The store, apparently, already has someone in it this morning, and that someone isn’t me.
I look down at the set of keys I’m holding, ready to be used, frowning down at them, and then looking back at the store that has some random guy in there that shouldn’t be in there.
It’s cold out here, and for a second, I think I’m the one in the wrong, that I made the mistake and walked up to the wrong store on the block. I double check the golden lettering on the glass panes that says Librairie on it, and still that stranger in the store continues to exist and doesn’t disappear like I’ve woken up from a bad dream.
I’m the only one with the keys—well, other than Mrs. Bristol.
And Mrs. Bristol is sailing along some sort of sea or ocean, having adventures while I’m stuck here in the bitter cold, w
