“You okay?” she asks, glancing over. “You seem nervous.”
Okay, so maybe she’s more perceptive than I give her credit for.
“You know me. I just want everything to be perfect.” I force a smile and adjust the chair next to me an inch to the left. It isn’t right, so I move it back.Too much. I test the boundaries of my sanity once more, finding some not-truly-happy medium between too far left and too close to the chair I’m in.
It’s futile.
The women start arriving at 7. Carol Brennan comes in first, punctual as always, with her copy ofWildfire Summeralready bristling with Southwest color-schemed sticky notes. Then Lin Mendoza and her daughter, Rebecca. Amy Dawson and Elaine Briggs arrive together, already mid-conversation about something on their phones. By 7:15, half a dozen women have settled into the circle of imperfectly placed chairs, wine glasses in hands, books on laps.
Carol clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, ladies.Wildfire Summerby Sienna Saguaro. Who wants to start?”
“I loved it,” Amy says immediately. “The slow burn waschef’s kiss. And the way the hero pined for her for years? I was dying.”
“The bookshop setting was perfect,” Lin adds. “It felt so real, like the author really knows what it’s like to run a small business in a town like this.”
My heart skips.
Don’t panic. That’s a normal observation.
“That’s what I found so interesting.” Carol’s voice cuts through the chatter. She’s leaning forward, book open in her lap. Her finger points to the page. “The level of detail. The town square with the town hall, the cliffs, even the legend about the star-crossed lovers.”
“I didn’t even think about that,” Macy pipes in, quickly flipping through the pages of her book.
“The legend in the book is about forbidden love between a missionary’s daughter and a Native American man,” Carol says, reading from a sticky note. Several women nod, flipping through their copies. “Our legend is about Rosa Delgado and—“
Shit, shit, shit.
”—the ranch hand her father forbade her to marry!“ Macy adds, finishing Carol’s thought.
“Exactly, and in the book, the lover falls from the cliffs during a storm. Just like Rosa threw herself from Red Rock Ridge after Sam Thornfield was murdered!” Carol continues, leaning forward with excitement. “Similar themes. Different names. But the structure is nearly identical.”
“Lots of small towns have legends like that,” I hear myself say from behind the counter. Everyone turns to look at me. “Star-crossed lovers, forbidden romance. It’s a common trope.”
“Of course.” Carol’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m just saying, whoever wrote this clearly spent time in a townexactlylike Sierra Rose Ridge. The Farmers Market, the monthly wine and stargazing event at the winery—“
“Wait, why didn’t I make the connection? The book has Sips & Stars?” Elaine interrupts, flipping pages. “I thought that was our thing.”
“It’s called ‘Starlight Sipping’ in the book,” Amy reads aloud. “But yeah, same concept. Wine tasting under the stars once a month.”
The room buzzes with excitement as they start comparing details. The bookshop description. The downtown layout. The small details about desert wildflowers and summer monsoons.
I’m gripping the counter so hard my knuckles are white.
They’re connecting the dots.
Shit.
“This town soundsso muchlike Sierra Rose Ridge,“ Macy says, laughing. “I wonder if the author visited extensively.”
“Or lives around here,” Carol muses. “The level of detail is remarkable.”
Why didn’t I realize people would notice Sunset Ridge was manifested from Sierra Rose? I made it too obvious, even though I thought I hid everything. I could’ve done better. Instead of Starlight Sipping, I could’ve done… what could I have done?
Bonfires and bourbon?
That sounds ridiculous.
“It’s cool how detailed it is. It’s like the author reallygetssmall-town life?“ Macy adds. “Sadie, you’re our resident bookstore owner. That basically means you’re an expert on all things books. Did you read this yet? What do you think?”
