"Last year," I remind her. "You steal my books, and you leave them everywhere like it's some kind of literary breadcrumb trail."
"It's not stealing," she says defensively. "It's book redistribution. You know I like to leave my favorite books around the city for people to find. It's basically charity."
"You abandon them on park benches."
"With love," she insists. "You know, kids these days don't read. When they find these books, that cost them nothing, and happen to be in a quiet and peaceful place, I hope that they'll read them and fall in love with the magic of stories like us." And look at this," she pulls out her phone and shoves it in my face. "The girl who found the last one tagged me. My following with the younger generation is blowing up."
I shake my head. "Congratulations, celebrity. Now take your wine, your stolen books, and get out of here. I have work to do."
"And I have a job to get to; these cases aren't going to win themselves," she sighs.
"Exactly," I smile. "Go be important."
Lindsay taps the paperback on the counter. "Okay, you've been suspiciously quiet about this one. Are we loving it or hate-reading it?"
I glance down at the cover, fingers resting along the spine. "Neither."
"That's never good."
"It's just..." I hesitate, then shrug. "Everyone wants Catherine de' Medici to be either a villain or a saint. But she wasn't either."
Lindsay arches a brow. "Uh-oh. You're about to defend someone controversial."
"I'm not defending her." I cross my arms.
"Oh Lord," she groans.
I shake my head, still smiling. "I'm just saying, Catherine de' Medici ruled in a man's world, during one of the bloodiest periods in France. She didn't get to be soft or likable. She simply refused to be powerless."
Then, quieter, more thoughtful I add, "If I'd been fourteen and forced into a marriage I didn't choose... into a life I had to master to survive? I probably wouldn't have been gentle either."
Lindsay exhales slowly. "Okay. That's officially unsettling."
I laugh again, lighter this time. "Did you forget about that job you have to get to?"
She grins, snatches a book off the cart, and bolts for the door.
"I'm telling your dad!" I shout after her.
"Love you too!" she calls over her shoulder, laughing as she slips outside.
I shake my head, still smiling, then log into the system under her name and check the book out.
I already know I'll be billing her for it soon.
The afternoon crowd thins out around two, and then it's just me, the music I have playing so low it's barely audible, and the hum of the HVAC.
Alright, let's organize this shelf, I say to myself as I walk over to the history section.
I meant to switch the playlist earlier, maybe something a little more upbeat for the readers drifting in and out throughout the day. But I'm glad I didn't. The soft jazz floating through the speakers settles over the room like a warm blanket, filling the quiet spaces between the shelves.
I slide a few books back into place, straightening them one by one until their spines line up neatly, perfectly even. The small act of order feels satisfying, like restoring balance to a world that's been slightly tilted all morning.
I stretch up on my tiptoes, trying to slide the heavy hardcover back onto the top shelf.
Almost got it.
The edge of the book bumps the wood and slips back toward me.
