Dear Helen,
I've been waiting for your reply for the last fifty-seven years. I'm sure you have a lot to say when we meet again. Right now, I'm sitting on the bench where I first saw you and as I write this letter, I could imagine you as if you were still here, cursing in the rain, cold and dripping wet. I missed you, mon amour.
Love,
Jean
YOU ARE READING
It Started in Paris
ChickLitLauren goes to Paris for a business trip. She ignores the countless love letters that arrives at her door in her apartment in Paris. Her curiosity clicks her into opening the letters. Someone named Jean Hughe is the writer of the letters for...
