The Little Bookshop On The Seine. Rebecca Raisin

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 strangled hiccough escaped me. TJ rubbed my back. This was the never-ending day from hell. It was impossible to believe it was still my first day in Paris. It had been interminable. Bag snatch, check. Heck, I hoped my mother wasn’t right. Was this a sign of things to come?

      “Go upstairs,” he said. “Use Sophie’s phone. You’ll have to report it all missing, I guess. Not that you have any hope of it being returned.” His voice was soft with empathy.

      I frowned. Bed was still out of reach. It was my own damn stupidity, I’d have to spend the next hour on the phone. Way to go, Sarah.

      With heavy legs, I stomped up the stairs fighting tears. Paris was supposed to be perfect. A magical, romantic city where I’d discover a whole new me. Maybe I wasn’t great at driving my own life outside of Ashford. I’d made a mess of things. Money, credit cards, passport – gone. That would make the coming weeks difficult when it came time to, you know, eat. And my suitcase, my precious books – gone. Clothing – gone. The only pair of shoes I’d have now were the borrowed clodhoppers on my feet, and the thought of lugging myself around on those all day in the store had me and my back at breaking point.

      Why would I leave my bags right near the front door? I may as well have left a note on there saying Steal me! Back home we didn’t even lock our houses at nighttime, but I had to learn quick smart I wasn’t in Ashford any more.

      Pushing open the door of Sophie’s apartment, I lifted a little. It was an elegant space, pretty and feminine and I knew I’d be comfortable. Grainy wooden floorboards were polished to a shine, a huge bed was made up with fresh white linen. A floor lamp lit the room from under its ruched vanilla shade. A bouquet of flowers scented the air sweet. Near the bed was a bookshelf that took up an entire wall; I was happy to note it was filled with romance books. I took in their titles, and anticipated making my way through them. Instead of diving into bed with a dusty well-read romance, I grabbed the phone and tried to sort out who I needed to call. My eyes were hanging out of my head by the time I hung up and fell into a deep sleep.