The Little Bookshop On the Seine by Rebecca Raisin Read Free Book Online Page B

which looked far too small, their expert drivers negotiating the tight space, without much maneuvering. Along the sidewalk were a cluster of cherry trees; naked without their perfumed blossoms. They stood tall and proud like watchmen out front. Off to the side of the shop was a little wooden house, on stilts like a letterbox, filled with picture books and marked with a hand painted sign that read “Kids’ library.” A line of children waited patiently for their turn to open the tiny glass door and select a pre-loved book. Behind them, parents snapped shots of the Notre Dame looming in the distance, or the Pont Saint-Michel to the right. Others held maps, their faces scrunched in concentration.
    I laughed at the sheer craziness of it all. It was so
busy
! I was like a dot in the jumble of people going about the business of living.
    Turning back to the bookshop, I stepped closer and peeked in the window. It was just as I imagined; dark wooden shelves wound to the ceiling, books were double stacked, the ones higher up were beige with dust. On the main floor, rickety old tables bowed with the weight of colorful new editions.
    A towering pile of the latest bonk busters were displayed by the front door in an unapologetic heap. Which books would sell best here? I couldn’t wait to find out. In Ashford, romance was my biggest genre, the women in my small town kept me afloat with their purchases of sweeping love stories. Would it be the same here, in the city known for romance and passion? I hoped so. I could usually tell what genre a person favored after a quick once-over and a study of their mannerisms – it was a gift I was proud of, and I delighted in pairing up a book with its owner.
    Somewhere above was Sophie’s apartment, and the thought of a quick snooze on crisp sheets was too tempting to resist. I’d say a quick hello to the staff, and then sleep. Adventures would be so much better once I’d rested. I studiously avoided gawping into the window of the
fromagerie
next door, out of loyalty to my friend. I’d be living on French cheese that much was certain, but I wouldn’t buy it there, lest it taste like despair.
    I pushed open the door of Once Upon a Time, and got stuck in a crowd of people. “Sorry, can I just get…” No one would move an inch to let me past, I don’t think they could see me, or hear me, amid the chaos. “Excuse me,” I said, my words fluttering above unheard.
    Sophie had said to find Oceane, a French girl who’d worked here for years, and she would show me to the apartment, and instruct me on exactly what I needed to do for the bookshop.
    On tiptoes, I tried to find the counter. It was stifling inside with so many bodies. How did Sophie cope with so many fingers touching her books? A man in front picked one up and flipped it carelessly open. I winced when I heard the crack of its spine as it split. It took all my might not to snatch the book from his hands. I supposed it would be just as hard letting books go here as it was at home, though this might be tenfold worse, by the size of the crowds. “Umm, can you please let me past?” No response. Damn it to hell, being five foot nothing!
    Off to the right there was a small nook, the right size for my suitcase, so I wheeled it in, squished my backpack on top, and draped my jacket over it. Determined, I elbowed my way to the counter, through the mass of slow-moving traffic, yelling cries of, “Sorry. Excuse me.” Golly, it was hard to breathe. Finally, I found some space near the counter, and fell against it, making a mental note to wear bright clothes, and maybe carry a megaphone next time.
    A girl with fiery red curls stood serving customers, stamping the inside of their books with the famous Once Upon a Time logo.
    The queue, long and snake-like, drifted right back to the dark recesses of the shop. Sophie had given me a run down on the staff, but the journey had been a long one, and my mind blanked. What were their names?
    “I’m