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The Little Perfume Shop Off The Champs-Élysées
Rebecca Raisin
What is French for falling in love?When Del leaves small town America to compete in a perfume competition in Paris, she thinks it is just the next step on her five-year-plan. It’s an exciting opportunity. What started out as just a dream for Del and her twin sister is nearly in her grasp. If she wins this competition, they are on their way to opening their very own perfume boutique!Arriving in Paris, watching the sun glinting off the Seine and wandering the Champs-Elysees, Del discovers the most perfect perfumery she’s ever seen. Yet, as the competition dawns Del realises that whilst she might have had the best nose in her small village, her competitors seem to know more than she could ever have dreamed. This competition isn’t going to be easy…Del has the romance of Paris to sweep her away from her worries, but as the competition heats up, so does her desire for that which she cannot have! If only the dashing owner Sébastien didn’t smell so seductive, look so handsome and make her heart flutter like it never has before. They say love smells as sweet as a red rose in bloom, but Del would tell anyone that true love can’t be bottled – it’s beautiful and unique to everyone…even herself. With everything on the line for her future, can Del really let a little attraction get in the way of securing her dreams?Praise for The Little Perfume Shop Off the Champs-Elysees:‘I absolutely loved everything to do with this book’ Rachel Gilbey‘Absolutely fantastic book, had me hooked from the first page. Full of anticipation, a real page turner. Loved it!’ Nerys Minney‘In short, this is a fabulous book. In reading I was transported somewhere almost magical’ Sandra W‘The Little Perfume Shop off the Champs-Elysees, was worth waiting for. It's got magic, sparkle, twinkling lights of Paris and above all, a copious amount of LOVE!’
What is French for falling in love?
When Del leaves small town America to compete in a perfume competition in Paris, she thinks it is just the next step on her five-year-plan. It’s an exciting opportunity. What started out as just a dream for Del and her twin sister is nearly in her grasp. If she wins this competition, they are on their way to opening their very own perfume boutique!
Arriving in Paris, watching the sun glinting off the Seine and wandering the Champs-Élysées, Del discovers the most perfect perfumery she’s ever seen. Yet, as the competition dawns Del realizes that whilst she might have had the best nose in her small village, her competitors seem to know more than she could ever have dreamed. This competition isn’t going to be easy…
Del has the romance of Paris to sweep her away from her worries, but as the competition heats up, so does her desire for that which she cannot have! If only the dashing owner Sebastien didn’t smell so seductive, look so handsome and make her heart flutter like it never has before. They say love smells as sweet as a red rose in bloom, but Del would tell anyone that true love can’t be bottled – it’s beautiful and unique to everyone…even herself. With everything on the line for her future, can Del really let a little attraction get in the way of securing her dreams?
Also by Rebecca Raisin (#u51382632-80d6-56ee-a3a6-5275373e2e79)
Cedarwood Lodge Novellas
Celebrations & Confetti at Cedarwood Lodge
Brides & Bouquets at Cedarwood Lodge
Midnight & Mistletoe at Cedarwood Lodge
The Gingerbread Café trilogy
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Café
Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café
The Bookshop on the Corner
Secrets at Maple Syrup Farm
The Little Paris Collection
The Little Bookshop on the Seine
The Little Antique Shop under the Eiffel Tower
The Little Perfume Shop off the Champs-Élysées
Rebecca Raisin
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Copyright (#ulink_6102b8eb-6829-5380-9ecf-8a78bcca8fcc)
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Rebecca Raisin 2018
Rebecca Raisin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9781474035521
Version: 2018-01-24
REBECCA RAISIN 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.
Follow her on Twitter @jaxandwillsmum (https://twitter.com/jaxandwillsmum)
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/RebeccaRaisinAuthor (https://www.facebook.com/RebeccaRaisinAuthor/)
Website rebeccaraisin.com (http://www.rebeccaraisin.com/)
Dedication (#u51382632-80d6-56ee-a3a6-5275373e2e79)
For Jeff. Like Del in this book we’ll always wish for just one more day…
Contents
Cover (#u741a8b74-3c5f-583f-b4aa-60032533c652)
Blurb (#uaabc6111-a0d4-5861-b953-c49908220680)
Booklist (#u991839c7-b412-5502-9efe-b40741e50e44)
Title Page (#ub2840c89-732a-52db-9ccf-3b18cf093bd5)
Copyright (#ulink_112fc09d-d55f-561f-af27-9c71e0146507)
Author Bio (#ucd81fed3-de32-51c5-9f33-2cfc5a46f6a2)
Dedication (#u047f0136-e661-5f47-934a-256fd8790b54)
Chapter One (#ulink_bee00399-78aa-57db-9348-8abd45950bb5)
Chapter Two (#ulink_ceb19618-e191-5fab-85ce-52fbbb148950)
Chapter Three (#ulink_20e09c39-08e6-5cda-a9cf-303d7ded4450)
Chapter Four (#ulink_e36b064e-b91a-5a7f-b791-d5406349285e)
Chapter Five (#ulink_2db7d11c-c316-5a77-9745-a6b90a9a10f9)
Chapter Six (#ulink_b63ee08c-e782-5220-aab3-7092d9d1c627)
Chapter Seven (#ulink_2cc911a6-f6e7-5976-b53e-3ccc50ec062b)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Letter from the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_d342ff4c-93eb-536f-98e1-ecf95a54c8e5)
Sunlight blistered the window of the car, shooting in bright prisms of light as I unfurled, shaking the grogginess of travel fatigue. The chauffeur came to a slow stop at the entrance of an apartment just off the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Goggle-eyed, I stared at my new lodgings awed at the grandeur, from the wrought iron balconies to the elaborate stone work surrounding the windows whose white shutters were thrown open to receive the breeze. Planter boxes housed a riot of red flowers which spilled over in search of the sun.
I was going to live here? A place so wildly different from the family ranch in Michigan, it may as well have been on another planet. I thanked my lucky stars once more.
‘Mademoiselle,’ the driver said smoothly. ‘Aurelie will meet you at the entrance.’
‘Thank you, Monsieur.’ With brisk efficiency he exited the car and opened my door, took my bag, and led me to the grand entrance.
‘Do you need anything else?’ he asked in heavily accented English.
I shook my head and smiled. ‘No, I’m all right. Thanks for the lift.’ I waved him goodbye as he sped off, blasting his horn at unsuspecting pedestrians. From what I’d seen so far, the French drove like they were competing in Le Mans, hair-raisingly fast, beeping and cornering like they had some place special to be.
I checked my watch and glanced up. A second story curtain shivered as if someone stood just behind it. Aurelie? I clutched my small suitcase close and waited while doubt grabbed a stranglehold.
What if I was out of my depth here? What if the other contestants all knew more than me with their formal training and chemistry degrees? What if… I gave myself a stern talking to – no more what ifs. I was just as good as anyone else, if not better! So I’d struggled a little without Nan when it came to composing new formulas; I was sure it was just a stage and I’d soon be back to my best with my secret weapon, Nan’s trusty perfumery bible. And I had passion, enthusiasm, and the desire to win.
Honestly, it could have been Mars and I’d have been happy to escape the gossipy confines of aptly named Whispering Lakes and everything I’d left behind.
The application process for the Leclére Parfumerie competition had been interminable with rigorous testing in every facet of perfumery. I’d made videos, sent perfume samples, been grilled by the Leclére management team over Skype about perfume regions, produce, blending, extraction techniques, ageing, and marketing strategies. They’d frowned at first when I explained I used perfumery almost like a tonic for all that ails, so I soon stopped mentioning that and focused on wowing them with secret formulas I’d developed with Nan. Thankfully, she’d left me them as a legacy, but I knew I needed to step out from the shadows and make my own again soon. It felt so wrong without her, that’s all. Like part of me was missing.
It had taken months to get to the last round of the application process; so many times I thought I’d bomb out, so when I got The Call I felt like I’d earned my place. And the timing couldn’t have been better. This was my chance to escape small town living, and take my perfumery to the next level.
The grand prize was an impressive amount of money, and the chance to design a perfume range which would open a lot of doors in the notoriously cliquey world of fragrance.
So here I was, in the most romantic of cities. The Leclére Parfumerie store was just down the street; I couldn’t quite make it out but the alluring scents of jasmine, cedar, and French vanilla drifted into the summer day, beckoning to me like some kind of fragrant Pied Piper. Could I resist the urge to follow my nose? The mélange of aromas was intoxicating and warranted further investigation…
As I dithered about taking a quick peek, my scarf disentangled itself and flew across the street, the delicate silk undulating in the wind. Without thinking I stepped off the curb to grab it just as a car whooshed past perilously close, sending me sprawling backwards to the pavement. With an oomph I landed hard, hurting both my derrière and my pride.
Taking a shuddery breath, I caught the eye of an attractive stranger across the road. His face was etched with concern, his deep green eyes clouded with worry. Red-faced, I shrugged in apology to the man, the witness of my near-miss. Our gazes locked for fraction of a second. Time stopped and my lonely heart skipped a beat. That feeling was quickly replaced by mortification, so I closed my eyes and counted to ten, trying to steady my heart. When I looked up again, he gave me a brief nod and continued on, striding down the Champs-Élysées, hands in his jeans pockets, black hair ruffled and windswept.
Whew! I reminded myself I wasn’t in Whispering Lakes anymore and couldn’t just blithely step out on the road like I could back home. I took some comfort in the man whose concern had given me pause. And a little zap of longing too.
