"Hello! How may I help you, mademoiselle?" it wasn't Marcus, thankfully, but an old man in a plaid shirt and grey hair.
"I need some yellow balloons please" Renée said in a low voice, avoiding eye contact. She looked around the shop, it was still the same, considering the number of times she had visited the shop, the same vintage backdrop with a hint of quirk, the smell of cinnamon which drifted through the shop took her back to the autumn season.
"Oh! They seem to be selling a lot lately, is there some kind of festival going on?" the man enquired while turning to grab a few balloons from a drawer.
Renée's eyes grew wide,
"What do you mean?" she asked, placing her fists onto the counter.
"I mean is there a party or something going on?" he turned around.
"No! I mean what do you mean by they're selling a lot? Who else bought them?" she asked hastily, her forehead creasing.
"Ah! Some guy came here two days ago, asking for a few bunch of the same" he said as he put them in a paper bag.
"Who was he?"
YOU ARE READING
One Balloon Away
Teen FictionJust when eighteen-year-old Renée Martin is about to commit suicide, an unexpected note meant for someone else leads her to the city she has always dreaded, Paris. Join her on this disastrous journey as she struggles with self-esteem, anxiety and th...
