The Bookshop on the Corner (A Gingerbread Cafe story) Read Online Free PDF

better. Every. Single. Day.”
    He cocked his head, his small smile slipping. “You’ve been to New York?”
    “Well…no. I have no desire to be crushed in the throng of people racing through their day. I’m a small-town girl, always will be.”
    “Not everyone is like that. Maybe I could show you around NYC some time?” His megawatt smile was firmly back in place.
    I let out a “hum” that sounded slightly strangled. It wasn’t as though I didn’t understand the appeal of big cities; it was just our cozy little town was so easy to live in. And perfect for people like me who were happiest hiding in a book nook with their fictional friends.
    “So, can I interview you for the piece?”
    I shook my head. “A second-hand bookshop? I don’t think so. And my blog is a place where women feel comfortable talking about things that are of no concern to fast-living men. Why don’t you ask Lil and Cee from the Gingerbread Café? They’re the ones who are trying new things, and putting Ashford on the map.”
    Lil owned the cute-as-a-button Gingerbread Café across the road, and worked alongside CeeCee, the most effervescent human on earth. They’d built the tiny café up over the years into a successful business.
    “Fast-living men?” he continued. “I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or an insult. I’ve just come from the Gingerbread Café.” He patted his six-pack. “They plied me full of sweets. Fun girls. But what about you? This shop…” He turned to survey it, and I wondered for a minute what he must make of it. I tried looking through a stranger’s eyes at the books haphazardly piled on the floor. The shelves were double stacked, and skewed. It was gloomy, and musty, and smelt like old parchment. And that was what I loved about it. It wasn’t shiny and new and filled with light. It was a place for words, and a place for quiet. A harmless little alcove where you could loll on a faded half-empty beanbag, pull over a garish-colored throw rug and while the afternoon away reading. It wasn’t unusual for me to stumble down the back and trip over a boot of someone snoozing, as they had read themselves to slumber.
    He sighed softly, bringing me back to the moment. “It’s similar to a timeworn Parisian bookshop. Like there’s buried treasure here, if you just spend some time hunting for it.”
    I held in a shriek of yes! Mr Rippling Abs had it spot on. It
was
like a Paris bookshop. An old, forgotten, hidden little gem of a place, where time stopped, and the only thing that mattered was a good metaphor, or an awe-inspiring paragraph. A sentence that made you close the book and think of the way twenty-six letters could be arranged to make something so miraculous, something that
spoke
to you, almost as if it were written especially
for
you.
    He looked deeply into my eyes as if he was trying to read me. “Aha. So Paris is OK in your books?”
    Wistful, I said, “Of course — doesn’t every girl dream of Paris?”
    He inched closer and said, “Some dream about kissing under the Eiffel Tower, and strolling along the Champ de Mars…”
    I gulped, and held back a sigh of longing as I pictured myself strolling hand in hand along the cobblestoned streets of Paris.
    “Sarah…Sarah?”
    “Oui?”
I blinked the fantasy away and felt myself color.
Oui?
I couldn’t believe I just said that! This man was making me go completely loopy.
    He laughed as I retreated back to the safety of the counter. “
Mademoiselle
, you won’t change your mind about being interviewed by
moi
?”
    I threw him a dark look and fiddled with the books stacked precariously on the desk before muffling a reply. “I’m very busy, actually. So if you’d like a poetry book, you’ll find a stack near the beanbags at the back…”
    His face dropped, but I couldn’t tell if it was because I’d said no to the interview or the fact I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. I wasn’t brave enough to. The way I was thinking, I’d have us