The Little Bookshop On the Seine Read online

  “You take it easy!” 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.

  [email protected]

  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.”

  I tried to hide my smile at that remark. I’d told Sophie in the past how bereft of single men Ashford was, and how my love life had been almost n
on-existent until Ridge strolled into town.

  “Sophie, I want to help you, but I’m barely hanging on to the bookshop as is…” I stalled for time, running a hand through my hair, my bangs too long, shielding the tops of my eyebrows. How could it work? How would we run each other’s businesses, the financial side, the logistics? I also had an online shop, and I sourced hard-to-find books – how would Sophie continue that?

  My mind boggled with the details, not to mention the fact that leaving my books would be akin to leaving a child behind. I loved my bookshop as if it were a living thing, an unconditional best friend, who was always there for me. Besides, I’d never ventured too far from Ashford let alone boarded a plane – it just couldn’t happen.

  “Please,” Sophie said, a real heartache in her tone. “Think about it. We can work out the finer details and I’ll make it worth your while. Besides, you know I’m good with numbers, I can whip your sales into shape.” Her eyes clouded with tears. “I have to leave, Sarah. You’re my only chance. Christmas in Paris is on your bucket list…”

  My bucket list. A hastily compiled scrappy piece of paper filled with things I thought I’d never do. Christmas in Paris – snow dusting the bare trees on the Left Bank, the sparkling fairy lights along the Boulevard Saint-Germain. Santa’s village in the Latin Quarter. The many Christmas markets to stroll through, rugged up with thick scarves and gloves, Ridge by my side, as I hunted out treasures. I’d spent many a day curled up in my own shop, flicking through memoirs, or travel guides about Paris, dreaming about the impossible…one day.

  Sophie continued: “If you knew how I suffered here, my darling. It’s not only Manu, it’s everything. All of a sudden, I can’t do it all any more. It’s like someone has pulled the plug, and I’m empty.” Her eyes scrunched closed as she fought tears.

  While Sophie’s predicament was different to mine, she was in a funk, just like me. Perhaps a new outlook, a new place would mend both our lives. Her idea of whipping my sales into shape was laughable though, she had no real clue how tiny Ashford was.

  “Exchange bookshops…” I said, the idea taking shape. Could I just up and leave? What about my friends, my life, my book babies? My fear of change? And Ridge, what would he have to say about it? But my life…it was missing something. Could this be the answer?

  Paris. The city of love. Full of rich literary history.

  A little bookshop on the bank of the Seine. Could there be anything sweeter?

  With a thud, a book fell to the floor beside me, dust motes dancing above it like glitter. I craned my neck to see what it was.

  Paris: A Literary Guide.

  Was that a sign? Did my books want me to go?

  “Yes,” I said, without any more thought. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Two

  “You what?” Missy shrieked and her eyebrows shot up so high I thought she’d fall over backwards. A handful of customers at the Gingerbread Café glanced over to see what all the fuss was about. I blushed ruby red, and squirmed. Missy shot the nosey parkers a look that said mind your own business.

  I bit my lip, and threw my palms up. “It just kind of happened, and I said yes. Yes. It was as easy as that!” I shrugged apologetically. I was plain old Sarah Smith; introvert, bookworm, shy to a fault. Not a fan of change, a subscriber to the steady rhythm of routine. I found comfort in the familiar. The girls buoyed me up, and I could be myself, but my radical plan would definitely shock them, because it was so unlike me.

  “I cannot for the life of me imagine you saying yes to such a thing on the spot like that, but you know,” she stopped to fluff her auburn curls, “I think it’s a great idea, sugar. You’ve been skating along lately, without your usual sparkle.” She crossed her legs, pulling at the hem of her leopard print mini skirt. “But, sheesh, this has come out of left field…you’re leaving?” Missy’s face contorted as she grappled with the idea of the bookshop exchange. Being my secret keeper, and my go-to person in times of need, the idea I’d done something so swiftly without asking for advice was a lot for her to reconcile.

  “One hot chocolate, and one gingerbread latte. Pray tell, what’s all this screeching ‘bout?” CeeCee asked, and plonked down on the old sofa across from us, putting her feet on the ottoman. “Lil,” she hollered. “Come sit, there’s somethin’ goin’ on over here.” She clasped her hands over the spread of her midsection, and gave me a pointed stare, her sweet brown forehead furrowing.

  “Well…” I tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, waiting for Lil to join us.

  Lil waddled over, her baby bump so big she balanced a tray laden with chocolate truffles and gingerbread men on it. She handed us each a plate and sat next to CeeCee.

  “So,” Lil said, gazing at me curiosity in her big blue eyes. “What’s the story?”

  I rubbed my face, and took a deep breath. “I’ve agreed to exchange bookshops with Sophie in Paris. It all happened so quickly…she Skyped yesterday, and I said yes, without much thought.”

  There was an audible intake of breath from the girls. For the first time ever they were rendered speechless. Usually they’d chatter away and talk over the top of one another. I threw my head back and laughed. “Girls, I’m not going to Antarctica, or climbing Mount Everest. I’m going to Paris.”

  Lil cleared her throat, and composed herself first. “Wow, Sarah, just…wow. In a million years I would never have imagined you’d leave your shop. You love your shop. Your books are your babies.” Her bright blue eyes were wide with astonishment as she emphasized each point. Pregnancy suited Lil, her complexion was rosier than normal, and her blonde hair seemed to grow overnight, falling down her back in effortless shiny waves. Her face though, paled at my announcement. Did she think I was making the wrong choice?

  Lil hurried on: “It’s not that I don’t think it’s a good idea. I just…” her words fell away.

  “Ain’t nothing gonna change here. Youth is fleeting, I’ll tell you that for free. There comes a time where you either fish or cut bait, cherry blossom…go on and do what you gotta.” CeeCee, the warm-hearted mother hen of our group, said.

  Customers milled by the counter, waiting to order, but the girls were still too shell shocked to notice. I pointed them out to Lil. “Won’t be a minute,” she said, smiling to them, her cheeks now pink from disbelief.

  “What does that incredible hunk of a man…?” CeeCee’s eyes glazed over, as she lost her train of thought. “Mmhm, Mr Rippling Abs, if I was forty years younger…” her voice petered off and we all stifled giggles.

  “Cee!” Lil said, faux scandalized. “Can you focus?” We giggled into our hands. CeeCee had pet names for all of our partners, and always threw in the same line about being forty years younger. She was at the pointy end of her sixties, and spritely as a teenager despite her plump frame.

  CeeCee was looking past us, lost inside her daydream. Her head snapped back. “What? Just ‘cause I’m an old woman that don’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty! My eyesight still works plenty fine! And when I see that boy, and the way he struts up that street like he owns it, all smoldering-eyed, strong-jawed perfection, I just can’t quit starin’. Then there’s that sculpted body o’ his, I say to myself, I says, ‘now Cee, when it comes prayin’ time tonight, you remember to thank the Lord for that fine specimen o’ a man, it’s the least you can do’.”

  I almost spat out a mouthful of coffee, and tried my hardest to swallow it down without choking. Missy cackled like a witch and Lil gave Cee an astonished stare.

  “I think,” Lil said to me, trying to keep her belly-grabbing laughter in check. “You might want to tone down the bodice rippers you’re lending to Cee. They may be affecting her health.”

  We lost our tenuous grip on our composure and laughter burbled out of us. “I don’t know, Lil,” I said. “I think she has a point. He’s definitely not ugly.”

  Lil nodded. “Can’t argue there.”

  “And then there’s you,” Missy said, surveying my face. “You even look French
, Sarah – like a French ingénue with your beautiful black, bobbed hair, and big fathomless eyes.” Missy had a thing about boosting people up, she only saw the good in a person and threw compliments around like confetti. Even if she thought Paris was a crazy idea, she would’ve supported me, it was just her way.

  “Imagine you two in Paris, a couple of gorgeous love birds strolling along. That man is so in love with you, I bet he proposes…you’ll be walking along, your hair wet by rain, he’ll be gazing at you with those mesmerizing eyes of his…” Missy got lost in her imagination.

  I laughed. “Admit it, you’ve been reading the books I gave Cee?”

  Missy guffawed. “Yeah, who knew I’d become so addicted? But honestly, I think despite your outwardly quiet demeanor, there’s a firecracker inside of you just bursting to get out. This will do you good, finding yourself in a place as romantic as Paris. And that man is the perfect match for you.”

  I smiled at Missy, unsure of what to say to such thing. It was too soon to even contemplate marriage, but I did wonder about the future. Ridge with his uber drive and ambition to succeed was at odds with my more gentle attitude. I was happy enough to float through life, book in hand, caught up in a fictional world. But was that my problem? The reason sometimes I couldn’t sleep? There were times I worried that I wasn’t trying hard enough to live in the real world. Everyone I knew had a goal, whether it was having children or expanding their businesses. And yet there I was, muddled by it all, so afraid that if I left the familiar I wouldn’t be able to handle it on my own. I’d slept walked safely through life and it was time to wake up, and smell the…croissants.

  “Ridge does his own thing, and it’s time for me to find out what I want from life, other than reading, as much as I love it.”

  I wasn’t sure if Ridge was completely comfortable in Ashford. He was a New Yorker through and through, and thrived on the hustle and bustle of big city living. He was competitive and determined, speeding from one story to the next. Here, if you rushed anywhere people would think you were being chased by a killer plague of zombies, or something.