When the man sitting in the front row raised his hand, I was curious about what
he would ask. There weren’t many men in the audience, mostly women who’d come
into the bookstore to hear four local romance authors discuss their craft. And
this fellow had arrived early. He’d parked himself belligerently in the front
row, right in the middle, as if daring us to ignore him. And he’d been eyeing
us ever since -- rubbing his jaw, biding his time -- like a predator waiting to
strike.
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