Read The Bookshop on the Corner (A Gingerbread Cafe story) Online
Authors: Rebecca Raisin
The Bookshop on the Corner (A Gingerbread Cafe story)
Who said that only real heroes could be found in fiction?
Sarah Smith had an addiction — she was addicted to romance novels. The meet-cute, the passion, the drama and the gorgeous men! Now this wouldn’t have been such an issue if she hadn’t been the owner of the only bookshop in Ashford, Connecticut.
Ever since her close friend Lil, from the Gingerbread Café, had become engaged she had been yearning for a little love to turn up in her life. Except Sarah knew a good man was hard to find — especially in a tiny town like Ashford. That was until New York journalist, Ridge Warner, stepped into her bookshop…
Love could be just around the corner for Sarah, but will she be able to truly believe that happy-ever-after can happen in real-life too?
Praise for REBECCA RAISIN’s
Gingerbread Café
series
‘
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
is a lovely, cheery festive read, a good old-fashioned feel-good romance to warm the cockles of your heart. This is one of my favourite Christmas reads of the year.’
Books with Bunny
‘This is a great novella that I really enjoyed reading and found that I didn’t want to put it down. It is the perfect read to get you in the mood for Christmas and my mouth was watering after reading about all of the delicious-sounding baking. If you are looking for a Christmassy romance then don’t look any further than Rebecca Raisin’s brilliant debut.’
Bookbabblers
on
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
‘Raisin not only excels in creating a festive mood — the tone of family and friends coming together is sweet — but also portrays a lovely winter-wonderland setting, where things are covered in snow. This makes the book feel cosy and safe. It’s definitely an uplifting read.’
Sam Still Reading
on
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
‘This is a short and incredibly sweet novella that explores a very endearing and unexpected romance. It is definitely one that will make you laugh and warm your heart, and one that can be happily devoured in one sitting.’
Louisa’s Reviews
on
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
‘If you love Christmas, romance and HEA then you will love this sweet novella.
This one gets an A!’
Clue Review
on
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
‘Wow — loved it, loved it, loved it! … It was just like I was visiting with old friends. Rebecca‘s descriptions are so vivid I could very well have been stood in the café, hugging CeeCee and waddling out after sampling all the different chocolatey delights on offer. My mouth literally watered with every turn of the page…. I don’t know what I‘m going to do whilst waiting for the next book — Christmas is so far away!!‘
Crooks on Books
on
Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Café
‘This book is sweet & delicious, and I am looking forward to the next in the series as they end all too quickly!‘
All Booked Out
on
Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Café
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Café
The Bookshop on the Corner
Rebecca Raisin
R
EBECCA
R
AISIN
is a true bibliophile. This love of books morphed into the desire to write them. She’s been widely published in various short-story anthologies, and in fiction magazines, and is now focusing on writing romance. The only downfall about writing about gorgeous men who have brains as well as brawn is falling in love with them — just as well they’re fictional. Rebecca aims to write characters you can see yourself being friends with. People with big hearts who care about relationships, and, most importantly, believe in true, once-in-a-lifetime love.
For my little boy Will - a real life hero. I love you so.
Contents
Snuggled in the cozy bay window of the bookshop, I looked up from my novel as the first golden rays of sunshine brightened the sky. Resting my head against the cool glass, I watched the light spill, as though it had leaked, like the yellows of a watercolor painting. Almost dawn, it would soon be time to switch on, and get organized for another day at The Bookshop on the Corner.
Every day I arrived at work a few hours prior to opening to read in the quiet, before customers would trickle in. I loved these magical mornings, time stolen from slumber, where I’d curl up with a book and get lost inside someone else’s world before dog-earing the page and getting lost in mine. Sure, I could have stayed in bed at home and read, but the bookshop had a dream-like quality about it before dawn that was hard to resist.
I turned back to the inside of the shop to watch shards of muted sunlight settle on piles of books, as if it were slowly waking them. The haphazard stacks seemed straighter, as if they’d decided when I wasn’t looking to neaten themselves up, dust their jackets off, and stand to attention. Maybe a customer would stumble across one of them today, run a hand lovingly across their covers, before selecting a book that caught their attention. Though my theory was books chose us, and not the other way around.
The bookshop was silent, bar a faint hum — were the books muttering to each other about what today would bring? Smiling to myself, I went back to my novel, promising myself just one more chapter.
When I looked up again the sun was high in the sky, and I’d read a much bigger chunk than I’d meant to. Some stories consumed you, they made time stop, your worries float into the ether, and when it came to my reading habits I chose romance over any other genre. The appeal of the happy ever after, the winsome heroine being adored for who she was, and the devastatingly handsome hero with more to him than met the eye tugged at my heart. And I’d read about them all: from dashing dukes, to cocksure cowboys, I never met one I didn’t fall for.
The sounds of the street coming alive filtered in, roller shutters retreating upwards, cheery shop owners whistling as they swept their front stoops. Lil, the owner of the Gingerbread Café across the road, arrived, hand in hand with her fiancé, Damon. They stood on the pavement in front of her café, and kissed goodbye, spending an age whispering and canoodling.
I tried to focus on my book, but couldn’t help darting a glance their way every now and then. Each morning they embraced almost as though they’d never see each other again, yet they worked only a few short steps away. It was as if they were magnetically drawn to each other; one step backwards would draw the other person forwards. I bet they couldn’t hear the sound of shops opening or cars tooting hello. They had their own kind of sweet music that swirled around them as if they were in some kind of love bubble.
Feeling as though I was intruding on a private moment, I swiveled away from the window and padded bare foot down to the back of the bookshop to make more coffee. My feet found the familiar groove in the wood; the path was so well trodden it was bowed. The feel of the polished oak underfoot with its labyrinth-type trails exposed around stacks of books was comforting. It’d weathered traffic for so long it was indelibly changed by it.
Taking the pot of coffee to the counter, I poured a cup, and sipped gingerly. Lately, I’d felt a little as though I was at a crossroads. You know that frustrating feeling of losing the page in your book? You didn’t want to go too far forward and spoil the surprise, and you didn’t want to go too far back, so you kind of stagnated and started from a page that didn’t seem quite right, but you read it a few times just to convince yourself…that was how I felt about my life. A little lost, I guess you could say.
Ashford was buzzing with good news recently, love affairs, weddings, babies, but I was still the same old Sarah, nose pressed in a book, living out fictional relationships as if they were my own. I was waiting for
something
to find me. But what if that
something
never came?
What did heroines do when they felt like that? Broaden their horizons? I imagined myself swapping Ashford for Paris, because of the bookshops and the rich literary history. But really, I’d never ventured far from my small town, and probably never would. My bookshop was a living, breathing thing to me, and there was no one to look after it even if I did want to do something spontaneous. Should I take up a hobby? I’d be the girl stuck line dancing with the octogenarian. Instead of dreaming of the impossible, I set about opening the shop, and shelved that line of thought for another time.
With a feather duster in hand, I ambled around gently tickling the dust off book covers. The dust motes floated up briefly before landing back on each tome to settle until the next morning, when I’d wave the duster around again as though it were a magical wand.
I turned when I heard the familiar click clack of high heels. Missy, my best friend and owner of The Sassy Salon, strutted into the bookshop in a cloud of sweet-smelling perfume. Her form-fitting scarlet dress lit up the sepia-toned shop. She was all bouffant auburn curls, and thick Hollywood-esque make-up, and the type of person that made you smile just by setting eyes on her.
“Good morning, my gorgeous friend! You’re looking as pretty as ever, I see.” Missy had a tendency to speak loudly, and peppered her dialogue with compliments. In her hands was a bunch of pale pink roses. “These are for you,” she said, handing me the flowers. “I walked past them in the garden this morning, and it was like they yelled out, ‘Take us to Sarah!’ So what’s a girl to do? I hurried back inside and got my best hair scissors and lopped them off, not feeling as glum as I would normally since they expressly asked for it.”
Times like this, I realized Missy and I had a lot more in common than you’d think. Her roses spoke to her and my books spoke to me. What a pair we made.
I buried my face in the delicate petals and inhaled. They smelled fresh as a summer’s day.
“My books thank your lovely roses. They sure will appreciate their wonderful perfume.”
“Pass on my thanks to your lovely books,” Missy joked. She was vivacious, and charming, but there was so much more to her than that, an inherent goodness, that made me appreciate our friendship every day.
“Will do,” I said and kissed her cheek, before retreating to find a vase.
I ambled back to Missy and propped the vase on the counter. I admired the roses once more before tapping the stool next to me. “Get comfy, you still have a while.” Missy didn’t open until ten a.m. so she usually came into the bookshop for a quick chat and a cup of coffee. Her salon was as lively as she was. It sat on the opposite corner from the bookshop, and was like a beacon in the street. The rest of our shops were old colonial style, lots of red bricks and timber, but Missy’s shop was painted in lemon-yellow and pink stripes, which somehow looked glamorous rather than gaudy.
Missy settled herself on the stool, and swung her legs like a child. “Would you take a look at them…?” She pointed across the road to Lil and Damon. “Ain’t love grand?” she boomed.
“Sure is. I’ve been trying not to watch them, but it’s like seeing a romance novel come to life with those two. It’s utterly captivating.”
She must have heard the wistful tone in my voice because she turned to me and said, “You’ll find your plus one, you know. It’s only a matter of time.”
I laughed. “My plus one?”
She fluffed her curls, before responding: “Well, you know, with all the weddings coming up, namely the lovebirds across the way.”
