The Little Bookshop On the Seine (32 page)

I rushed outside grinning like the happy fool I was, and slipped on the icy ground in my rush. TJ had asked me to meet him by the city hall, a beautiful 19
^th
-century building I’d passed many times. When I arrived out of breath, laughter tumbled out of me. There he stood holding two pairs of ice skates, and motioned to an outdoor ice skating rink set right outside the hall. “I’ll break my legs, I’m sure,” I said.

“Give your shopping to the girl to stow and get these bad boys on your feet. You haven’t lived until you’ve ice skated in Paris at Christmas time.”

Snow drifted down under somber skies. Christmas lights twinkled even in the daytime. It was magical. And if I did break a leg at least I’d have a great story to tell.

“OK,” I said. “But don’t you dare sneak photos of me when I’m face first on the ice.”

“Seriously? But my Instagram would go wild with a picture like that.”

I laughed and gave him a shove.

Chapter Twenty Four

The table was laid with bright red cloth, and Christmas crackers sat atop plates. Cutlery shone under the lights, and the wine glasses sat waiting to be filled with French champagne. Christmas carols played chirpily overhead, while I made the final touches to the apartment, plumping cushions and adding more wood to the fire.

I switched on the Christmas lights, which twinkled brightly, making me think of my friends back home, who’d still be sleeping, but would wake to have breakfast at Lil’s and open presents together, including the ones I’d sent which thankfully had arrived the day before, just in time.

I had presents for my Parisian pals too. They were wrapped in gold foil, so I spent some time writing in the cards. I wanted everyone to know how much they meant to me. Each person from the bookshop had touched my life in some unequivocal way, and they probably didn’t know that. Even Tyler, the American who’d led the charge against me, had a place in my heart. Without his surliness, the way he’d put me on the spot, I would have still been the girl who never spoke up, the one who so desperately wanted to be heard.

I was sentimental and a little emotional, them all having left a mark in my life – one I would never forget. I knew nothing stayed the same, and all I had was this moment to thank them. When I came back in a year, maybe two for a visit I knew most of the staff would have moved on. Real life called for those transients, and what we’d shared – the ups the downs, the arguments, and the laughter – was part of our journey, and nothing could change that.

Over time, I’d reflect back, and with the hazy light of memory, I’d remember the fun times, more than anything else. It was hard to say goodbye in those cards, knowing each person would flit off around the globe to somewhere new that became home, and we’d never see each other again. For some of those staff it would be a forever goodbye, so I had to make it count. Maybe one day, a book would arrive at my shop, one of their names blinking from the cover, and I’d shriek as I unwrapped it, and think of them fondly. I hoped all their dreams came true. Because I felt as though mine had and they’d contributed to that.

I couldn’t hold back tears when I wrote to TJ. He’d been like a protective big brother to me, and I loved him so. His words were art, and I knew he’d make it with his poetry. The world just had to catch up to him. One day he’d have a wardrobe full of suits, rather than one crinkled promise.

And Oceane. She’d found The One. It was early days, I knew that, but I could tell. Real love shines more brightly, and they were almost blinding together. Luiz was a great man, and I knew he’d cherish her, like she deserved. He’d been hiding too, and now it was time for him to step back into living and follow his heart.

I wrote to Beatrice with a flourish, telling her she now had family. A backup plan. Everyone deserved to have friendships as special as I had with the girls back home, so I told her she’d never need to feel alone again. If things didn’t pan out, and she needed help, I was a phone call away, and whatever it took we’d fix it. I asked her to consider visiting me in Ashford one day, knowing she’d be fussed over by the girls, and made to feel loved. And she needed that, to know that there were people other than little Marc who cared about her.

For Luiz, I thanked him for his friendship. His light in those dark days when I was missing home so badly. And for the way he translated the letters, and what we learned about love from those whispers from the past. I knew, no matter where I was Luiz and I would always remain firm friends. I loved his quiet nature, his brilliant mind, and the words that he wrote.

“The champagne is cooling, and the table is set,” Ridge said as he walked from the kitchen, looking every inch the sexy man he was, dressed in a crisp white shirt and tight jeans.

“You’re a minx dressing like that right before everyone’s about to arrive,” he said.

I lifted a brow. “This old thing?” I joked.

He ran a hand over the fabric, dropping his palm to the small of my back. “You’re a siren in red.”

It was one of the dresses Oceane had found for me on the Champs-Elysees when the insurance had come through. It was scarlet red jersey fabric, and fit over my body like it was tailored for me. I’d splurged, feeling glamorous and sophisticated and totally French, but hadn’t had an occasion to wear it until today.

The doorbell sounded just as Ridge was nuzzling my neck. He groaned. “To be continued.”

I laughed and answered to the door to Oceane, who held Luiz’s hand. My heart just about burst at the sight of them together.

She put down her bag, and pecked Ridge on the cheek. “So you’re the hero in her story. I see...” She winked at me.

TJ arrived finding the door ajar. “Ridge,” he said, formally shaking his hand. “And Sarah,” he enveloped me in a hug.

When Beatrice and little Marc arrived, Ridge popped the champagne and handed everyone a glass, and ducked to the kitchen to get Marc an apple juice.

“Who’s going to toast?” Oceane asked. She looked utterly ravishing in a deep blue dress, her short blonde hair slicked to the side.

“To Paris,” TJ said. “May we all be as happy for the rest of our lives as we are now.” His eyes glittered with unshed tears, and I knew the sensitive soul that he was, he understood that we’d all move on, lives would get busy, and this would be a distant memory so we had to soak up every minute.

“To Paris,” we said and clinked glasses. This was a magical time in our lives, and no matter what had happened I would always look back on the time at the bookshop as something marvelous, something bold and brave that I’d done.

“I’d better check on things in the kitchen,” I said. Rosemary peppered the air, and the rich scent of roast turkey wafted lightly through the apartment.

“I’ll help,” said Oceane, digging the heel of her palms into my back, practically tripping me into the kitchen.

With a tea towel in hand, I took the roasting pan from the oven and basted the crispy meat, while Oceane knocked back her champagne. She was jittery and flushed.

“OMG,” she said. “He’s
The One
, Sarah. I know it already.” She gave me a wide smile. I’d never seen her as beautiful as she was right at that moment. Her blue eyes shone with happiness.

“I knew it!” I said giving her a quick hug. “I want to be invited to the wedding, don’t forget.”

She giggled like a school girl. “Of course! Obviously, he hasn’t proposed yet, being only a few days into it, but when he does you shall be my bridesmaid!”

Imagine a French wedding, Oceane style. It would be a grand affair, with all the trimmings.

“I would love to,” I said.

“Right, what do we need to do for lunch?” she asked surveying the bench.

“Get the foie gras on a plate, and I have some
chevre
to go with it.”

With capable hands she plated the appetizers expertly.

“I attempted a
buche de noel
, with coffee buttercream and ganache, do you want to take a look, and tell me if it resembles a yule log?” We all knew baking wasn’t my forte but I’d had a few practice runs with the cake leading up to today, because it was a traditional French Christmas dessert.

“Sure.” Oceane opened the fridge, and gasped. “You did not make that yourself! You bought it from a patisserie!”

I laughed. “I did so make it myself!”

“I’m joking,” she said, deadpan. “I can see that. I’m sure it tastes a lot better than it looks.”

I flicked her leg with the end of the tea towel. She let out a yelp, and fell about laughing, like she was on some kind of love-struck high. “So you and Ridge?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Desperately in love,” I smiled. “And a pact to be more forthright in future.”

“I’m happy for you. And he’s
sooo
handsome,” she said, sing-songy. “Right, everything is baking nicely, let’s take out the appetizer and some more champagne.”

“Let’s do presents?” I said. Little Marc was racing around the room with a paper plane, and I couldn’t wait for him to open the gifts we’d bought. Knowing he and Beatrice had had it tough made buying presents that much sweeter. I’d dithered over what to choose for them, wanting to get it right. There was a stack of a dozen, brightly wrapped with his name on them.

“Marc, I do believe St Nick left you a few things here under the Christmas tree. You must have been an incredibly good boy this year.”

His solemn brown eyes widened and he said with the sweetest, lilting accent, “I’ve been very good. Ask Maman.”

Beatrice and I exchanged smiles.

I knelt with him by the Christmas tree, and everyone gathered around, their faces lit up by the sight of a child with an expression of unadulterated joy on his face. The magic of Christmas was still so new to him, and a thrill to watch. I took one of the biggest parcels. “This one has your name on it.”

Without hesitating he ripped the foil off, and screeched. The box on his lap almost dwarfed him. Everyone had wanted to chip in for his presents, and we’d made the right choice by the look of it.

“A real train set! Can I open it?” he asked, suddenly shy.

“Of course,” I said. “And we have batteries so you can play with it while you’re here.”

Ridge knelt down beside us. “Would you like some help, putting it together, buddy?”

Marc nodded. My heart swelled watching Ridge sit cross legged with the little boy, patiently helping him take each piece from the box. There were plenty more for Marc under the tree but he was content with the biggest one, as all little boys probably are, when they get their first serious piece of machinery. “I don’t know whose having more fun,” I said, kissing Ridge on the cheek before taking another present from the tree. “Beatrice,” I stood and handed her the gift.

She opened the card first and read slowly, her eyes welling with tears. She took a moment to speak her lip wobbling, “Thank you, Sarah. For everything.”

“Go on,” I said. “Open it.” I wasn’t too far away from a blubber-fest myself so I tried to keep things on track and leave the happy tears for later.

She ripped off the foil a lot more delicately that Marc had. “No!” she said, a small sob escaping. “Airline tickets?”

Ridge had graciously added to my dismal savings in order to buy the tickets. “They’re open, so you can either fly back to the UK whenever you want, or you can come to Ashford for a holiday.” I didn’t want to press her, but I thought maybe once things improved for her here, she may want to mend the bridges with her family. None of us knew what had driven her away, but at least she had the means to get back if she wanted. Selfishly, I hoped she’d visit us, and bring little Marc, and a piece of Paris too.

She promptly burst into tears and Oceane moved to hug her, handing her another gift. “You may as well get all your tears out at once,” she said, laughing.

Beatrice opened the next gift, a bunch of navy blue clothing, suspiciously small, like Marc’s size. “What…?”

“Marc’s uniform for nursery next year. We couldn’t resist when you said you’d enrolled him.”

Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. They’re so adorable. Look at these little vests!” She bit down on her lip, and hugged the uniforms to her chest. “I don’t know what to say. After everything I did, you guys do this?”

TJ said, “You haven’t opened my gift yet.”

She took the proffered gift which was wrapped in newspaper. She ripped it off and smiled. It was a book with a serious black cover. “Your poems?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m not so much unpublished any more, as well…published.”

We gasped, and crowded around TJ, hugging him and throwing up high fives. “When did this happen?” I asked.

“A few weeks ago, but I only just got my author copies. And FYI you’re all getting the same Christmas present.”

I hugged him tight. “No guesses who the next author reading will be performed by! If you’re not too famous to hang out with us now?”

He shrugged. “You’ll have to talk to my people, I have no idea what my schedule is like these days. Getting mobbed by fans, and men and women falling over themselves to get to me…”

“Yeah right, Romeo,” I said. “I want boxes of your books sent to Ashford, so I can sell them at my shop.”

“Sure,” he said. And handed us all our copies. I flicked to the first page, the dedication read,
The nights by the little bookshop on the Seine, spent with word lovers, and other lost souls, this is for you. Paris swept us up, and made us whole, may we never wander alone no matter where we are.

He knew. We all did. That what we’d had was something special. It was like someone had sprinkled fairy dust and made all our Christmas wishes come true. After mammoth hugging and a few tears I said, “Shall I finish preparing lunch?” The rest of the bookshop crew were coming at various times after they’d caught up with other friends. And Lucy and Clay were dropping over after they’d had a feast with their art crowd. There were murmurs of yes, so I smiled and wandered back into the kitchen.

My nerves fluttered at the thought I’d burn the turkey and serve raw potatoes, but Oceane was a brisk assistant and added more oil to the trays, and basted the meat once more. I top and tailed green beans that were so fresh they made a satisfying crack. I added to them to a pot of water and par boiled them.