The Right One (Closed)

Summer. Paris.

The smell of amazing food was inescapable, the women were gorgeous and from seemingly every country he'd ever heard of and a few he'd not, and yet he was still bored out of his head. People spent life savings to go on vacation here, planned for years to take honeymoons here, hell he was basically on a vacation himself here, and yet... nothing. The City of Light - so called because of it's place as the epicenter during the Age of Enlightenment, and not because of it's illumination - was not turning out to be the break he needed.

Benjamin Avett was 32 years old, and still finding himself. It was a notion his father would, without fail, roll his eyes at, but to Benjamin it seemed a generational epidemic. Intertwined with the Facebook updates of high school friends getting married or having their third child were all the people, like himself, that had yet to truly find their career, or their 'one' that they wanted to build a family with.

Most of his life had been spent in school, taking a wide range of classes that never really pointed in any specific direction. Library Sciences, English Literature, Biology, Astronomy, Physics, even a little Criminal Justice thrown in there somewhere. Between his generally good grades and his father's money and connections, Benjamin had been lucky enough to attend some of the better schools in the world, including a few years at a couple in the Ivy League in America, but all to no avail. Well educated, but without direction.

Even in love, things had not gone as smoothly as they did for most with his financial future. A quick wit, combined with being the only child that stood to inherit a considerable sum of money, helped to ensure that his bed was rarely empty for long, but it was never fully satisfying. Rarely did he stay with anyone for long. The upside to such things was that it made trips like this one significantly easier, and no one was back home worrying that he was cheating on her. Though he'd had real conversations with so people since he'd been here, even if someone was back home worried about such things, they would be doing so for no reason.

Sitting as he was now, at a sidewalk table in front of a small cafe eating breakfast, he had his nose in a book instead of soaking in the sights around him. The last pages of Doris Kerns Goodwin's A Team of Rivals were taken in with his eggs and tea, and after a second cup of the fine Ceylon blend with the exquisite honey, he paid and left.

Not far from the small room he was renting, he'd found a used book store that was owned by a French girl with green eyes that he couldn't quite force himself to stop looking at. Were he entirely honest with himself, he'd admit that part of the reason he'd gone through so many books while here was that it gave him another excuse to visit. Being someone that had always read a lot made it just that much easier to stop in often and browse.

When he entered the little shop this time, he was a bit dismayed to find someone else working behind the counter. It made sense that she'd need a day off now and then, but he was surprised at how it had disappointed him. Still, he was in need of more books, and leaving only to return later and buy them would just look... weird. Perhaps next time he'd have better luck.

It was as he looked through the piles and boxes of books that he overheard a bit of conversation that only deepened his dismayed feeling. The girl, whoever she was, had told the customer that the pretty owner was closing the shop soon, another victim of e-books and cheaper on-line retailers. His book little book shop, gone. The pretty green-eyed one that owned it, gone as well. Maybe it was time to get the hell out of Paris. Try Lisbon, or Madrid instead.

Still, he needed more to read, and after a short time he had three in his hands that seemed interesting. His conversation with the girl behind the counter was light and friendly, and he realized halfway into it that it was a bit flirty as well. She made sure their fingers touched as he handed over the Euros, and he smiled and thanked her when she dropped his change into his palm. Cute as she may be, he was mostly disappointed that it wasn't the pretty green eyes looking at him from behind the counter.

Walking back to his room, the realization hit him that a girl flirting with him had actually managed to somehow bring him down more somehow, and he couldn't help but laugh. "Ah, you ridiculous fool," he said to himself aloud. Head shaking, he made his way up the inner stairs to his room, and set the stack of books on his bedside table. Dropping onto the bed, he lifted the topmost book into his hands, opened it, and began to read.

Spare the rod and spile the child, as the Good Book says. I’m a-laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know. He’s full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he’s my own dead sister’s boy, poor thing, and I ain’t got the heart to lash him, somehow.






It was three days later before he reached the last book on the table, George Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London. He'd not yet read it, had not even really heard it discussed much, and given that he was from London and in Paris for at least a little longer, it seemed only appropriate that he read it while here. The fact that he felt fairly down and out, here as he was to "clear your mind and figure out what the fuck you're going to do with your life," in the words of his father, it was a book he couldn't pass up.

As he always did with a new book, he skipped the summary in favor of jumping right in, not wanting his impression of the work to be influenced by someone else's idea of it. It was for this reason that he opened the front cover instead of turning it over to read the back, and it was this action that changed the course of many lives forever.

Madeline - They're sending us out to the front tomorrow. So many people are dying, and they think it may go on for another year. I'm so scared, Madeline. I can't tell them but I can tell you. I've never been so scared. For so many reasons, I never told you I loved you. I should have. I should have said it every day. If I don't make it back, my things will be sent to my family, and I hope they will give this to you. I need you to know that I loved you more than I've ever loved anyone. It is your face I see every night when I close my eyes. I hope that can be enough to carry me through and I will see you again. If I do not, I need you to know. It was always you, Madeline. Always. I love you.

Brow furrowing, he sat up on his bed, feet swinging down to the floor so he could sit on the edge, and he read the words again.

And a third time.

And then a fourth.

The signing name had been smeared beyond any recognition, and much of the writing was faded with it, but it was clear that it was a letter written to someone. Judging by the shaky nature of the handwriting, it was done in a hurry, the words being forced out by... fear, apparently.

Now he did take the time to inspect the book a little more closely, eventually finding a publication date that would put it just before the beginning of World War II.

Out to the front...

Scared...

Don't make it back...

"Fuck," he breathed as he read the words yet again. The thing in his hands suddenly felt different, no longer a book that could take him to a world that existed in the author's mind, but an anchor to a real person, a real place, and a real time. It felt somehow precious, and yet he wanted to throw it across the room, to get it out of his grasp as quickly as possible. And then he realized why.

It felt wrong.

Things like this didn't end up in used book shops, they were cherished by widows and lovers and children. They were kept carefully on a shelf, so that Madeline, whoever she may be, could take it down, and open the cover, and read the words left to her by the man who had died without ever telling her he loved her. Or the man who had made it back from war alive, and able to tell these things to her himself. Whatever may have happened to the man that wrote in the book, it was not Benjamin's to hold, or to read, or to know.

The bookseller!

A glance at his watch, and he swore under his breath again. The chances that the shop was still open were slim, the sun was already painting purple hues on the horizon, but he had to try. Feet slipped into shoes, keys lifted off the table, and he was out the door and down the stairs at a pace that was nothing short of dangerous.

The book clutched tightly in his hand, he practically ran to the small shop, his heart sinking as he approached and found most of the lights off. Trying the door, he found it locked, sinking his heart further. Cupping a hand to his face to shield from the reflection, he peered in through the window and saw a solitary light burning in the back. Maybe he would get lucky and she'd be there in the back, doing books or tidying up. He didn't know how he'd sleep tonight if he couldn't at least share this with someone. His heart thudding in his chest - whether from the run here or the adrenaline that seemed to be flowing through him now, he had no idea - he curled his fingers into a fist and began to rap on the window.

Please, please, c'mon please...

It had been a long day. A long few months really.

Tomorrow one part of her life would end and another would begin although she was damned if she really knew what she was going to do next. Eloise Clement had come to Paris five years earlier with dreams of owning her own little bookshop and having her own little adventures around the capital and beyond. She’d gotten her bookshop and if weekend afternoons spent in Montmatre or wandering along the Seine counted as adventures then she’d had them too. But that was as far as it had gone. And while she’d loved her shop and her little life, it hadn’t gone quite as well as she and her bank manager had hoped and now a buyer had made an offer she couldn’t refuse.

Tomorrow would be her last day of trading. She’d have the weekend to clear out and then, within a month, maybe less, it would be another soulless coffee shop to add to the thousands that dotted the streets all over Paris, and the rest of the world. Not a café. That she could almost live with. A coffee shop. Some ghastly American creation with simply enormous cups and no personality. That fact stung almost as much as the loss of her shop did.

But she had money in the bank now, more than she’d had in a long time as the price of the shop had grown since she’d bought it. The area was attracting attention and so she’d made a nice little profit. Enough to fund a trip somewhere, anywhere, and still have enough left over to buy a shop back home. She was barely 31, there was still plenty of time left for adventures. What worried her was that adventures just didn’t happen to people like her. They were confined to those in the books she so lovingly collected and sold. Eloise suddenly realised she was crying again. She wiped at her cheeks and let out a long breath.

“Enough,” She murmured to herself. No more crying. Not today. She’d pack one more lot of books that she wanted to keep for herself and then head home for a large glass of wine. Steeling herself to carry on, she was about to start putting books into a new empty box when a sharp tapping interrupted her and made her jump in surprise. Then it came again. Loud and insistent, someone was banging on the window. Her heart was racing from the shock and now from building uncertainty as she lowered her hands to empty them and padded slowly over to the doorway. Eyes moved across the empty shop to the figure at the window. Tall and hunched over slightly, no doubt so he could see inside, someone was definitely there. She ran her hand along the wall until she found the light switch and flicked it on. A second or two of flickering across the shop was followed by the lights coming on and illuminating the face at the window. Relieved to see it was someone she’d seen before, she was still more than a little confused as she headed over to the door.

He’d been in the shop quite a few times, more times than she could say for sure. Always stopping to browse, rarely leaving without a purchase or three. He spoke enough awkward French during their first encounter for her to quickly work out he wasn’t remotely local and allow her to put her English skills to use during his future visits. He seemed friendly and, she wasn’t going to lie, very pleasant to look at. None of that explained, however, why he was hammering on her window with a very desperate expression on his face. Frowning slightly she unlocked the door and opened it slightly, making sure her foot was wedged tightly behind it. With the way her luck was going, to be robbed was about the only thing left fate could really send her way.

“Can I help you?” She glanced down at the book tightly held in his hand, not remembering selling it to him but fairly sure he had got it from her shop. “You know you can’t bring back books without a receipt and we’ve been closed a while. Maybe you should come back tomorrow.” She smiled, warmly. Hoping he would come back tomorrow, would be more than nice to have such a pleasant customer on her last day. Then she caught his eyes, there was something in them she’d not seen there before.

“Are…are you ok?” Eloise’s foot shifted and the door opened a little more, defences lowering slightly. “Is there something wrong?” She frowned slightly, eyes flitting to the street behind him, growing silent and darker before the nightlife would populate it again and that wasn’t the kind of life she generally wanted wandering into her shop. “Why don’t you come in and tell me what was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, yes?” She stepped back, arm gesturing for him to step inside. Once he was, the door was quickly closed and re locked.

“It’s growing late,” She said by way of explanation as she tested the door out of habit. “Those looking for a quick boost to their wallet know shops have fuller tills at closing time than at opening. I don’t really want to invite that sort in here. Not that there’s much in the till to take, anyway.” She wrapped her arms around her upper body as she leant against a table, half cleared of the books that had been piled up on it. Smiling for the first time since he’d come in. “But enough of that. You seemed to have been brought here by something urgent,” She realised she didn’t have a name for him. She called him ‘The Londoner’ in her head after a brief, very brief conversation about where he’d come from. She could hardly call him that to his face. Not without seeming more than a little odd at any rate. “So, please, how can I help you, Mr…?”

His hope was dying with each knock on the glass, fading dimmer and dimmer as he saw no movement within the shop. Of course he'd come back tomorrow, the shop didn't seem closed yet and he could always camp out and wait if it turned out that it was, given that there were still things within that she'd need to retrieve. But the adrenaline still worked through his veins, his heart still thudded in his chest. Sleep would be impossible tonight. With a last rap on the glass, he sighed heavily and lowered his hand, unable to stop imagining himself pacing in his apartment as he drank cup after cup of tea, and tried to figure out what the hell to do.

And then he saw movement within. Her silhouette in the doorway at the back of the shop, and he cupped his hand closer to his face, eyes wide so he could see her in the darkened shop. A flicker of light caught him, pupils wide to let in all the light, causing him to jerk his head back away from the window. Blinking to clear his vision, he looked back and saw her making her way to the door. It was her, too! The lovely green-eyed girl with the French accent. The adrenaline deserted him, replaced suddenly by a wave of nerves that left him feeling jittery as she pulled the door partially open.

Moving from the window to the doorway, he saw her smile and returned it, though it somehow felt awkward and unnatural on his lips. Then she saw the book, thought he wanted to return it, and his smile faltered a bit. Was this crazy? It was an old letter written in an old book. Seeing it in his room, it seemed like he'd found a message in a bottle, something meant for someone else that didn't belong to him. Standing here now, with those green eyes on him, he felt silly for getting so excited about it. But the door was opening fully and she was gesturing him in, clearly concerned about what brought him here so excitedly at this hour, and he was walking in, and with each step he realized that this was happening, that he was going to tell her. He may be up all night drinking cup after cup of tea for an entirely different reason after she laughed him out of her shop.

"I," he began, then hesitated and glanced down at the book in his hands. Fuck it, she's closing up so if she does laugh you out of here, she'll be gone and you'll be in Spain soon. A deep breath drawn in, and he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "I bought this book from here a few days back, and there was something written inside of it," he said, then quickly added, "A note written to someone, from World War Two I think, and I think it may have been sold by mistake."

It was back in him now, the excitement that made him forget those eyes even as they looked at him, that made him sprint down the stairs and run over here in the first place. The width of the main aisle in her shop separated them, and he crossed it to stand next to her and open the book. Lifting it to where she could see it, he read the letter to her quickly, then looked up to where she stood next to him.

"No one would've sold this book on purpose," he said, head shaking slowly, "Not with that written inside it. Not if they knew it was written inside it, anyway. Do you know who sold it here? I'd happily give it back to them, I don't need a refund or anything. I just..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged slightly, as if to say Do I need to say anymore?

"I'd just like to return it to whoever it belongs to."

He began to explain and at first the only reaction she had was to frown in confusion.
“A note?” Her tone was more than bemused as he approached with long strides and showed her the inside cover. His voice reading the words as her eyes moved along them. A sudden prickle made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. She shivered as he reached the end of the letter and the pair of them were left in silence.

She knew they had just read something very special. They were looking at something never meant to be seen by them, if indeed by anyone at all.
"I'd just like to return it to whoever it belongs to."

“May I?” She asked before taking the book carefully, reverently almost, and reading the note to herself once more. Feeling a tingle trickle down her spine. A fingertip trailed lightly over the handwritten lines. Following the loops and curves of the handwriting, drawing in a slow breath as if she almost expected to catch a hint of age old scent that would make the words come to life. She didn’t, all she smelt were old pages and a hint of aftershave, doubtlessly more to do with the man who had rushed to bring it back than the book itself.

“I wonder who you were…” Eloise murmured under her breath before remembering where she was and that she was not on her own. A slightly embarrassed smile was upon her lips as she looked back up into his face. “I think you’re right. This book isn’t meant for you, or I. It’s meant for,” A quick glance down to confirm the name. “Madeline. Whoever she was. And if not for her? Then any children, or grandchildren, she might have.” A brighter smile, more animated now, as eyes found their way to his face once more.

“I think it’s a lovely idea! C’est parfait!” Her hand fell on his forearm and squeezed for a moment before rising into the air and holding up a finger. “Just, wait right here. Let me check something…” She nodded before handing the precious book back to him and almost skipping back into the tiny office at the rear of the shop.

“A lot of my books are donations, which means no paperwork. But if the books were sold then there should be something.” She called back with a slight groan as she hauled a box from against the wall until it was directly under the light. Fingers deftly going through papers, looking for what she hoped to find. “I think that book, and a lot of others from the thirties all came from the same delivery. A lady who lives not far from here who came to have a lot of books she did not need…” She tailed off as her eyes caught a bill in amongst the papers, pulling it free and deciding to deal with in the morning. She shrugged. It didn’t really matter anymore though did it? A sigh escaping her lips, as she dropped the bill down onto the desk and continued her search and her explanation.

“Anyway, she wanted to just give them to the shop, but there were so many I couldn’t just accept them without giving her something.” Clicking her tongue at not finding the paper she knew they would need, she stood and turned off the light after picking up her handbag and jacket and heading back into the shop, fingers digging out keys from within a pocket of her jeans. “So I offered to pay her a, er, nominal – that is the right word, nominal? - sum which she said to donate to charity. Obviously the money never actually went to her, I just wired it to the organisation she chose but I do have her details. I took them in case the charity needed them for their tax records or I did for mine.”
Eloise paused before him, suddenly realising how it must look, keys, jacket and bag in hand, lights being turned off. She laughed, a light sound in the silence of the shop.

“I don’t know if you know but I’m losing my shop. Lost it already, really.” Her bright tone faltered for a moment. “Fate obviously meant for this book to be found and found now. I close tomorrow. If you hadn’t have come tonight then likely you would never have been able to find where it came from. Do you believe in fate? I wasn’t sure I did but perhaps…”A curious incline of her head allowed her to sweep her gaze over his frame. There was an excited pulsing in her stomach which got more powerful whenever she thought of the letter, or whenever she met the intense gaze of the young man standing in front of her. Perhaps one of those adventures she’d always wanted to undertake was actually about to begin. Perhaps not. But she could think of worse companions to start out with, companions with nothing half as interesting and pleasant to listen to as his voice and accent. To start an adventure though, one needed to be brave. Something Eloise never quite managed to be around members of the opposite sex, or never managed well.

Fate. If it was meant to be? What was there to be worried about?
The letter echoed in her mind and Eloise knew she needed to act and act now. Chances like this didn’t come along every day and, while she had no intentions of making the kind of declarations that the letter had contained, making a new friend was never something one should pass up readily. Fingers ran back through her hair, pushing most back from her face but causing fresh strands to fall down in their place to frame her features.

“So.” Eloise began, taking a breath and intending to push on; try not to get overly embarrassed before she was through. “The paper we need? I have already taken home, with the rest of my files. You can either come with me now and help me find it. Or. I can meet you here tomorrow afternoon after I’ve closed and we can decide what to do then. But either way? I will be wanting your name.” A thoroughly playful expression met his gaze as she held out her hand. “I’m Eloise. And I have wine that I was going to drink on my own. To drink alone is sad. To drink with a stranger is better. To drink with a new friend? Best of all.” She waited, her hand outstretched. Hoping he’d put her out of her misery quickly and turn her down before she lost her nerve. She could go home and drown her embarrassment in a glass or three of rosé.

“And, you seem too nice a young man to condemn me to drink alone.” She added, figuring fate – and herself – needed a healthy shove to get things moving in one direction or the other. “I can promise you will be quite safe with me, I will try to-” She frowned slightly, nerves robbing her of her vocabulary for a moment and threatening to turn lightly olive toned cheeks pink. “How do you say? I try to keep my own hands with visitors on their first visit.” She laughed, certain she’d picked the wrong words entirely but it was said now. Nothing could be done. “So, what shall it be?”

"I, uh..."

He was caught off guard by the suggestion of a drink, so wrapped up in the reason that had brought him here that he had, for a time, forgotten even the joy he found in seeing the woman who owned the little shop. A blush hit his cheeks as he stammered for a moment, caught between giving his name and accepting her invitation, and hoping against hope that his beard was enough to hide the heat he felt rising in his face.

Eventually, it felt like a grand collection of minutes had scraped painfully past, he found himself again and reached out to take the offered hand, gripping firmly and shaking it once. "Nice to meet you, Eloise, I'm Benjamin. But... call me Ben, please." He chuckled to himself at this, hearing his father's voice in his head as he told him yet again that his name was Benjamin, and that's what he should be called. This from the man who gave him the name Ludwig as if it was something he should show off and be proud of. Benjamin Ludwig! Who had ever heard of-

"Oh, and wine would be great! I was just going to spend the evening in reading, until I came across that and, well... here I am."

He laughed, nervously, and let his eyes leave her to roam about the mostly empty room of the little shop he'd grown so fond of. It made him sad to see, another independent shop joining the ranks of dodo and dinosaur. But, the pause also gave him a moment to collect together the unspooling threads of his thoughts that seemed to be running rapidly in all directions and force them into something coherent.

"Is there anything I can help you carry?"

When his eyes found her this time, his smile was far less nervous than it had been, and he didn't feel quite so jittery. A quiet day as he wound down his time in Paris had turned into a strange mystery and potentially a new friend. Perhaps there was something to getting out and being around actual people instead of staying up in his room reading the whole time he was here.




They had planned to meet at 9:30 back at her place, the address of which he'd written down but wouldn't need. The only thing that had been more captured by his memory than the way there was the feel of her lips against his as he was leaving. It was just a single kiss, tasting faintly of the wine they'd had as they searched and talked, but it had left him practically floating as he made his way back to his room. Maybe it was the distance from it - he'd not held the book or read the note for a few hours before he'd gone home for the night - or maybe it was just the initial excitement of the finding wearing off, but he was surprised to find himself more excited about seeing her again than he was about finding the previous owner of the book. At the moment, anyway.

It was for this reason that he found himself at her door ten minutes early. He'd been awake since sometime around eight, and wasted as much time at the little cafe as he could, finishing up another book and eating a pastry as slowly as seemed humanly possible before ordering the two coffees to go. One cup was now balanced carefully atop the other as he knocked on the door, and then he pulled in a deep breath to calm nerves that had suddenly, surprisingly, made their presence known.

Eloise decided it had to have been fate's design that the events of the last twenty four hours had been as they had. Some higher power had to have had a hand in bringing that book to light, and to making sure it's discoverer was Benjamin. She smiled to herself as she corrected herself in her mind, Ben. He'd insisted. Green eyes glanced at the clock, quarter past nine. He'd be there soon.

Brushing her freshly washed and dried hair she replayed the previous evening in her mind. The paper they had needed, with the address they had wanted had been rapidly located thanks to her well kept filing system. Meaning that they had soon been able to settle on the couch in her living room and talk a little. She'd heard a little of his life back in London, of his stay in Europe so far. She'd told a little of her background, of vague plans for the future after the closure of her shop.

But it was the scent of his aftershave, the feel his hand on hers when he'd taken his glass, and the taste of his lips as they'd kissed goodnight that were the most vivid of her memories. It was an innocent kiss, sweet and slightly lingering and, truth be told, she'd almost gone to kiss him again straight after but she'd somehow held back. Waving him off, almost shyly, and wishing him a good night.

Hair brushed and summer dress straightened, Eloise was debating applying a smudge of eyeliner when a knock at the door sent a rush through her veins. All thoughts of make up flew from her head as she pushed her feet into her shoes and almost skipped to the door. A pause for a final smoothing of her pale blue dress and to gather her long hair back and toss it down her back.

She fought against a nervous giggle as she drew in a breath and pulled open the door. There he was. Part of her, that hateful little part that made her think dreams were nice things but things that never came true - not for her, doubted if she'd see him again. That he'd been a very pleasant interlude, something to soften the blow of losing her shop but that by now he'd be long gone. Lost among the Parisian throng. But there he was.
Smiling at her. And with coffee.

"Bonjour, Ben," Eloise smiled back warmly as she leant across the threshold to give the traditional la bises, or 'air' kisses, to each of his cheeks before pausing and adding another, far more real one, to his lips. "I hope you slept well?"

She'd decided for her last day of opening that she'd open at eleven and close at three. A short day to finish. Short and, hopefully, sweet. And not too drawn out for her to have to deal with. Now it seemed another happy twist of fate that she'd have time to begin this adventure with Ben before heading to the shop for one last day of sharing stories of the past with new readers.

"You have the book?" She grinned, eyes shining as he produced it for her to see. "Then let us go!" Bag was slung over her shoulder and soon they were heading down the street from her home, sipping coffee and enjoying the freshness of a summer morning in Paris. That pleasant part of the day before the heat set in and combined with the closeness of the city to almost become unbearable as the day went on.

The woman they were looking for, Cerise McCall, lived in an appartment not overly far from where Eloise lived. It meant taking the metro for a few stops but that also meant the chance to take Ben's hand under the guise of leading him down the right tunnel in the labyrinthine system, it meant the chance to stand beside him in the swaying carriage and exchange playful smiles when the motion sent their bodies that little bit closer together.

That excitement was back in her stomach as they left the train and headed up towards the surface. A glance at the address she'd carefully copied onto a sheet of paper and then onwards. Tongue moistened her lips as they soon stood outside an impressive building.
"Ready?" Eloise asked, although it was partly aimed at herself. Was she ready? Depending on Cerise's reaction this would be either the beginning of something potentially wonderful or the sudden, sad, end of a daydream.

Another deep breath and after locating the right buzzer on the entry system, Eloise pressed the button and they waited. A crackle of static was heard and then the door buzzed with an almost painful loudness.
"Old buildings, old systems," She explained with an over dramatic rubbing of her ear. The door opened and the pair headed inside. The lift with it's elaborate ironwork grill looked tempting but given the state of the dilapidated intercom, Eloise thought it best not to risk it.

Up the stairs they went until they came to the door they had searched for. A nervous glance was exchanged and a quick squeeze of Ben's hand given, then she knocked.

There was an odd thing happening, something he wasn't even aware of until they had been walking for a few minutes. He forgot about the book. The thing that had occupied his mind since he first read the letter scribbled inside it, the thing that had sent him barreling down the stairs and banging on a shop window was actually not in the forefront of his mind. Walking through the streets of Paris, with morning traffic buzzing around them and the sun bright and warm on their faces, he found that he would be perfectly content to keep walking until their legs were tired and their coffees empty. Find a little cafe and share warm croissants and butter with honey, and pass the day with each other.

A little shift of it's weight in his back pocket - it was a small tome and slid into the pocket of his trousers almost like a long billfold - reminded him it was there, that they were walking with a purpose, and he almost laughed out loud at himself. Their conversation was easy and free, and neither of them seemed to be in a terrible hurry to get to their destination. In fact, he mused, they probably looked like any other Parisian couple strolling the streets together, after a morning of tangled limbs and sheets. He smiled to himself, disguising it with a drink of his coffee, and looked up to see they were at the train platform.

The ride was quick, their conversation low and heads close so they could be heard over the rumble and clack of the train under them. His coffee was empty as they exited and he dropped the cup into a receptacle before climbing back to the surface with her. Cerise's building was close by.

"Ready," he said with a nod and a smile. He stood back a step as Eloise searched the panel for the right buzzer, his eyes searching the street around them aimlessly. It was a part of Paris he'd not been in before - undoubtedly there were many residential areas just like it that he'd also never explored, or had reason to - but there was still a feel to it that seemed distinctive to this place. A cafe on the corner sent the smell of espresso drifting in their direction on the light, warm breeze, and he inhaled it deeply as it passed by him, smiling to himself. He had no plans to leave yet, certainly not before the mystery of the book and the possibility of Eloise were solved, but when he did, he knew he'd miss the coffee.

The harsh sound of the buzzer seized his attention, and he he grinned at Eloise as she rubbed her ear, his eyebrows up in surprise. Holding the door open, he followed her inside and thought it a wise move when she passed by a lift he had no intention of setting foot on, either. The air in the building was stuffy and quickly growing warm as the sunlight filtered in through the windows, and the stairs creaked under their feet. He suspected the wood they climbed had been formed into these stairs before either of their parents were born. Perhaps, by the sound of them, he could throw their grandparents into the group, too.

They arrived at her floor at last, and he sighed to himself. He'd not smoked in years, ridding himself of the habit for good just before he turned 25, but there were times that he still felt like his lungs hadn't fully rebounded. Their hands found each other, and his smile was broad as he gave hers a quick, reassuring squeeze. The book was fully in his mind now, almost the entirety of the cause of the ball of nerves that had seemed to tangle together in his gut. Almost. Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew the book and held it in front of him in both hands, his thumbs stroking lightly over the cover. She knocked, and they exchanged another nervous glance.

And waited.

And waited.

Their next glance saw a curious frown exchanged between them, and he watched as she stepped forward and knocked on the door again. They waited again, the silence behind the door deafening. His heart had begun to sink, thinking they'd made the journey and worked up the nerve to start following leads on the books only to be met with a dead end right at the start, when a voice to his left drew his attention.

"Vous venez d'obtenir ses affaires?"

Turning, he saw a man that looked as if he was days away from his 120th birthday making his slow way towards them.

"Pardon," he said as he turned to face the man more fully, his voice halting as he searched for the right words, "Mes français... pas bon," he finished, holding his hand out flat and tipping it side to side. "Anglais?" he asked, hopefully, forgetting entirely that Eloise probably understood the man perfectly and was now laughing at him.

Thankfully, the old man hobbling towards them laughed in good humor as well, and he patted Ben on the shoulder with an old and wrinkled hand as he stopped near the pair.

"Oui.. enough," he said, and then poked a thumb in the direction of the door Eloise had been knocking on. "Here to take stuff? I have waiting list, need to..." he paused searching for the right word, "Louer.. uh.. rent. Rent apartment."

He was difficult to understand through his thick French accent, but the picture was still becoming clear for Benjamin. Cerise, whoever she was, was gone, and he thought they were there to collect the rest of her things. His heart began to sink.

"She left?" he asked, more out of a desperation to find anything that would help them than anything else.

"Oui," the old man said with a nod, peering at Ben with surprisingly sharp, dark eyes. "Her, boyfriend. Yell, yell, yell. Then, fffft!" he said, finishing with a wave of his hand to indicate the pair of them leaving.

"I, uh..." he started, then shrugged and looked to Eloise, unsure of how to proceed. The key to finding out where she got the book was in one of two places: Cerise's head, or her apartment. One of them wasn't here, and the other had a gatekeeper with very little English. Their only hope seemed to be Eloise and her French talking their way in, without getting them on the hook for all of the other things that lay within.

Eloise felt her heart sink when the door remained unanswered. It crashed right through the floor when the old man revealed that the tenant was long gone. Side stepping around Ben, realising that speaking French would be the only sure way to find anything out, she squeezed his hand on the way past and whispered lightly,
"You did well, but I think I might have to give it a go," offering him a hopeful smile she turned the same expression towards the gentleman before them both.

"Monsieur, do you know where Mademoiselle McCall has gone to? A forwarding address perhaps?" Eloise began as brightly as she could, trying not to worry that Ben was probably missing every other word for all she knew. She could translate back to him later if something important came up. "We have something of hers, you see."

"That crazy woman? I haven't a clue." He clearly wasn't mourning the loss of the resident they spoke of. "Every night shouting and yelling, the pair of them carrying on like they hated each other. Plates smashed, doors slammed. The only thing worse was the sound of them making up afterwards." Eloise blushed a little at his frank comment and coughed delicately.

"Would you mind if we looked inside? Just for a moment."

A bushy grey, practically white, eyebrow rose above one of his still sharp eyes.
"Why?” His eyes shifted from her, beyond her face towards where Ben stood and then back. “You two don’t look like you need to get mixed up with the madness that lived in there. What are you hoping to find anyway?”

Eloise paused, she could lie or she could tell the truth. Perhaps while on this search in the name of love she should take the nobler path. It seemed more fitting somehow to be as open as possible.
"I don't know, Monsieur, but I'm sure I shall know it when I see it."
He looked at her then, deep into her eyes, as if searching to confirm the truth for himself before his features softened and he held out a key that looked to be only slightly older than he was.

"I live at the end of the hall, when you're done you can come for coffee when you bring me the key. I never get visitors any more and certainly none as pretty as you." As she took the key he lifted his hand to brush the back of his fingers against her cheek gently making her smile shyly. "You can even bring your boyfriend along too."

"That's very kind of you, Monsieur, we won't be in there long and I promise we won't disturb anything. But, he's not-"

"Makes no different to me," he chuckled enigmatically as he turned and began to shuffle his way back down the corridor. Turning back to Ben, hoping the blush had faded a little, she held the key up triumphantly.

"Well, that was easier than I thought, although in return for the key we're going to take coffee with him. I hope that's alright with you."

She hesitated before slipping the oversized key into the lock. That excited thrill was back in the pit of her stomach, the chance that some clue might lie behind the pair of doors before them.

"Here goes nothing," she whispered, pushing the key in and turning it. The lock slid back with a loud clunk and she felt the door sink back slightly. Nudging it gently, making it whine painfully, she stepped inside sensing Ben following behind her.
Stepping into the main room beyond the entrance she let out a long whistle.

"Whoever she was, she must have had some money," Eloise muttered to herself. The apartment was easily the size of her entire shop if not larger and the room they were stood in was light and airy, windows running along one wall and reaching a good two thirds of the way from the floor to the high ceiling flooded the room with light. Each pair of windows, she was sure, would open out to let the summer air in. “C’est magnifique…” She breathed before remembering why they were there.

In the centre of the room was a pile of boxes along items wrapped in bubble wrap and tape. Pieces of furniture around the edge of the room were covered with sheets.

“I guess we should look to see if there’s anything with an address on it. Letters maybe…” Eloise wasn’t entirely sure if they weren’t just wasting their time but they would have to start their search somewhere.

Carefully they began to look through the first few boxes, several of which were filled with old books of around the same age as theirs many of which were in French and other European languages.

“I can’t believe she brought all of these with her,” Eloise mused while kneeling in front of one box, a German novel in one hand and what she thought might have been an old Polish hardback in the other. Green eyes tracking up from the boxes of books to the large bookcases built into the recesses on either side of the ornate fireplace at the far end of the room. Both completely empty.

“I think they might have been here when she moved in.” She scowled momentarily. “Which would also mean they weren’t really hers to give to me and certainly aren’t hers to take on to…wherever she’s gone.” Putting the books back into the box before her she flipped her long hair back over her shoulder as she rose to her feet. Brushing the front of her dress to make sure no dust was clinging to the fabric.

“I think we might have to ask our newest friend if he knows who might have lived here before Cerise did. If our book was here when she arrived, perhaps he knows who left it here in the first place.” Eloise smiled. She calling it ‘their’ book, even if it wasn’t really. She liked sharing this with him.

“In the mood for another coffee?” She asked with a glance at the silver watch around her wrist. “We still have an hour or so before I have to get to the shop and open, for the last time.” Her smile faltered slightly as she realised how close the end was for that little dream.

“All good things must come to an end, that’s what they say I think,” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Today one thing ends and who really knows what’s beginning.” Opening her eyes and turning to Ben a small but hopeful smile was creeping back onto her face. “Sorry, I don’t want to bring us, how you say, down. Everything happens for a reason. I’m sure of it.”

“So, let’s go see if we can figure out how this book got here, hmm?”