The Little Bookshop On The Seine. Rebecca Raisin

      She clucked her tongue the way mom’s do. “I don’t want you retreating again, that’s all.”

      “I won’t. Don’t you see? This is a huge step forward for me. No one can accuse me of living in the shadows if I go to Paris.” When I was seven, we went to a trade fair on the outskirts of Ashford, and somehow or other, I wandered off and got lost. I’d taken a walk into the nearby woods, and had gone too far. When darkness descended I’d felt real ice cold fear that I’d die out there, being seven, every noise was amplified, every shadow a predator. A whole team of people with torches searched for me. They didn’t find me until close to midnight. After that, nightmares plagued me, and I was scared to leave my parents’. A side effect was developing a nervous stutter, and as you can imagine school life became impossible. Kids mimicked me, and teased me until one day I faded away, and dived into the world of fiction.

      Books had been my only friends. My confidence had taken the almightiest of hits, and had never really recovered. That girl, the one who wanted to die of embarrassment was sometimes just under the surface. Years of speech therapy fixed my stutter, and by the time I was a teen I’d learned to be invisible. I didn’t socialize, and didn’t have the first clue how to change that. Once you’ve cut yourself off from people, it’s so hard to find a way back in. My mom was certain I had developed depression, or agoraphobia, or a host of other medical conditions but it was fear, and the effects of bullying that left such a scar on my psyche. But that changed when I opened my bookshop, and Missy stepped into my life, and brightened it. Really that was a million years ago, and the friendship with the girls, and falling in love had boosted my self-confidence.

      Mom sat across from me, the chipped and faded Formica table between us. Nothing in Mom’s kitchen had changed since I was a little girl. The spice rack was the same, the shelf displaying fancy plates still gathered dust, just like always. The silver kettle, dented, a boil-on-stove type, sat rotund, waiting. It didn’t take a genius to see who I took after, change wasn’t in either of our vocabs, yet here I was.

      “Mom, my books have taken me around the world, but it’s time I stepped from the pages, so I can see it for myself.” I clasped my hands and leaned my elbows on the table. “It’s a few months, and then I’ll be safely home, and I’m sure I can pick up exactly where I left off because nothing ever changes around here.”

      Dad was out back in the apple orchard, having given me a bear hug and his blessing. He was a man of few words, but his actions always showed me he cared. Mom’s black hair was streaked with more gray these days, and real fear was reflected in her eyes. She wrung her hands, a frown appearing, as if I’d told her I was going off to war.

      “I just don’t know how you’ll cope.” Her lip wobbled. She was worried, her only child heading off into the sunset.

      My parents were salt of the earth types. The only time they traveled was to sell the apples that grew abundantly out back. They worked hard, read a lot, and were quiet church going folk, who lived softly in this world.

      “Mom, I’ll be fine. It’s time I tried something new, that’s all.”

      She shook her head, miffed. My mom was a lot like me with the if it’s not broke don’t fix it kind of mentality, so I knew she thought traveling was something frivolous, a folly. And dangerous to boot.

      “What if something happens to you?”

      “I hope it does, Mom. I hope I come back with a new vigor for life. I’m tired of being the same person, half-living, all this waiting for something to happen…I have to make it happen.” The more I tried to convince her, the more I believed it myself.

      The only sound was the tick of the clock on the wall, one that had been there since I was a skinny five-year-old. Eventually she said, “Is this because of Ridge? You feel like you have to go chase your dreams somewhere else? Following in his footsteps?”

      I held in an exasperated sigh. “It’s not that I’m mimicking his life, or wanting to change my values set on his. I want to experience somewhere other than Ashford. Just for a little while.”

      She took a deep breath. “Well, OK. But I’m going to worry about you until you’re back on home soil.”

      “Try not to worry.” I gave her hand a reassuring pat. “Try and be happy for me.”

      With an unsteady smile she said, “I am, darling. It’s just Paris is so far away, and flooded with people. I’ve seen the TV shows, I know there’s crime. Bag snatching, people smuggling, have you seen the movie Taken? I’m sure that was set in Paris…”

      I hid a smile. Ashford was so small, no one was brave enough to commit any crimes. Here and there, a teenager would shoplift, and that was about it. The rest of the world seemed so fast, so downright hazardous to the quieter folk in our small town. “Mom, I’m not going to worry about being snatched off the street, or any of the million things that could happen. I’ll be careful, OK?”

      Falling into bed, the night before I was to leave, I dialed Ridge.

      “Baby,” his voice was soft with sleep. “We keep missing each other.”

      “It’s our thing. Where are you?” I pulled the comforter up, and curled onto my side, wishing he was here, with his arms wrapped around me, his body pressed against mine. I closed my eyes against the empty feeling.

      “At some sad little hotel at the airport. The empty spot on the mattress beside me a reminder how far away I am from you.”

      I hugged a pillow to my chest, no matter how much I tried to cuddle it during the night, the pillow was just a cold and aloof stand-in, until Ridge returned and held me tight. “And you’ll be even farther away soon.”

      He sighed. “Yep. I fly out in a few hours. As always, when I’m in the quiet away from you, I wonder what I’m doing…is it worth it? Doesn’t feel like it.”

      I smiled, sleepily. “What can I say? It’s your job, and you love it. You’d get bored staying in one spot too long.”

      “I don’t think I would, Sarah. I’d have you.”

      It was a sweet notion, and my heart swelled, but Ridge thrived on the adventure of his job. The unknown of what he’d find. If he stayed in Ashford for any length of time, I’m sure he’d get itchy feet, and yearn to travel once more. His job suited him, he was as dynamic as his stories.

      “You’ll see me soon,” I said. “Hopefully you can get your story wrapped in a week.”

      A groan traveled down the line. “I hope so. That’ll be almost a month I haven’t seen you, the longest yet.” He continued, “Sorry I didn’t call last night. I had to sub a story, and it was woefully late when I got back. I didn’t want to wake you.”

      “You should have, I like hearing your voice, and then I would have closed my eyes and dreamed of you.” Without any more preamble, I said, “Ridge, Sophie and I are doing a bookshop exchange. I’m going to Paris! Tomorrow…”

      I heard the bed creak, he must have sat up abruptly. “What?” The word came out short and sharp.

      Probably a lot for him to take in at a quarter to midnight. “Yes, it’s sudden, and unlike me, but spontaneity is good, right?” That’s what I kept trying to tell myself at any rate. Maybe it was a characteristic that could be learned.

      “Sarah…you’re leaving tomorrow? And you’re telling me now?”

      I frowned. “Well, I’ve been trying to call you…”

      “Sorry,” he said with a groan. “It’s just a shock. Your bookshop…you said you’d never leave it. I’ve asked you so many times to join me on an assignment and you’ve always said no.”

      “That’s different, Ridge. You’re working, and dashing here and there. I’d be in your way. Besides we always said we’d go to Paris one day, and this is our chance. I trust Sophie with my bookshop, she knows how