The Little Bookshop On the Seine

by Rebecca Raisin

  She clucked her tongue. “Santa’s village is for enfants,” she said, though I could tell by her smile she wasn’t being truthful, and was just as excited as me to see the spectacle.

  We arrived at Boulevard Saint-Germaine, sparkling fairy lights pulsing along each side of the street, brightening up the dark evening, and bringing the magic of Christmas to the fore.

  Stalls were set up, selling everything from hot chocolate and crepes, to more robust French cuisine that made my mouth water. Roasted chestnuts enriched the air. There was a stage with a manger and we stopped to ogle it. French Christmas carols played from unseen speakers, and it was a moment of pure bliss. The French did do Christmas just as brazenly as Americans! On a small podium Santa sat proudly on an oversized red chair, listening to children as they delivered their wish-lists. I pushed Oceane into the queue, ignoring her cries of non, non, non.

  “Don’t be such a spoilsport. I want a photo with Santa, and you’re going to tell him what you want for Christmas.”

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’ll never live this down,” she groaned while I laughed.

  Santa’s eyes lit up when Oceane perched on his lap. She sat stiffly, pretending to be mortified before speaking quickly to him, and it took me a full minute to untangle her words. Something about a man she loved, who didn’t know she existed… I couldn’t fathom any man not noticing Oceane. She was striking, and vivacious, and very hard to miss. When the photographer nodded to me, I sat on Santa’s other knee and grinned like a fool knowing this picture would be displayed on my mantelpiece back home, and I’d remember the scent of freshly baked crepes, the snow tickling my face, the laughter, and shiny faces of the people here.

  Once our photo was printed we were each handed a candy cane, just like back home. I thanked them profusely before we moved on, coming to a stall selling gingerbread. I gasped when I saw some in the shape of an Eiffel Tower, and knew I had to buy one for each of the girls back home. It was too perfect a present to pass up. I just hoped they’d survive in the mail…

  “You’re such a tourist,” Oceane said, but her tone was mellow, and she forgave me my foibles what with it being Christmas and all.

  We giggled, fetching cups of warm vin rouge and sipping while we drank in the Christmas spectacle, all with the Eiffel Tower shining in the background. Could I really leave all of this? My beautiful new friends, my life on the Seine… It was becoming more than just a place I loved, it was almost becoming a home. There was just one thing I was missing…and my heart ached for him.

  We wandered out of the market and into an avenue coming face to face with a Christmas carousel. Reindeers moved slowly up and down, making their way around in a never ending circle. “We have to go on there!” I said.

  Oceane scoffed. “Enfants!”

  It was true, there were only children clutching the wide-eyed reindeers, but still, that didn’t put me off.

  I paid for two tickets and waved them at Oceane. “Don’t offend Rudolph,” I said, enjoying teasing her. She rolled her eyes, and tipped her vin rouge back. “Fine. Only for you,” she said with a shake of her head, laughter spilling out of her.

  ***

  “Get the chairs from the attic,” Beatrice barked orders, her face shining with concentration. “Please,” she added with a sheepish grin.

  TJ let out a theatrical sigh, but bounded upstairs as he was bid.

  Oceane was busy serving customers. Charming them with her delightful French accent, and inviting them to the reading, which was only an hour away.

  “I’m nervous for him,” I said to Beatrice, moving piles of books, so we could make room for more chairs.

  “Don’t be. He’s going to be a crowd pleaser. That voice, and those mesmerizing eyes of his. We’re going to sell out of all his books.” Beatrice said. “It’ll have the whole of Paris talking. You watch tomorrow, it’ll be in the papers, and we’ll be overrun. Women will flock here if they know he writes upstairs, so we’d better keep that to ourselves.”

  There’d been plenty of speculation about Luiz and why someone as visually appealing, who wrote so succinctly about love, was without it. I’d read countless articles online and even some fan sites – gossip was rife and sometimes laughable. But even though I knew him as a friend, I still didn’t know much about his deeper feelings. What was his past? From that one moment where I had asked him about whether his life had inspired his writing, we had avoided the subject, talking about love and life but never about his.

  “Do you ever wonder if he was in love himself?” I asked, a little dreamily because of the happiness of a full bookshop of real buyers.

  She nodded, untangling a microphone cord. “I heard he lost his wife in an accident.”

  “What? Who’d you hear that from?” I said, shocked. It was too heartbreaking to imagine.

  She shrugged. “One of the regulars here, an artist named Sally. She paints upstairs in the study sometimes.” Beatrice stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Says it was ten years ago, and they were newly married. And that’s why he can never write a happy ever after.”

  My skin broke out in goosebumps. “Wow, that’s so sad, but it makes sense.”

  “Gets worse,” Beatrice said, leaning in closer, not wanting to be caught talking about Luiz. “His wife was seeing another man behind his back…and that’s the reason she was driving so fast in bad weather, to get home, before he knew she was gone. But the snow had come early that year, and her car skidded off the road.”

  No wonder Luiz couldn’t write about love ending well. That kind of tragedy would cast a pall of grief over anyone. “How did he know where she’d been?”

  “There was a letter in her handbag. She was breaking up with him.” Beatrice looked as heartbroken as I felt.

  “You got all of this information from Sally who paints upstairs?” I couldn’t imagine Luiz confiding all of this to someone.

  Beatrice’s eyes were solemn, “Sally was his wife’s sister.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “I know. So he stopped writing for a few years, but really he’d just stopped getting them published. And each novel became that little bit grittier, darker, tangled love that can’t ever work.”

  We both stood stock still for a while, the enormity of what she had just said breaking over us in waves. I was so surprised, but then, when I thought about it, it all made sense. Luiz had suffered a real devastating heartbreak. With a situation out of his control that had skewed the course of true love and left his vision of it cloudy with hurt.

  I walked around in a sort of daze, sorting out books, organizing a few nibbles and pouring glasses of wine for those who wanted something to sip on during the reading. My mind was on Luiz. Before I knew it the time for the reading was upon us and the staff were running this way and that causing total commotion in their excitement for the first author reading at Once Upon a Time.

  “Turn the carols off!”

  “Lock the till!”

  “We need more wine glasses!”

  “Move!”

  Nerves made us panic, before we eventually bumped into one another in our haste, and burst out laughing.

  “OK,” I said. “Let’s just take a deep breath. If we look like jittery wrecks, it’ll make Luiz nervous. Paste on a smile, hand out glasses of wine – TJ, in ten minutes once everyone is settled you introduce him.”

  “Go team,” Beatrice said, her eyes blazing like we were about to play sport rather than listen to a book reading.

  I walked towards the front of the shop, stopping to help direct people to their seats, and then found Luiz.

  “Ready?” I asked. He was relaxed, and smiling, sipping a glass of white wine. I studied him under my lashes. Had he really lost his wife like that? Luiz seemed so grounded, and honest, a good friend to me, and fair when I confided in him about Ridge. Had the love letters we’d found brought the memory of the one in her purse back for him?

  “Ready,” he exclaimed holding his drink aloft. “Excited by it,
actually.”

  TJ walked over, pulling at the lapels of his crinkled suit. “Everyone’s seated, and they’ve spilled out into the other rooms, so I think we should start.”

  Luiz nodded, and I gave him a quick hug. “Good luck! I better find somewhere to stand.”

  TJ picked up the microphone, his eyes darted around the room, and he licked his lips nervously. “Welcome to Once Upon a Time,” his voice wobbled slightly. “We’re thrilled to have Luiz Delacroix here with us to kick off the first of the new author readings we’ll be hosting here. Today he is here to read the first chapter of a book he’s currently working on. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Luiz.”

  There was thunderous applause as Luiz took the microphone and nodded to the crowd. “Thank you for inviting me here. I’ve never done a reading before, because I’m usually crippled with fear that my words don’t matter, that what I’ve written isn’t right, and I’d see that reflected in the faces of the crowd, and I’d lose any ability to write again.” There were a few laughs in the crowd that were immediately shushed, but Luiz smiled. “Dramatic, yes, but that’s the conflict I face every time I finish a book. This story, however, is different. It’s real, it’s my heart on the page, and that fear of failure has vanished with this one story. I hope you like it.”

  The room was silent bar the crackle of the fire, as all eyes were on Luiz as he read. The story started with a man wandering around the streets of Paris, the scents, the sounds, and the feeling he was alone in the world, so alone that sometimes he felt life was passing him by. He’d fallen in love with the wrong girl, and she was gone, and he felt a certain level of guilt at the events preceding it.

  My heartbeat hammered. He was writing about his own life. Somehow, I knew this would be a groundbreaking novel for him. That once he’d dealt with the past on the page, he’d transform.

  He continued on, about a tragic accident, a break up letter hidden in her purse. Coming face to face with her lover in the gloom of the hospital room; as she took her last breath, it was the lovers name on her lips, not his. And he knew, in that instant, she’d ruined him. Her death, his sadness, his trust broken, and only himself to pick up the pieces. Endless days and long nights ahead where he nursed a broken heart that he knew would never heal. And even though she’d done that to him, he missed her. He had loved her with everything.

  Until one day, he met a girl, in a bookshop. And he felt a small thrill, like he could love again. She didn’t know he existed. He’d been going to the same shop for years. And the idea that she didn’t know, that it was his secret, gave him hope. It was enough to admire her from afar.

  A grin almost split my face when I worked out who he meant. It had been right in front of my face the whole time.

  But the time had come, he said, to tell her how he felt. She loved words, so he wrote her a book.

  I nudged TJ who stood beside me, and indicated with my head to Oceane, whose cheeks were flushed. A smile threatened to swallow me up, as I thought about Luiz making his way upstairs every morning to write. Was that just so he could get a glimpse of Oceane as he passed? When we’d met on the bridge that night, they’d cast admiring glances at each other.

  I closed my eyes and wished they’d find happiness together. That Oceane wouldn’t have to waste time with any more Mr Right Now’s, and that Luiz would step from the shadows of his past, and into the light of new love. Maybe this would be the one book of his that ended in a Happy Ever After. I almost squealed at the thought. The bell chimed, and I cringed – I was meant to have to turned it off. I mouthed a sorry to Luiz, and dashed behind the counter to halt its pinging.

  And there he was. The veritable man mountain, his shoulders dusted with snow, his eyes reflected with concern. My heart beat so fast I thought I might pass out. Everything around me faded as we locked eyes. His face was lined with worry, his jaw tensed tight.

  “Ridge.” I wanted to run to him, but I held myself back. It had been too long, I wasn’t sure how to act. Still hurt about radio silence, and broken promises.

  “You’re busy,” he said, indicating to the crowd, his voice a murmur.

  “A little.” He could have called, told me he was coming. But like always, he’d hung up and let me wait. I spent my life waiting.

  I wanted to hear Luiz’s reading, but I couldn’t help feeling that I’d soak it up better reading the inky black words myself when it was published. Or maybe that was just an excuse. “So?” I said.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, his brows pulled together, and he took a step closer. “When you said you weren’t sure how you felt it hit home how my choices were affecting us. I don’t want to give up my career, but I don’t want to lose you either,” he whispered.

  “Let’s go outside.” I grabbed my scarf and coat, and pushed open the door, Ridge close behind.

  We went to the little garden on the corner, standing close for warmth’s sake. Being near him, the familiar he-scent, the planes of his face, which I’d stroked with the pad of my finger so many times, made my heart hurt. Because what if it ended here? I’d never kiss those lips again. Never feel his breath on my skin when he took his time, teasing me, caressing me, making me feel wholly alive and in the moment. But I’d had enough. I couldn’t be a stopgap. I had to come first, or at least equal with his other love, his work. He could at least promise me that much, or it was c’est la vie.

  “If only you knew how much I loved you, Sarah.” His voice was plaintive, sad.

  “But how can we go on like this? Months apart...missed phone calls. No communication? I can go weeks, but I can’t go months.” Each word was like a razor blade falling from my lips, cutting me to the quick. I’d never understood heartbreak, until that very moment – my chest seized, the pain real. I put a hand to it, hurting badly.

  “Let me explain.” His eyes were murky, like he was ravaged inside. He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing snowflakes that drifted lazily down. “When I left the New York Herald, I thought my career was over. And I’ve worked so hard to make it in that world. You know how competitive it is. All I’m asking for is twelve months to make a name for myself as a freelance reporter. That only leaves us with six months left of this…lull between visits. Can you not try and understand? It’s not forever. I have plans after that. Plans that may keep me in Ashford full-time, but first I have to prove myself in order for that to happen.” His worry lines deepened.

  I crossed my arms – even bundled up, my bones still felt the cold. “Will that year turn into two? Ridge, it feels as though I’m waiting for something that’s always just out of reach.”

  “I promise, not long, and I’ll be free.” He inched even closer, his presence having the ability to make me melt. I squared my shoulders, not wanting to give in to the familiar. “I have investors lined up for a venture. I wasn’t going to tell you in case it didn’t pan out. We’re looking at starting up a digital magazine with me as the editor – and I can edit from Ashford, Sarah. I can edit from anywhere. Be wherever you are full time, if this takes off.”

  My mouth fell open. “You’d stay in Ashford for good?”

  He laughed, the sound carrying into the air above. “That’s the plan. One of the reasons I’ve been taking so many assignments is to find reporters who’ll sub to us. It’s been a lot of work, and I know it’s still not right, that I let you down, but it was all because my long term goal was to be with you. I know I should have confided in you, kept in better contact. But it was like I was racing against time to make it all happen. I didn’t want to lose another set of investors. I didn’t want the idea to go belly-up. I was so driven, I almost lost my mind. And what a wakeup call, to think I’d lose you, in my efforts to get this financed, to be with you all day, every day.”

  “I wish you’d told me. It would have saved a lot of heartache.” The similarities with the letters hit home. What we did for love, and got lost on the way. “You shouldn’t have kept it secret. What did you think I’d do if it didn’t work out?”

&n
bsp; “It was more that I wanted it to perfect. To tell you, and then never leave your side again. I’d have felt like the biggest failure if it hadn’t worked out.”

  “I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”

  “There won’t be.”

  “OK,” I said, still unsure what all this meant for us.

  “What about you, Sarah? You used to be content to live in Ashford, being at home – and now, here you are running a business in a bustling city…” he trailed off. “Where do I fit with the new you? You’ve changed so much in these few short months, from your clothes, the way you speak, your confidence. Even the emails you send are different.”

  “Paris has changed me.” I smiled up at him, his dark eyes sparkling, snow falling on his broad shoulders, the Eiffel Tower a winking reminder in the background. “I couldn’t keep waiting to live my life. I’ll always love my home town. But I couldn’t be a passenger in your life, or even my own any more. The waiting, that wanting, only I could find it. And here it was the whole time. Inside of me. I’m not the same person I was, because she needed improvement. A little pizazz, and hell of a lot of confidence injected into her. The bookshop, with its bevvy of drama, brought that out of me. I had to speak up to be heard, and now I’m speaking up with you.”

  “You’re my everything, Sarah. And I would gladly give it all up, if you asked me to choose. My reasons were pure. I should have just told you, and we could have hoped together.”

  He gathered me in his arms, shivers coursing the length of me. Back in the embrace of the man I loved, who loved me too. The worry of the last few months ebbed away. My heart was light, and I knew if we spoke openly like this from now on we could get through anything – together.

  “I wasn’t certain it would happen.” he mumbled into my hair, “We’ve had investors pull out, and advertisers cancel. It was only a week ago we got confirmation that another corporation would help finance for a share of the business. It’s been one big ball of stress, but I can finally say, fairly confidently, it should all go ahead. We plan to launch it next summer. My motivation was you, Sarah. I love my work, and the competitive nature of the industry, but I love you more. And this way I can have both.”