My stomach drops, my cheeks heat, and I suddenly wish I could sink into the floor.
“It probably won’t come as a surprise that we move a lot of romance and mysteries,” Maureen goes on quickly, like she’s realized I’m mortified. “But I know you’ll like to hear that we have a good children’s section that stays active. There’s a story hour happening right now, if you want to slip back there to get a sense of it?”
“I’d love that,” I tell her.
“Great,” she says. “I’ll put together a list of some of our top circulating titles and authors to take with you when you go.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, following in the direction she pointed, toward the back of the library.
The stacks are high and fairly close together. This place has a really good collection for a small-town library. In some ways, that will take the pressure off me to stock anything terribly unusual. But maybe that was the trap Aunt Jessie fell into.
That and not needing to make the shop profitable. I don’t really have that luxury.
A spirited voice is reading aloud as I arrive at the edge of the children’s section.
High-backed chairs surround an open area where a young woman with pink and blue hair and wearing what looks like a ballet tutu over jeans is sitting on the floor with a mesmerized semi-circle of children surrounding her.
She’s reading one of the Skippyjon Jones books, and either she’s read this one about a million times or she’s very,verygood. Those books are real tongue twisters, and they need to be read at a fast clip.
I listen along with the kids, forgetting to check out the shelves like I meant to, in favor of listening to this excellent reading.
When the woman finishes up, the children all cheer and she pretends to bow and blow kisses, which predictably cracks them up. The moms and other caregivers sitting in the chairs and standing with their backs to the shelves are smiling too.
“Now be sure to come back next week,” she tells them all. “We’re doing a craft along with our reading, okay?”
That wins her more sounds of approval from the kids, and a few of them hug her or touch her cotton candy hair before darting off to join their parents.
“Great job, Taffy,” one of the moms says.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Taffy replies. “See you next week, right?”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” the mom tells her.
I hang back, letting everyone say their goodbyes.
“You’re a little old for this, aren’t you?” Taffy said, turning to me with a quirked brow and then winking.
“I loved it,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t think Skippyjon Jones has an age limit.”
“You’re right about that,” she tells me. “What can I help you with? Are you looking for something for a kid? Or just a nice YA romance? There’s no shame in it.Twilight’s my favorite.”
“I do loveTwilight,” I reply automatically. “But I’m actually looking for your opinion more than I’m looking for a book.”
“Wow, okay,” she says.
“I’m reopening the bookshop here in town,” I tell her. “And I want to stock it with stuff people actually want to read. Maureen is running some data for me, but I thought you might have some insights too. I’m… really into YA and kids’ books.”
That’s an understatement. But admitting that I’m so into them that I risked my job for one doesn’t make for a good first impression.
“That’s great,” she replies. “I’m Taffy, by the way.”
“Taylor,” I tell her. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, as you can see,” Taffy says, leading me further into the kids’ section. “We have a very engaged younger readership. I do three reading groups most days, and they’re all pretty well attended.”
“You’re an amazing reader,” I tell her. “I can see why they come in.”
“Oh, that’s not enough,” she says, shrugging. “Theparents are the important part, they bring the kids in. I can’t compete with staying in a warm house while the TV keeps the kid distracted.”
