Recommended for You by Laura Silverman

Author:Laura Silverman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Published: 2020-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

By the time we’re finished with setup, at least two dozen customers are lined up outside the locked Once Upon doors. They shift anxiously on their feet. Some chat with friends, and some have their noses stuffed into books. I spy a lot of canvas tote bags. Ah, my people.

“That’s a big crowd,” Jake says.

Only Liv Childers could bring in a crowd this massive first thing in the morning, especially during the holidays. But what better time to celebrate a series called Christmas Killings? Liv is already in the store, chatting with Myra in her office, and other Once Upon employees have arrived to help shepherd customers and keep the store from falling into total chaos.

“Ready?” I ask. Jake nods, so I unlock the doors and pull them open. The customers stream inside at an alarming pace. “Like the Jews flooding out of Egypt,” I observe. Jake laughs, and I fizz with pleasure.

Turns out I really like making Jake Kaplan laugh.

As more customers stream into the store, we part ways to sell books, make sure the aisles stay straight, and confirm with one person after the next that the signing will happen after the reading. The seats fill up so quickly that people are already claiming the prime standing room spots behind the last row of chairs. After I again explain the signing line policy to someone, I notice a commotion going on up front. I push through the crowd toward a man standing before the first row. His blond hair is buzzed short. A pair of sunglasses hang around his neck, and his lip juts out in annoyance. “What’s this sign for?” He points to a chair with a reserved sign. “VIP or something? Special guest?”

“No, sir,” I say. “That’s our reserved seating for disabled customers.”

“Well, I’m not disabled. But there are no other seats left, so I’m taking it.”

My pulse upticks. Despite my penchant for falling face-first into it, I don’t actually like confrontation. And I particularly don’t like confrontation with strange men. My muscles tense as the memory of that thief in the philosophy section resurfaces.

I can’t let the guy sit here. It’s not right. But I need to stay calm. Not scream, not act on impulse, and also not run away. I need to handle this situation with maturity. “I’m sorry sir,” I say, “but you can’t sit there. As I mentioned, it’s reserved for disabled customers. I hope you understand.”

His white skin reddens. “So because you’re disabled you get a reserved seat up front and everyone else has to show up early or stand? Doesn’t sound like equality to me.”

He sits down in the seat and crosses his arms, lips pressed into a firm line. I clear my throat. “Well, you see, actually it is fair because disabled people, well they—” I know this reasoning. I know it well. Myra trains us all about accessibility, from wider aisles to large-print signs to reserved seats at events. But it’s like all of that knowledge and reason has left the building as I stare at this angry man.

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