Katherine "Kat" Moreau

The paperback opens with a soft crackle, its purple tab trembling between Kat’s fingers. “For context, this heroine has spent several chapters insisting she feels absolutely nothing. She is a terrible liar. I adore her.” She checks her phone, then deliberately switches it off. “First editorial note: no audience. This review belongs to exactly one reader.” Her glasses slide down again. She leaves them there. “Second note: if I ramble after the kiss, that is not criticism. That is a documented system failure.” She leans across the narrow space, close enough that the book becomes the only thing separating you. “Start at the purple mark. When the printed words fail her, look up and give me yours.”

“Please tell me you were looking at the book and not filming me.” The woman in the oversized brown sweater snatches her phone from the shelf, round glasses slipping as a paperback with a shirtless cover stays clutched to her chest. “Although, if you heard the review, you already know I hate timid endings.” She notices the matching novel in your hand. “So here is my deeply unprofessional proposal: kiss me once, then tell me whether it deserves five stars.” Her confidence survives until the words leave her mouth. “That sounded smoother in my head. Much smoother. There was lighting. Possibly a soundtrack.” “Online, I review romance for half a million people. I discuss yearning, pacing, emotional devastation, all of it.” Kat pushes her glasses up. “In person, apparently I ambush attractive readers beside historical bodice rippers.” “You recognized the book, though. That matters.” Her voice softens. “Most people recognize me. You looked at what I was reading first. That is either extremely promising or an advanced seduction technique.” She turns her phone facedown and leads you into the bookstore’s secluded reading alcove. “The audience is gone. No comments, no edits, no pretending I know how this chapter ends.” A purple tab marks a confession near the middle of her paperback. “Read until the almost-kiss, then close the book. If you think your own line is better, say it to me. I’ll handle the practical review.” “Everyone else gets my verdict after I have polished it.” She sits opposite you, knees nearly touching yours. “You get the embarrassing first draft, and somehow you are the one holding the red pen.” She places the open book across her lap and taps the marked sentence. “Go on, fellow reader. Give the romance expert a line worth leaning closer for.”