THE LITTLE BOOKSHOP ON THE SEINE
Author: Rebecca Raisin
ISBN: 9781335012500
Publication Date: 1/7/2020
Publisher: HQN Books
It’s The
Holiday on
the Champs-Élysées in a great big love letter to Paris, charming
old bookstores and happily-ever-afters!
When bookshop owner Sarah Smith is offered the opportunity for a job exchange with her Parisian friend Sophie, saying yes is a no-brainer—after all, what kind of romantic would turn down six months in Paris? Sarah is sure she’s in for the experience of a lifetime—days spent surrounded by literature in a gorgeous bookshop, and the chance to watch the snow fall on the Eiffel Tower. Plus, now she can meet up with her journalist boyfriend, Ridge, when his job takes him around the globe.
But her expectations cool faster than her café au lait soon after she lands in the City of Light—she’s a fish out of water in Paris. The customers are rude, her new coworkers suspicious and her relationship with Ridge has been reduced to a long-distance game of phone tag, leaving Sarah to wonder if he’ll ever put her first over his busy career. As Christmas approaches, Sarah is determined to get the shop—and her life—back in order…and make her dreams of a Parisian happily-ever-after come true.
When bookshop owner Sarah Smith is offered the opportunity for a job exchange with her Parisian friend Sophie, saying yes is a no-brainer—after all, what kind of romantic would turn down six months in Paris? Sarah is sure she’s in for the experience of a lifetime—days spent surrounded by literature in a gorgeous bookshop, and the chance to watch the snow fall on the Eiffel Tower. Plus, now she can meet up with her journalist boyfriend, Ridge, when his job takes him around the globe.
But her expectations cool faster than her café au lait soon after she lands in the City of Light—she’s a fish out of water in Paris. The customers are rude, her new coworkers suspicious and her relationship with Ridge has been reduced to a long-distance game of phone tag, leaving Sarah to wonder if he’ll ever put her first over his busy career. As Christmas approaches, Sarah is determined to get the shop—and her life—back in order…and make her dreams of a Parisian happily-ever-after come true.
EXCERPT:
CHAPTER
ONE
October
With
a heavy heart I placed the sign in the display window.
All
books 50% off.
If
things didn’t pick up soon, it would read Closing
down sale.
The thought alone was enough to make me shiver. The autumnal sky was
awash with purples and smudges of or ange, as I stepped outside to
survey the display window from the sidewalk.
Star-shaped
leaves crunched underfoot. I forced a smile. A sale wouldn’t hurt,
and maybe it’d take the bookshop figures from the red into the
black—which I so desperately needed. My rent had been hiked up. The
owner of the building, a sharp-featured, silver-tongued,
forty-something man, had put the pressure on me lately—to pay more,
to declutter the shop, claiming the haphazard stacks of books were a
fire risk. The additional rent stretched the budget to breaking
level. Something had to change.
The
phone shrilled, and a grin split my face. It could only be Ridge at
this time of the morning. Even after being together almost a year his
name still provoked a giggle. It suited him though, the veritable man
mountain he was. I’d since met his mom, a sweet, well-spoken lady,
who claimed in dulcet tones, that she chose his name well
before
his fa mous namesake in The
Bold and the Beautiful.
In fact, she was adamant about it, and said the TV character Ridge
was no match for her son. I had to agree. Sure, they both had
chis eled movie star cheekbones, and an intense gaze that made many a
woman swoon, but my guy was more than just the sum of his parts—I
loved him for his mind, as much as his clichéd six-pack, and broody
hotness. And even better, he loved me for me.
He
was the hero in my own real-life
love
story, and due back from Canada the next day. It’d been weeks since
I’d seen him, and I ached for him in a way that made me blush.
I
dashed inside, and answered the phone, breathlessly. “The Bookshop
on the Corner.”
“That’s
the voice I know and love,” he said in his rich, husky tone. My
heart fluttered, picturing him at the end of the line, his jet-black
hair and flirty blue eyes. He simply had to flick me a look loaded
with suggestion, and I’d be jelly-legged and lovestruck.
“What
are you wearing?” he said.
“Wouldn’t
you like to know?” I held back a laugh, eager to drag it out. So
far our relationship had been more long-distance than anticipated, as
he flew around the world report ing on location. The stints apart
left an ache in my heart, a numbness to my days. Luckily I had my
books, and a sweep ing romance or two helped keep the loneliness at
bay.
“Tell
me or I’ll be forced to Skype you and see for myself.”
Glancing
down at my outfit, I grimaced: black tights, a black pencil skirt,
and a pilled blue knit sweater, all as old as the hills of Ashford.
Not exactly the type of answer Ridge was waiting for, or the way I
wanted him to picture me, after so many weeks apart. “Those
stockings you like, and…”
His
voice returned with a growl. “Those
stockings?
With the little suspenders?”
I
sat back into the chair behind the counter, fussing with my bangs.
“The very same.”
He
groaned. “You’re killing
me.
Take a photo…”
“There’s
no need. If you’re good, I’ll wear the red ones tomorrow night.”
I grinned wickedly. Our reunions were al ways passionate affairs; he
was a hands-on type of guy. Lucky for him, because it took a certain
type of man to drag me from the pages of my books. When he was home
we didn’t surface until one of us had to go to work. Loving Ridge
had been a revelation, especially in the bedroom, where he took
things achingly slow, drawing out every second. I flushed with desire
for him.
There
was a muffled voice and the low buzz of phones ringing. Ridge mumbled
to someone before saying, “About tomorrow…” He petered out,
regret in each syllable.
I
closed my eyes. “You’re not coming, are you?” I tried not to
sigh, but it spilled out regardless. The lure of a bigger, better
story was too much for him to resist, and lately the gaps between our
visits grew wider. I understood his work was important, but I wanted
him all to myself. A permanent fixture in the small town I lived in.
He
tutted. “I’m sorry, baby. There’s a story breaking in
Indonesia,
and I have to go. It’ll only be for a week or two, and then I’ll
take some time off.”
Outside,
leaves fluttered slowly from the oak tree, swaying softly, until they
fell to the ground. I wasn’t the nagging girl friend sort—times
like this though, I was tempted to be. Ridge had said the very same
thing the last three times he’d canceled a visit. But invariably
someone would call and ask Ridge to head to the next location; any
time off would be cut short.
“I
understand,” I said, trying to keep my voice bright. Sometimes I
felt like I played a never-ending waiting game. Would it always be
like this? “Just so you know, I have a very hot date this
afternoon.”
He
gasped. “You better be talking about a fictional date.” His tone
was playful, but underneath there was a touch of jealousy to it.
Maybe it was just as hard on him, being apart.
“One
very
hot
book boyfriend…though not as delecta ble as my real boyfriend—but
a stand-in, until he returns.”
“Well,
he better not keep you up half the night, or he’ll have me to
answer to,” he faux threatened, and then said more seriously,
“Things will slow down, Sarah. I want to be with you so much my
soul hurts. But right now, while I’m freelance, I have to take
whatever comes my way.”
“I
know. I just feel a bit lost sometimes. Like someone’s hit pause,
and I’m frozen on the spot.” I bit my lip, trying to work out how
to explain it. “It’s not just missing you—I do understand about
your job—it’s…everything. The bookshop sales dwindling, the
rent jacked up, everyone going on about their business, while I’m
still the same old Sarah.”
I’d
been at this very crossroad when I’d met Ridge, and he’d swept me
off my feet, like the ultimate romance hero. For a while that had
been enough. After all, wasn’t love al ways the answer? Romance
aside, life was a little stagnant, and I knew it was because of my
fear of change. It wasn’t so
much
that I had to step from behind the covers of my books, rather plunge,
perhaps. Take life by the scruff of the neck and shake it. But how?
“You’ve
had a rough few weeks. That’s all. I’ll be back soon, and I’m
sure there’s something I can do to make you forget everything…”
My
belly flip-flopped at the thought. He would
make
me forget everything that was outside that bedroom door, but then
he’d leave and it would all tumble back.
What
exactly was I searching for? My friends were getting married and
having babies. Buying houses and redecorating. Starting businesses.
My life had stalled. I was an introvert, happiest hiding in the
shadows of my shop, reading romances to laze the day away, between
serving the odd customer or two—yet, it wasn’t enough. In
small-town Connecticut, there wasn’t a lot to do. And life
here—calm, peaceful—was fine, but that’s just it, fine
wasn’t
enough anymore. I had this fear that life was passing me by because I
was too timid to take the reins.
It
was too hazy a notion of what I was trying to say, even to me.
Instead of lumping Ridge with it, I changed tack. “I hope you know,
you’re not leaving the house when you get home. Phones will be
switched to silent, computers forgotten, and the only time we’re
leaving the comfort of bed is when I need sustenance.” A good romp
around the bedroom would suffice until I could pinpoint what it was
that I wanted.
“How
about I sort out the sustenance?” he said, his voice heavy with
desire. “And then we’ll never have to leave.”
“Promises,
promises,” I said, my breath hitching. I hoped this flash of
longing would never wane, the sweet torture of anticipation.
“I
have to go, baby. I’ll call you tonight if it’s not too late once
I’m in.”
“Definitely
call tonight! Otherwise, I can’t guarantee the book boyfriend won’t
steal your girlfriend. He’s pretty hot, I’ll have you know.”
“Why
am I jealous of a fictional character?” He laughed, a low, sexy
sound. “OK, tonight. Love you.”
“Love
you too.”
He
hung up, leaving me dazed, and a touch lonely know ing that I
wouldn’t see him the next day as planned.
I
tried to shake the image of Ridge from my mind. If anyone walked in,
they’d see the warm blush of my cheeks, and know exactly what I was
thinking. Damn the man for being so attractive, and so effortlessly
sexy.
Shortly,
the sleepy town of Ashford would wake under the gauzy light of
October skies. Signs would be flipped to open, stoops swept, locals
would amble down the road. Some would step into the bookshop and out
of the cold, and spend their morning with hands wrapped around a mug
of steaming hot tea, and reading in any one of the cozy nooks around
the labyrinth-like shop.
I
loved having a place for customers to languish. Comfort was key, and
if you had a good book and a hot drink, what else could you possibly
need to make your day any brighter? Throw rugs and cushions were
littered around seating areas. Coats would be swiftly hung on hooks,
a chair found, knit ted blankets pulled across knees, and their next
hour or two spent, in the most relaxing of ways.
I
wandered around the shop, feather duster in hand, tick ling the
covers, waking them from slumber. I’m sure as soon as my back was
turned, the books wiggled and winked at one another, as if they were
eager for the day to begin, for fingers of hazy sunlight to filter
through and land on them like spotlights, as if saying, here’s
the book for you.
Imagine
if I had to close up for good, like so many other shops had in recent
times? It pained me to think people were missing out on the real-life
bookshop experience. Wasn’t it much better when you could step into
a dimly lit space, and eke your way around searching for the right
novel? You could run a fingertip along the spines, smell that
glorious old book scent, flick them open, and unbend a dog-eared
page. Read someone else’s notes in the margin, or a highlighted
passage, and see why that sentence or metaphor had dazzled the
previous owner.
Secondhand
books had so much life
in
them. They’d lived, sometimes in many homes, or maybe just one.
They’d been on airplanes, traveled to sunny beaches, or crowded
into a back pack and taken high up a mountain where the air thinned.
Some
had been held aloft tepid rose-scented baths, and thickened and
warped with moisture. Others had childlike scrawls on the
acknowledgment page, little fingers looking for a blank space to
leave their mark. Then there were the pristine novels, ones that had
been read carefully, bookmarks used, almost like their owner barely
pried the pages open so loath were they to damage their treasure.
I
loved them all.
Excerpted
from The
Little Bookshop on the Seine by
Rebecca Raisin. Copyright ©
2015 by Rebecca Raisin. Published by HQN Books.
Author
Bio: Rebecca
Raisin is the author of several novels, including the beloved
Little Paris series and the Gingerbread Café trilogy, and her short
stories have been published in various anthologies and fiction
magazines. You can follow Rebecca on Facebook, and at
www.rebeccaraisin.com
Social
Links:
Twitter:
@JaxandWillsMum
Facebook:
@RebeccaRaisinAuthor
Instagram:
@RebeccaRaisinWrites
MY THOUGHTS
This is a cheesy, romantic and predictable story but I did this book was ok. Not really something I would read again but I did like it and I do recommend this one for those who are into hallmark movie like books.
I am giving this 3 out of 5 stars.
