Next, our driver took us to a most charming group of bookstalls known as Les Bouquinistes. Set against the edge of the River Seine, rows and rows of green metal boites, or boxes, sold old and used books, magazines, prints, posters, and pictures. Over two hundred vendors set up shop across the Seine from the iconic Notre Dame Cathedral.
Upon first glance, every stall looked an identical green color, like the kind one would see in old train cars. We stopped at several bouquinistes before learning that with patience and careful scouring, valuable first edition tomes could be discovered at any random stall. At one particular vendor I found a tattered, leather-bound copy of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities from the early 1900’s while Jake chatted with the owner in mellifluous French. I also discovered Julia Child’s first cookbook that she wrote while living in Paris, and an architecture book of Paris with schematics of all the historical buildings.
This Dickens’ book caused some consternation as I contemplated first, the price, and second, Jake’s reaction to the receiver of this gift. Julia Child’s cookbook, of course, would make a wonderful gift for Nick; Charlie would love the book of buildings. Knowing I would regret not buying these books I brought all of them up to the owner.
Jake broke from his conversation with the vendor, and placed his arms around me. “Love, are those books for you?”
“Um, no.” I dragged my answer.
“Who are you buying them for?”
I gave Jake a timid look. “The cook book is for Nick, the architecture book is for Charlie, and the Dickens’ book is for Max.”
If I looked tentative, Jake looked unsettled.
“This is Max’s favorite book and I’d really love to get his for him,” I explained apologetically.
Jake quickly changed his hurt expression to an approving nod. He accepted my desire to include Max in my list of close friends, and even offered to pay for the book.
“Let me get this for him,” he said. “I need to thank him for helping us get back together. I might still be looking for you if it weren’t for him.”
“Jake, that’s not necessary. Max helped us both. He’ll feel weird if you pay for this. Let me get it for him. You allowing me to do this is appreciation enough from both of us.”
We both looked at each other and I hugged him reassuringly.
“You are the only man I love. This will never change, no matter what happens. Now…can we go have lunch? I’m starving!” Hungry from a lack of breakfast and way too much walking—the driver had spoiled me—we stopped in a tourist trap and ate moule et frites. I polished off every last mussel and fry, then asked the driver to take us into Ile Saint-Louis, one of the two islands in the river Seine so we could eat at the most famous ice cream shop. Sarah and I had visited this shop the last time I was here. They made their ice cream only from milk, sugar, cream, and eggs. Any other flavor added to the base was derived from natural sources such as cocoa or vanilla. Two scoops of chocolate chip ice cream later I was content to go back to the hotel. We had accomplished much.
Back at the hotel, the bellhop helped us carry all our presents up to my room. I sorely needed a nap, but instead got changed for dinner and an opera. I dressed as quickly as possible so I would not be in any compromising position like we were the first night. When Jake came in the room, he looked disappointed that I was ready to go. I chuckled to myself.
“Honey, before we leave, I want to give you something,” I said.
“Oh?” he asked in a naughty way.
I ignored his comment and said, “Put out your left hand.”
I took out a watch from my clutch and placed it on his left wrist.
“What’s this?” he asked in a surprised voice.
“I saw this at the jewelry shop and I had to get it for you. It’s a vintage Patek Philippe circa 1944. I noticed that you were partial toward Patek Philippes, and I thought it would look nice on you. You like it?”
“Emi.” He sounded shocked, appreciative, and above all, touched.
The look on Jake’s face stirred another layer of emotion I’d never experienced before with him. Sadly, I’d never really given anything to Jake. I’d always been on the receiving end. How selfish of me. I could see why Jake fancied giving me presents. His expression of love and appreciation gave me goose bumps. The old adage of it’s better to give than to receive rang true right now.
“When did you get this? I don’t think I ever left your side. Also, this could not have been cheap. Why’d you spend so much money on me?”
He had many more questions but I cut him off and said, “Let’s go or we’ll be late.”