courtney Wright how
had seen her.
“The girls and I are heading out to Taylor’s tonight around ten.
You should join.”
Taylor’s was a country music club in Colby where everyone went
line dancing. It had been the place to sneak into in high school, since it was
eighteen and over. Colleen had only been once, and it had been awkward and
lonely. She’d grown up listening to country music, since that’s what her
parents listened to, but she’d been more into Pulp and The Killers. Anything
intense and glittery.
And besides, Taylor’s had been a fifteen-dollar cover when she was
sixteen. It only had to have gone up since then. If she couldn’t afford a three-dollar
package of vanilla Oreos, she definitely couldn’t afford a night out with
“Maybe in a few weeks,” Colleen said.
Vi gave her a sympathetic look, but only said, “I’ll hold you to
Vi was only a year younger than Colleen but working her way
through school part-time. She still hung out with the newly-of-age drinkers.
Colleen could drink. She was able to knock back whiskey with the best of them.
When she was in a mood, she ordered top shelf bourbon neat and drank the man
who had put her in that mood–usually Derek–right under the table.
Just another reason Derek had never been good for her.
“I know you will.” And really, Colleen wouldn’t mind going out,
even if it was country music. She preferred writing until the dead of night
then collapsing into bed with her head so full of her characters that she
dreamed of them, but she wasn’t beyond needing a girl’s night every now and
She’d been working so much her last few months in Denver that she
hadn’t hung out with any of her friends. And that was the kicker about break
ups, all the friends ended up choosing sides, and all hers had chosen Derek.
Since heroes in romance novels were always better than men in real
life, Colleen asked. “Did you read that book yet?”
“Holy shit,” Vi said, and Colleen’s face broke out into a devious
smile. She loved this part of getting friends hooked on romances. She’d loaned
Vi one of her favorite slow burns a couple of days ago.
“You finished it didn’t you?”
“I stayed up until midnight reading, before I got to my psych
homework. The textbook wasn’t nearly as exciting.”
“I have the next book, if you’re interested.”
“No. Yes. Well. I need to study for my test on Friday. But after
“Absolutely.” Colleen and Vi high fived. The satisfaction of getting
someone hooked on reading carried her through the rest of her shift.
She was mopping the floor after close when a jolt of satisfaction
stopped her mid-wring. If she went with her idea of promoting indie romance
novels, she’d be doing one of her favorite things: introducing readers to books
Colleen smiled to herself. She’d finally found her niche.