The Little Bookshop On The Seine. Rebecca Raisin
I shouted. Lil was due any day now, but insisted on working. Times were tough for all of us, so Lil had to work, but claimed instead she wanted to spruce things up before she left. Nesting, her best friend and only employee CeeCee called it.
Lil tossed her long blonde curls back from her face. “If I take it any easier, I’ll be asleep! Besides, how are you going to survive without your chocolate fix?” The wind carried her words to me in a happy jumble.
“True,” I agreed. “I’ll be there as soon as my tummy rumbles.” It was torture, working across the road from the café, the scent of tempered chocolate or the yeasty smell of freshly baked bread wafting its way to my shop. I’d find myself crossing the street and demanding to be fed, flopping lazily on their sofa, while they flitted around making all my food dreams come true. The girls from the café were great friends, and often gave me a metaphorical shove in the back when they thought I should step from the comfort of my shop and try something new, like love, for example.
They’d set me up with Ridge, knowing I wouldn’t take the leap myself. When I’d first met him, I couldn’t understand why a big shot reporter from New York would be interested in a girl from smallsville. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I was good enough, it was more that our lives were a million miles apart, and the likes of him were a rarity in Ashford.
My girlfriends hadn’t seen it that way, and literally pushed me into his arms, at a dinner party the night of the infamous man crease fiasco. I wouldn’t say that’s when I fell in love with Ridge, my face pressed up against his nether regions after a ‘fall’ on the uneven deck, but it was pretty damn close. My so-called friends had orchestrated the night, including the ‘whoops’ shove in the back from Lil, so I toppled ungraciously towards Ridge, landing on my knees at his hip level. My breathing had been uneven, as his sweater rode high, and jeans had slung low, giving me ample opportunity to scrutinize the deep V presented to me. My lips a mere inch away from his tanned flesh, until he scooped me up, before I almost licked his skin to see what it tasted like. I had this strange burning desire to see what flavor he’d be. That’s what reading too many romances does to a girl.
Recalling the evening still provoked a blush, because it was so unlike me. I mean, imagine if I had flicked my tongue against his exposed skin? He would have been running for the hills before the entrée was served. But that’s the effect he had over me, he made my mind blank, and my body act of its own volition, including a thousand scenarios I’d never have entertained with any other guy. Dumbstruck by love was a real thing, I’d come to learn.
Lil’s boisterous laughter brought me back to the moment. “See you soon. I’ll have a chocolate soufflé with your name on it.”
“You’d tempt the devil himself!” I joked and gave her a wave before stepping back into the warmth of the bookshop.
My email pinged and I dashed over to see who it was from. That’s how exciting my life was sans Ridge, an email was enough to make me almost run, and that was saying a lot. I only ran if chocolate was involved, and even then it was more a fast walk.
Sophie, a dear Parisian friend. She owned Once Upon a Time, a famous bookshop by the bank of the Seine. We’d become confidantes since connecting on my book blog a while back, and shared our joys and sorrows about bookshop life. She was charming and sweet, and adored books as much as me, believing them to be portable magic, and a balm for souls.
I clicked open the email and read.
Ma Chérie,
I cannot stay one more day in Paris. You see, Manu has not so much broken my heart, rather pulled it out of my chest and stomped on it. The days are interminable and I can’t catch my breath. He walks past the bookshop, as though nothing is amiss. I have a proposal for you. Please call me as soon as you can.
Love,
Sophie
Poor Sophie. I’d heard all about her grand love affair with a dashing twenty-something man, who frequented her bookshop, and quoted famous poets. It’d been a whirlwind romance, but she often worried he cast an appraising eye over other women. Even when she clutched his hand, and walked along the cobbled streets of Paris, he’d dart an admiring glance at any woman swishing past.
I shot off a quick reply, telling her to Skype me now, if she was able. Within seconds my computer flashed with an incoming call.
Her face appeared on the screen, her chestnut-colored hair in an elegant chignon, her lips dusted rosy pink. If she was in the throes of heartache, you’d never know it by looking at her. The French had a way of always looking poised and together, no matter what was happening in their complex lives.
“Darling,” she said, giving me a nod. “He’s a lothario, a Casanova, a…” She grappled for another moniker as her voice broke. “He’s dating the girl who owns the shop next door!” Her eyes smoldered, but her face remained stoic.
I gasped, “Which girl? The one from the florist?”
Sophie shook her head. “The other side, the girl from the fromagerie.” She grimaced. I’d heard so much about the people in or around Sophie’s life that it was easy to call her neighbors to mind. “Giselle?” I said, incredulous. “Wasn’t she engaged – I thought the wedding was any day now?”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “She’s broken off her engagement, and has announced it to the world that my Manu has proposed and now they are about to set up house and to try immediately for children –”
My hand flew to my mouth. “Children! He wouldn’t do that, surely!” Sophie was late-forties, and had gently broached the subject of having a baby with Manu, but he’d said simply: absolutely not, he didn’t want children.
The doorbell of her shop pinged, Sophie’s face pinched and she leaned closer to the screen, lowering her voice. “A customer…” She forced a bright smile, turned her head and spoke in rapid-fire French to whoever stood just off-screen. “So,” she continued quietly. “The entire neighborhood are whispering behind their hands about the love triangle, and unfortunately for me, I’m the laughing stock. The older woman, who was deceived by a younger man.”
I wished I could lean through the monitor and hug her. While she was an expert at keeping her features neutral, she couldn’t stop the glassiness of her eyes when tears threatened. My heart broke that Manu would treat her so callously. She’d trusted him, and loved him unreservedly. “No one is laughing at you, I promise,” I said. “They’ll be talking about Manu, if anyone, and saying how he’s made a huge mistake.”
“No, no.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I look like a fool. I simply cannot handle when he cavorts through the streets with her, darting glances in my bookshop, like they hope I’ll see them. It’s too cruel.” Sophie held up a hand, and turned to a voice. She said au revoir to the customer and spun to face me, but within a second or two, the bell sounded again. “I have a proposal for you, and I want you to really consider it.” She raised her eyebrows. “Or at least hear me out before you say no.” Her gaze burned into mine as I racked my brain with what it could be, and came up short. Sophie waved to customers, and pivoted her screen further away.
“Well?” I said with a nervous giggle. “What exactly are you proposing?”
She blew out a breath, and then smiled. “A bookshop exchange. You come and run Once Upon a Time, and I’ll take over the Bookshop on the Corner.”
I gasped, my jaw dropping.
Sophie continued, her calm belied by the slight quake in her hand as she gesticulated. “You’ve always said how much you yearned to visit the city of love – here’s your chance, my dear friend. After our language lessons, you’re more than capable of speaking enough French to get by.” Sophie’s words spilled out in a desperate rush, her earlier calm vanishing. “You’d save me so much heartache. I want to be in a place where no one knows me, and there’s no chance for love, ever again.”