Shayleigh Myers’ world hasn’t changed much over the past year. She still works hard to make Crystals & CuriosiTEAS the premier destination for herbal remedies in Bray Harbor despite stiff competition from Madam Malvina, the owner of Celestial Treasures and Teas. She still pines for raffish Liam Madigan, who rewards her affection by asking her advice about his amorous inclinations toward every other young woman in town. She still has daily conversations with her late mother, Irish clairvoyant Bridget Early. She still gets warnings from the blue amulet Bridget gave her, which she wears hidden under her shirt. And she still can’t help getting tangled up in every suspicious death that comes by. The latest victim is Cora Sutton, the wife of Bray Harbor’s mayor. Shay feels some responsibility for Cora’s fate because shortly before her death, Cora asked for a tea-leaf reading. Shay whitewashed some of the cards’ more dire predictions. Then, shortly after the reading ended, Shay had a vision of Cora lying in the middle of a fairy ring—which is exactly where her corpse would be found. Shay looks to her friends and neighbors and into the world beyond in search of clues that might lead to Cora’s killer, but she finds little help until a chance remark points her in the right direction. The supernatural spin distinguishes this series from other shopkeeper cozies, and it’s otherwise a faithful prototype of the genre.

Scarlett Wilcox is happy to be a spinster, but she’ll begrudgingly marry as long as she gets to keep focusing on her true passion: medicine. Accordingly, the Duke of Torrance, a family friend, is doing his best to find a man who won’t mind marrying a woman who regularly dresses in men’s clothing so she can attend Royal Society medical lectures and develop into a physician in her own right. One man, Stephen Adam Carew, keeps popping up in her life, but he’s not marriage material—most of their conversations consist of bickering about one thing or another. Like Scarlett, he’s focused on just one thing: in his case, helping his community by working himself into exhaustion as a doctor. As he was born in Trinidad and she’s an Englishwoman from a rich Jamaican family, their communities overlap somewhat, and their mutual interest in medicine brings them together repeatedly—and an unexpected post-lecture adventure ending at Madame Rosebud’s notorious brothel inspires surprisingly amorous feelings in both. But even then, their genius and stubbornness may keep them from admitting what everyone else can see—that they’re perfectly suited for one another. This second volume of Riley’s Betting Against the Duke series is, like the author’s other romances, set against a diverse, well-sketched Regency background. An extensive author’s note reveals the research behind the historical details Riley threads through the story, which are combined with strong character development and her bold writing style to great effect. Despite that early brothel scene, the intimacy on the page doesn’t go beyond intense kissing, and the plot underscores the fact that for Scarlett and Stephen, devotion to their ideals is as important as affection for each other. Riley’s tendency to throw the reader into a story with a lot of information and little explanation may confuse some, especially due to the large number of beloved friends and family who are introduced early on, but those who stick with it will be rewarded with a unique and satisfying tale.

When the moon and every lunar sample on Earth transform into a cheese-like substance, it seems amusing at first, but the appearance of this newly organic, extremely unstable satellite has far-reaching, apocalyptic consequences. A variety of U.S. citizens—disappointed astronauts from newly cancelled lunar missions, scientists whose understanding of the universe has been entirely upended, writers frantically adapting their pitches, retirees at a rural diner finding solace in their friendship, a small church community looking for divine answers, bickering cheese-shop owners whose product gets both welcome and unwelcome attention, the ultra-wealthy owner of an aerospace company with a spectacularly self-involved agenda, bank executives seeking a financial angle, and government officials desperately scheduling press conferences—respond in ways grand and petty, generous and self-serving. Those responses can only escalate when a cheesy lunar fragment threatens to destroy all life on our planet. Scalzi’s premise is absurd, but it’s merely the pretext to take a multifaceted, satiric look at how Americans deal with large-scale crisis, something we’re abundantly and recently familiar with, and will no doubt experience again in the not-so-distant future. He writes of denial, conspiracy theories, anger directed at the wrong people, unscrupulous political machinations, and multiple attempts at profiting from the end of the world, for as long as it lasts. There are moments of unexpected kindness and generosity, too. Of course, Scalzi takes aim at his favorite corporate, social, and government targets, as well as at the cheap sentiment that crisis always seems to inspire (as exemplified by a catastrophic Saturday Night Live episode).

Annie is 37 weeks pregnant, shopping for a crib at IKEA, when suddenly she feels a terrible jolt, “a wave underneath me,” she thinks, “lifting me up.” An earthquake has hit Portland. In her assured debut novel, Pattee follows Annie through a horrific day: With wreckage all around her, she is intent on making her way to find her husband. She has miles to walk, it’s hot, she’s hungry and thirsty and afraid. She’s alone, and yet not alone, because she’s carrying a child, her precious Bean. “How did we get here, Bean?,” she asks. “You and me, IKEA, Monday morning, AISLE 8, BIN 31, hand on metal rack, eyes wide in fear, body tensed like a firecracker about to explode?” As she trudges across devastating landscapes—collapsed houses, bridges, and schools; supermarkets and convenience stores overrun by looters; bodies of the wounded and dead—Annie answers that question by beginning 17 years earlier, when she fell in love with Bean’s father, Dom, and they set out together to fulfill their dreams of becoming stars: she, a playwright; he, an actor. But Annie gave up writing, and Dom, while tirelessly auditioning, works at a cafe. Annie worries, as she walks, about their lack of money “to have a baby, much less feed a baby, much less house a baby, much less pay somebody to watch said baby.” She worries that they’ll never be able to afford a home of their own, with real estate prices ballooning. She worries about her ability for mothering, for being a “lifelong cheerleader” for her husband, and about realizing their dashed dreams. Recounting Annie’s precarious journey across the city and into her past, Pattee reveals that the quake has upended more than the earth.

One day, Addie’s husband comes home and tells her, “You look like my wife, but you are not my wife.” Then he adds, “My wife is prettier than you are.” This pronouncement comes as one in a long line of increasingly erratic behaviors for Leo: What begins with hallucinations leads inexorably to stabbing his nephew with a kitchen knife. Kirshenbaum’s latest novel, which features the same irresistibly bittersweet dry wit as her others, follows Addie’s journey alongside Leo to understanding what’s gone wrong with his mind. It takes them nearly two years to reach a diagnosis: Leo has early-onset Lewy body dementia. In short, vignettelike chapters written in the second person, Kirshenbaum traces Addie’s increasing social isolation, her financial worries, and the many, many different shades of feeling she has for Leo, whom she adores, resents, and misses even as he is (technically) still with her. Kirshenbaum’s use of the second person is so seamless it’s easy to forget about it completely; as a reader, you simply hop into Addie’s shoes and carry on. And if the storyline occasionally sags, that seems to be part of the point: Kirshenbaum is meticulously mapping a segment of life so often stigmatized and associated with shame. At one point, Addie finally tells her best friend, Z, just how bad it’s gotten with Leo. Z’s response is devastating: First he tells Addie how sorry he is, and when she asks why, he says, “Everyone will be talking about how pathetic [Leo] is, and they will pity you and avoid you. No one wants to be around that.” Kirshenbaum’s book is the precise opposite.