The Paris Library Novels & Stories

The next day, Jean-Baptiste picked me up in a vintage car, looking even more handsome in casual clothes. "Ready for real Paris?" he asked. "As ready as I'll ever be." He took me to a bookshop that was part library, part café, part time capsule. Books in French and English covered every surface. Readers sprawled in chairs, sipping coffee and completely absorbed. "This place is magical," I breathed. "Yes. I come here when I need to remember why I love this city." He ordered us coffees. "So, American girl. What brings you to Paris looking so sad?"

"Richard is a bank account with legs. I am talking about your spirit." He reached into his jacket pocket. Harper tensed, ready to run or scream. But he didn't pull out a weapon. He pulled out a silver lighter. He flicked it open and closed. Click. Click. "Paris. 1995," Louis said softly. "Montmartre. A small studio above a bakery. The smell of turpentine and lavender." Harper froze. Lavender. Her mother’s favorite scent. The scent inside the rusty box. "Who are you?" Harper whispered.

The vibe towards magic with every minute walked within the city shook me, and I fell in love with Paris. We walked into a small bookshop, the walls of which were completely clad with old books and prints from other centuries. Luc took me to meet the friend who owned it. She was a sweet old lady, with the name of Colette. She spoke no other language than French, so Luc had to do an interpreter's job in our conversation. Must be here, there, around the shelves of the lit. section for almost an hour, doing little but changing pleasantries back and forth ad nauseam.

Annie would be coming to see her at 7am, she couldn’t wait for that long so she called one of the maids to help her have a wash and informed them about the three guests. The library is situated on the second storey above the ground floor. The four men walk fast but quietly. They pass some close doors and the three men are wondering as to how many people live in this huge house. The dim light in the hallway is enough for them to see where they are going. Francois stops in front of a polished old oak door. He pulls a hanging switch and an old antique lamp lights up. Then he takes out a key from his pocket. The three men saw this and had the same thoughts as to why put a lock on a library door?

The two of them decided to travel to the Capital. Seraphine did feel North limited their vision by a large extent and wanted to check out the Royal Library for more information. The archives there held a wider range of content, and it was said all the books and records— long lost or not— was present in the Royal Library.

"Completely perfect." He takes my hand and we walk, no destination, just the city in the early dark, the 5th Arrondissement giving way to the 6th, the streets I know now the way you know streets you have walked in every season and every mood, and the ring is warm on my finger and his hand is warm around mine and Paris is doing what Paris always does. We pass the street that leads to Galerie Dubois and I glance down it without slowing and see new work in the window through the distance, different from Amélie's taste, brighter, and a different name above the door, and I keep walking.

Rain tapped softly against the stained-glass windows like a thousand whispers of forgotten voices, echoing through the stone corridors of Florence’s Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale. Emilia pulled her coat tighter around her frame, her umbrella dripping quietly in the grand marble foyer as she stepped past the entry doors. It was the largest library she had ever seen. And it felt like stepping into another century.

There was no way around it—she had a date with dusty library shelves. The library wasn’t hard to find, thanks to the tourist map pinned up at the chalet’s entrance. Quaint and unassuming, it was wedged between a café and a souvenir shop selling overpriced snow globes. Hardly the setting for a conspiracy that could bring down European democracy, but Leila knew better than to trust appearances. She stepped inside, the scent of old books and mildew wrapping around her like bad memories.

Every corner of Paris seemed to hold a new surprise, and Amelia couldn’t get enough of it. As the day went on, Alexander continued to surprise her. He took her to the Louvre, where they marveled at the masterpieces of art, including the Mona Lisa. Amelia had always been fascinated by art, and seeing these iconic works in person was a dream come true. She and Alexander wandered through the grand halls of the museum, their fingers intertwined as they admired the beauty around them.

Gary, in his three-piece suit and a fresh haircut, looked simply delectable tonight. "Why?" Brittany asked, turning to face him and leaning on the rails, returning his gaze. "Because Paris, was the first big city, in all of Europe, to have street lamps." He replied, joining her at the rails and leaning over them, smiling calmly at her. She looked at him in amazement, "Really?" She asked. His cologne smells like lavender, with a deep masculine musk. "Yes," he answered, his smile widening, "Gas lamps, of course, but for a 19th-century metropolis, not too shabby."