Read The Little Bookshop On the Seine for Free Online Page B

books! I couldn’t face some of my favorites being sold, though, and had taken one, then two, then a stack of them, just in case. They were my talismans, a reminder of my shop.
    When the next train arrived, I gave myself a silent pep talk, and mimicked the people ahead of me, lunging myself and suitcase on to the train with a cry of
eee
! When the doors closed, I surveyed my limbs; all intact! I hadn’t been snatched, mugged, scammed, and now I could add hadn’t been squashed to death on the train. I was one step away from potentially booking a trek up the Himalayas…
Settle down, Sarah. You’ve been here all of five minutes.
My bucket list was a little fanciful for a newbie tourist, I must admit.
    Eventually the crowd thinned, and I snagged a seat. I pushed my face against the glass, and tried to calm the erratic beat of my heart. Since I was a little girl, I’d dreamed of visiting Paris, and here it was before me – breathtaking, glorious, and everything I imagined. Apartments as far as the eye could see, window boxes with bright red flowers spilling out, like lackadaisical smiles. White shutters were flung open to welcome soft sunshine inside. Cars zoomed up roads. Abbeys were dotted here and there, their gothic facades awe-inspiring. I was goggle-eyed with the beauty surrounding me.
    The city sprawled in every direction; even though I’d spent many a night dreaming of Paris, and gawping at photos, I hadn’t expected this. The sheer enormity of what I’d done gave me pause, and I was proud of myself, for the first time in ages, for leaping from the monotony of my life and doing something that scared me.
    The train sped on, graffiti scribbles marred brickwork on a row of identical apartments, in front a cluster of elderly women held shopping bags, long skinny baguettes poked their heads out, eavesdropping on their chatter.
    Between buildings, I saw snatches of it. The metal gleamed under the sunlight like the fingers of God were pointing to it, showing me the way. It was so much bigger than I’d expected, its middle higher than the tallest buildings, as it stretched for the clouds. The Eiffel Tower, the heart and soul of Paris. A young woman standing near me inclined her head closer to the window; like Sophie, she was coiffed to perfection, her barely there make-up expertly applied. I felt unkempt in comparison, and nervously ran a hand through my hair.
    “First time in Paris?”
    “
Oui
.” I said, darting a glance back at the Eiffel Tower. It was magnificent, the way it stood proudly in the center of the city. I couldn’t wait to see it up close. It would dwarf me – what an architectural marvel.
    She gripped onto the handrail above, as we shimmied along with the rocking of the train. “Go to the Sacre Coeur for a good view of the whole city, and then you’ll see how truly
magnifique
La Tour Eiffel is. Lots of steps to get there, but worth it.” Her voice was almost musical, sensual. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of the way French people spoke, whether it was in their native tongue or heavily accented English.
    “
Merci
,” I said, giving her a shy smile, knowing my accent must have sounded brash compared to hers. “There’s so much to see and do. I can’t wait.” I fell back into English, feeling less inhibited with my own language. Though I’d promised myself to try and speak as much French as possible, when it came time to speak, I was embarrassed; I sounded clunky and disjointed compared to the lovely lilt surrounding me. The words that fell from commuters’ lips were almost poetic.
    “Find the real Paris,” she said, fluttering her hand towards the window. “Away from the tourist spots. Look for the forgotten avenues. They’re full of hidden gems.” And with that she spun on her heel, leaving me with only the citrusy scent of her perfume.
    What would I discover in lost laneways, and veiled gardens? So many literary greats had lived and loved here, and stepping where they once did