Read Online The Little Bookshop On the Seine by Rebecca Raisin - Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca Raisin
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crinkled and frayed at the hems, like he wore it a lot.
“Finally, he’s here.” Beatrice said, her voice sharp.
“Poor Beatrice,” he said, real concern in his voice. “Rolling her eyes to make sure her brain is still there. Find it this time, did you, dearie?”
What now? A rift among the staff? Sophie had told me that there were often petty squabbles, and I’d have to really pull them into line to make this place run efficiently. But did they snipe at each other just for the heck of it?
Beatrice crossed her arms, and said “Go write some unpublishable poetry. Oh wait…you already have.” She smirked, and tossed her red curls once more.
My shoulders slumped a few degrees south. My lofty dreams of hanging out at the bookshop chatting about favorite novels were in tatters. Where was the book lovers’ paradise I’d imagined? Us curled up on crinkly leather sofas, talking into the early hours of the morning about writers we adored, novels that changed our lives? I could fix it, I was sure of it, by injecting some fun into the monotony of day-to-day bookshop life.
“You must be TJ?” I said, holding my hand out. He had the tortured poet look perfected; mussed hair, perpetual frown, and secretive, dark eyes. His disheveled appearance was compelling, as though he lost himself in the business of living, and didn’t bother about anything else. I recognized that attribute in myself too. Many a time, I wandered from my reading cocoon, hair a bird’s nest, cheek with a thick pillow wrinkle, dazed, as my world had changed once again because of a book that had taken me on a journey, depositing me back on earth with a
bang
once I was done.
TJ cocked his head, and surveyed me for the longest time. “Sarah Smith. Romance reader. Book blogger. Owner of the Bookshop on the Corner. Twenty-nine. Loves metaphors. Hates mushrooms. Believes in love at first sight. Dates a roving reporter who resembles a Mills and Boon cover model, but that’s not the only reason she loves him. Yes?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Umm, yes…?”
His gave me an impish grin which made him look almost boyish. “How do I know? I’m a details man…”
“Stalker, more like,” Beatrice interjected.
He flicked a hand to dismiss her. “Thanks for your input, Beatrice.” His words poured out honeyed with sarcasm. He pasted on a smile, and took a notebook from his satchel. “Now if we’re all caught up, I have some unpublishable poetry to write. I’ll lock up, Sarah.”
I yawned. “That’s music to my ears. I haven’t slept since yesterday. Can you point me in the direction of Sophie’s apartment?”
TJ leaned over the counter, opened a drawer and took a bunch of keys out. “These are for the apartment, and the gold ones are for the bookshop,” he said. “Go up the stairs, third door down is Sophie’s apartment. Do you need help with your bags?”
“Thanks TJ, but I can manage.” I only wanted to shower and sleep. There’d be ample time to get to know everyone tomorrow. Though I was dead curious to find out their stories and how they found their way to Once Upon a Time, it would have to wait. “I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow?” I went to the front door, to the little gap where I’d stashed my bag and backpack – only to find my jacket in a crumpled heap on the carpet. I spun around, searching the entryway desperately, but there were only books, no bags.
No!
“What is it?” TJ said. “You’ve gone lily white.”
I rubbed my hands over my face, hoping I’d wake up from a bad dream and find my things where I left them. “They’re gone! My suitcase and my backpack. My passport!” I groaned.
TJ loped over, and surveyed the empty spot where my jacket lay like an empty promise. “Are you sure someone didn’t move it?”
We both looked to Beatrice who shrugged. “This is what I meant by people taking advantage. It’s why I’m tough with the customers. Sorry, Sarah, but this just proves my point.”
A
“Finally, he’s here.” Beatrice said, her voice sharp.
“Poor Beatrice,” he said, real concern in his voice. “Rolling her eyes to make sure her brain is still there. Find it this time, did you, dearie?”
What now? A rift among the staff? Sophie had told me that there were often petty squabbles, and I’d have to really pull them into line to make this place run efficiently. But did they snipe at each other just for the heck of it?
Beatrice crossed her arms, and said “Go write some unpublishable poetry. Oh wait…you already have.” She smirked, and tossed her red curls once more.
My shoulders slumped a few degrees south. My lofty dreams of hanging out at the bookshop chatting about favorite novels were in tatters. Where was the book lovers’ paradise I’d imagined? Us curled up on crinkly leather sofas, talking into the early hours of the morning about writers we adored, novels that changed our lives? I could fix it, I was sure of it, by injecting some fun into the monotony of day-to-day bookshop life.
“You must be TJ?” I said, holding my hand out. He had the tortured poet look perfected; mussed hair, perpetual frown, and secretive, dark eyes. His disheveled appearance was compelling, as though he lost himself in the business of living, and didn’t bother about anything else. I recognized that attribute in myself too. Many a time, I wandered from my reading cocoon, hair a bird’s nest, cheek with a thick pillow wrinkle, dazed, as my world had changed once again because of a book that had taken me on a journey, depositing me back on earth with a
bang
once I was done.
TJ cocked his head, and surveyed me for the longest time. “Sarah Smith. Romance reader. Book blogger. Owner of the Bookshop on the Corner. Twenty-nine. Loves metaphors. Hates mushrooms. Believes in love at first sight. Dates a roving reporter who resembles a Mills and Boon cover model, but that’s not the only reason she loves him. Yes?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Umm, yes…?”
His gave me an impish grin which made him look almost boyish. “How do I know? I’m a details man…”
“Stalker, more like,” Beatrice interjected.
He flicked a hand to dismiss her. “Thanks for your input, Beatrice.” His words poured out honeyed with sarcasm. He pasted on a smile, and took a notebook from his satchel. “Now if we’re all caught up, I have some unpublishable poetry to write. I’ll lock up, Sarah.”
I yawned. “That’s music to my ears. I haven’t slept since yesterday. Can you point me in the direction of Sophie’s apartment?”
TJ leaned over the counter, opened a drawer and took a bunch of keys out. “These are for the apartment, and the gold ones are for the bookshop,” he said. “Go up the stairs, third door down is Sophie’s apartment. Do you need help with your bags?”
“Thanks TJ, but I can manage.” I only wanted to shower and sleep. There’d be ample time to get to know everyone tomorrow. Though I was dead curious to find out their stories and how they found their way to Once Upon a Time, it would have to wait. “I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow?” I went to the front door, to the little gap where I’d stashed my bag and backpack – only to find my jacket in a crumpled heap on the carpet. I spun around, searching the entryway desperately, but there were only books, no bags.
No!
“What is it?” TJ said. “You’ve gone lily white.”
I rubbed my hands over my face, hoping I’d wake up from a bad dream and find my things where I left them. “They’re gone! My suitcase and my backpack. My passport!” I groaned.
TJ loped over, and surveyed the empty spot where my jacket lay like an empty promise. “Are you sure someone didn’t move it?”
We both looked to Beatrice who shrugged. “This is what I meant by people taking advantage. It’s why I’m tough with the customers. Sorry, Sarah, but this just proves my point.”
A
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