The Bookshop on the Corner (A Gingerbread Cafe story) by Rebecca Raisin Page A
Authors: Rebecca Raisin
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do. I waited for Missy to protect her hair, but she continued sobbing while CeeCee patted her back and hushed her.
“You might need to invest in some o’ that fancy waterproof mascara, Missy,” CeeCee said.
Through her tears, she said, “I’m going to buy cartons of the stuff! Now, never mind that.” She looked pointedly at me. “Tell me about Ridge again. I got myself all worked up and missed the best part. What did he say about finding the missing piece?”
It was too good to be true; that was how it felt. We hardly knew each other but maybe love at first sight wasn’t just a trope used in stories. “He said when he saw me it clicked, the ‘something’ he’d been searching for…”
Chapter Eleven
The week went inordinately slow. I spent a lot of time lying on the chaise longue by the back door, staring out of the big window and into the garden. A fragrant summer breeze blew through the screen; the scent of roses wafting inside made me think of love. My real-life Harlequin love affair.
I couldn’t concentrate on anything that usually made my days whole. Reading, the words blurred, and doing paperwork I ended up doodling pictures of flowers and hearts, like a teenager in the throes of puppy love. A sort of listlessness overwhelmed me; it was unlike anything I’d experienced before. I was lonely, but didn’t seek out my friends, because there was something special about the feeling. A kind of rapture that could only be assuaged by Ridge returning. I’d never felt time march so slowly; it didn’t march as much as hobble.
Deeply buried longing had finally been unearthed by a man who I’d thought would never see anything in me. A real man, who looked and acted like the fairy tale.
For once, I couldn’t eat. Lovesick. Who knew that was real?
The computer pinged with an email. I jumped up, hoping it was from Ridge.
Sarah Smith
,
In the afternoons once everyone is beat after a day of 4WDing, I wander away from the campsite and sit on a red rocky outcrop nearby. Quiet time alone to think of you snuggled in the bookshop, busily packing up books, or reading with that beautiful sleepy look on your face. The thought of you being so far away makes me ache. It’s as though the clock never turns over, and the days stretch on. Tonight, I’ve managed to find an internet café, but from tomorrow they say we’ll be out of range for a few days. This wide brown land is ruggedly beautiful and I often wonder what you’d make of it. Snakes abound, and crocodiles too. But so far, not close enough to do any damage. I’m sure I could wrestle a croc to the ground if need be — do I sound like one of your heroes now? In truth I’d probably run the other way
.
Until next time
,
The roving reporter.
I replied to the email as quickly as I could in case Ridge was still sitting in front of the computer.
Dear RW
I’m sure you could wrestle a crocodile! I bet as soon as he locked his beady eyes on your biceps, he’d scurry away as fast as his little reptilian legs could take him! Work is piling up at the bookshop because I’ve been stuck staring out of the back window into the rose garden for some inexplicable reason…
Only one more week, until RW returns to the good old US of A, and back to the land of plenty. Until then, I’m thinking of you,
SS
Distance made everything that much sweeter. I missed Ridge, and he missed me. I was falling into the abyss of messy, manic love. And it was divine.
***
Mid-morning the following Friday, I’d finally managed to catch up on all my orders, blog about my all-time favorite romances and unpack boxes of stock that had arrived, including Gloria’s motley collection of second-hand books. I’d left Gerald’s neatly packed boxes until last so I could linger over each book, before I lovingly shelved them one at a time in the reading room. The books seemed to swell with pride as they sat solemnly on the old wooden shelves. They knew they were going to be well loved here, and
“You might need to invest in some o’ that fancy waterproof mascara, Missy,” CeeCee said.
Through her tears, she said, “I’m going to buy cartons of the stuff! Now, never mind that.” She looked pointedly at me. “Tell me about Ridge again. I got myself all worked up and missed the best part. What did he say about finding the missing piece?”
It was too good to be true; that was how it felt. We hardly knew each other but maybe love at first sight wasn’t just a trope used in stories. “He said when he saw me it clicked, the ‘something’ he’d been searching for…”
Chapter Eleven
The week went inordinately slow. I spent a lot of time lying on the chaise longue by the back door, staring out of the big window and into the garden. A fragrant summer breeze blew through the screen; the scent of roses wafting inside made me think of love. My real-life Harlequin love affair.
I couldn’t concentrate on anything that usually made my days whole. Reading, the words blurred, and doing paperwork I ended up doodling pictures of flowers and hearts, like a teenager in the throes of puppy love. A sort of listlessness overwhelmed me; it was unlike anything I’d experienced before. I was lonely, but didn’t seek out my friends, because there was something special about the feeling. A kind of rapture that could only be assuaged by Ridge returning. I’d never felt time march so slowly; it didn’t march as much as hobble.
Deeply buried longing had finally been unearthed by a man who I’d thought would never see anything in me. A real man, who looked and acted like the fairy tale.
For once, I couldn’t eat. Lovesick. Who knew that was real?
The computer pinged with an email. I jumped up, hoping it was from Ridge.
Sarah Smith
,
In the afternoons once everyone is beat after a day of 4WDing, I wander away from the campsite and sit on a red rocky outcrop nearby. Quiet time alone to think of you snuggled in the bookshop, busily packing up books, or reading with that beautiful sleepy look on your face. The thought of you being so far away makes me ache. It’s as though the clock never turns over, and the days stretch on. Tonight, I’ve managed to find an internet café, but from tomorrow they say we’ll be out of range for a few days. This wide brown land is ruggedly beautiful and I often wonder what you’d make of it. Snakes abound, and crocodiles too. But so far, not close enough to do any damage. I’m sure I could wrestle a croc to the ground if need be — do I sound like one of your heroes now? In truth I’d probably run the other way
.
Until next time
,
The roving reporter.
I replied to the email as quickly as I could in case Ridge was still sitting in front of the computer.
Dear RW
I’m sure you could wrestle a crocodile! I bet as soon as he locked his beady eyes on your biceps, he’d scurry away as fast as his little reptilian legs could take him! Work is piling up at the bookshop because I’ve been stuck staring out of the back window into the rose garden for some inexplicable reason…
Only one more week, until RW returns to the good old US of A, and back to the land of plenty. Until then, I’m thinking of you,
SS
Distance made everything that much sweeter. I missed Ridge, and he missed me. I was falling into the abyss of messy, manic love. And it was divine.
***
Mid-morning the following Friday, I’d finally managed to catch up on all my orders, blog about my all-time favorite romances and unpack boxes of stock that had arrived, including Gloria’s motley collection of second-hand books. I’d left Gerald’s neatly packed boxes until last so I could linger over each book, before I lovingly shelved them one at a time in the reading room. The books seemed to swell with pride as they sat solemnly on the old wooden shelves. They knew they were going to be well loved here, and
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