Page 15 of The Paris Chapter

‘No, I just thought… I guess I woke up and you’d gone.’ I cringed inwardly, worried I sounded completely pathetic.

‘I wouldn’t just disappear when we had plans,’ Ethan replied softly. He thought for a moment. ‘You can trust me, Tessa. Come on, I can’t wait for you to see the bookshop.’

Those words sank into my brain.You can trust me. Could I though? I really had no idea. But him following through with our plans meant something to me.

‘Lead the way,’ I said, smiling. When I’d hurriedly packed for Paris, I had thankfully stuffed my puffer jacket into my bag, so I threw that on over my jeans and followed Ethan out. I thought suddenly that he could become a good friend if I let him.

And if I make myself not think about him in that towel again.

8

I had heard of Shakespeare and Company. As Ethan and I walked side-by-side under the cover of two umbrellas towards the bookshop close to Notre Dame, I understood why it was such a draw to people in Paris. The quaint, small shop with its green frontage was a treasure trove. Books lined the walls everywhere I looked as I followed Ethan inside, my mouth falling open. It had that delicious old book smell. A member of staff actually climbed a ladder to reach the top shelf for a book like something out ofBeauty and the Beast. There was even a quote painted on the wall, and I loved a motivational quote.

‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ Ethan said in a low voice. I realised then he’d been watching me as I spun around, taking in the shop.

‘I kind of thought there would be no point coming to an English language bookshop while I was in Paris, but I would have missed out big time.’

Ethan smiled. ‘I’m glad you like it. I love the history of the place,’ he said as we walked deeper into the bookshop. ‘How so many writers have visited, how they let writers sleep here, howthey champion books… I don’t know, it feels like you’re walking where some really important literary figures have walked too.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘That’s a very romantic sentiment.’

‘Well, uh, I love books. And I admire anyone who can write one,’ he said, ducking his head to avoid my gaze.

‘I’m a hopeless cook so I admire what you can do,’ I told him, my eyes searching the shelves for my place in the alphabet, like they always did in a bookshop. ‘Oh.’ I stepped forward and saw they had my last book, my biggest seller so far:A Love Like Ours. ‘Look!’ I picked it up and smiled as I flicked through it.

‘Tessa,’ Ethan said playfully.

I turned to see he was holding his phone up. I shook my head with a chuckle, but I held my book up as he took my picture. We drew the attention of a member of staff who came over and Ethan eagerly told her I was the author, and she asked me to sign the copy. It never got old signing one of my books. It was something I’d practised when I was younger and dreamed of being an author. Ethan took another photo as I signed it. We both then bought a couple of books and I picked up a branded sweatshirt. We left each holding a tote bag to stroll to the café Ethan had wanted to take me to.

‘Let me send you these pictures so you can post them online,’ Ethan said as we passed by stalls selling antique books and paintings of Paris, the Seine in the distance. The rain had created puddles everywhere and was still falling gently. ‘What’s your number?’

I gave him my number and he sent the pictures he’d taken.

We arrived at the small café tucked away down a side street. One that probably only locals knew about. It was warm and dry, welcome after being outside even for a few minutes, and Ethan insisted on getting us drinks, so I sat down at a table close to thelarge window. I watched people passing by with umbrellas and hoods up, then I put the tote bag on the table and ran my fingers across it. My book had been in a Parisian bookshop. I thought back to the first time I’d seen something I had written on a shelf. It had been surreal and wonderful. I had felt so proud of myself. I had made my dream come true.

And now I was worried it might slip away.

‘You look deep in thought again.’

I jumped when Ethan sat down next to me. ‘I was thinking about finding my book in Shakespeare and Company. I don’t want to stop writing but what if I have to?’

Ethan passed me a cup of tea and wrapped his hands around the latte he’d got for himself.

‘Thank you.’

‘After I studied in London, I went for a job interview at a restaurant, and I had to make a dish for the chef. He was a pretty formidable character,’ Ethan said. ‘I was so intimidated. My hands shook as I cooked. I made one of their dishes and honestly, I fucked it up. I made a right hash of it and the presentation went terribly. I knew it wasn’t good enough. But that chef actually ripped me to shreds. He told me I would never be good enough to work in any restaurant. I was useless. And I should just give up. I left that interview and went home and cried.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ I said, shocked that someone could be that mean. ‘You were just starting out; what did he expect?’

Ethan shrugged. ‘I started applying for office jobs after that; I thought he was right – I wasn’t cut out for it. Then one of my friends on my course invited me to come to Paris with him. He was dating a woman called Juliette.’ Ethan paused to take a sip of his latte then he smiled as he reminisced. ‘When she found out I wanted to be a chef, she dragged me into the kitchen at her family’s restaurant and put me through my paces. I madeher a pasta dish that I loved to cook and she thought it was delicious. She gave me a chance and I never looked back. But if I had listened to that chef, I’d never be where I am today. And you know what?’ He raised an eyebrow as he looked across at me.

‘What?’ I asked, hanging on his every word.

‘That chef came for a meal at the restaurant in London last month and sent his compliments to the chef. I’d made his dish.’ Ethan raised an eyebrow. ‘I have never felt so smug in my whole life.’

I burst out laughing and he smiled across at me, looking pleased.

‘Did he know it was you?’

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