Paris Is Always a Good Idea

by Jenn McKinlay

  And please don’t let that be right now, I added. I hadn’t even found Colin yet. I resisted the urge to cross myself but only just. The car leveled out, and I was just catching my breath when Jerry crested a hill and saw something that caught his interest in the distance. He pointed and both he and Mary looked, and of course the car veered precariously toward the edge. I had to bite back a shriek for fear it would startle him and cause us to go over the drop.

  So while I wasn’t very religious, at the moment, I would have prayed on a banana to arrive safely and in one piece. Mary, for her part, didn’t bat an eyelash at her husband’s driving. A sharp curve, a hairpin turn, a double-back, Jerry navigated it all without reducing his speed even a little. Upon arrival, he swerved into a parking spot between a tour bus and a minivan without slowing down.

  I wanted to leap from the car and kiss the ground, but the damage was done. Darby’s fry-up roiled in my stomach, staging a full-on rebellion. I was sweating, panting, and, I suspected, as green as the hills surrounding us. It was taking everything I had not to throw up.

  “Chelsea, come on—you’re going to miss it!” Mary called to me from the platform where she and Jerry joined a busload of tourists.

  “Be right there,” I said. It was a lie. The vomit-inducing drive over here had taken the starch right out of me, and now I was in the thick of an existential crisis.

  What had I been thinking? I couldn’t face Colin. It had been seven years! He was going to think I was some crazy ex-girlfriend, assuming he remembered me at all. My potential for complete and utter humiliation was at an all-time personal high.

  I must have been out of my mind to think I could do this. Had I really fantasized that he and I would spot each other across a field and rush into each other’s arms? That was never going to happen!

  The reality was I was standing in the frigid cold on the side of a hill on a freaking sheep farm, trying desperately not to throw up on my own shoes. This was not how romance fantasies were supposed to play out! God, I was an idiot.

  And with that crack of vulnerability, I realized I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to curl up in the back seat and pull a blanket over my head until it was time to go. I didn’t even care that Jerry would likely get us killed on the ride home. I yanked on the door handle of the car. It was locked. Damn it.

  The bleating of sheep broke into my panic, and I glanced up the hillside to see a flock scurrying out of the low-hanging fog, heading toward us with two dogs and a handler following them. Was that Colin? He was too far away. I couldn’t tell. Suddenly, my palms were sweaty and my breathing short. I was ridiculously nervous. Either he’d remember me or he wouldn’t. It was no big deal. Right?

  I stepped away from the car. My curiosity about whether it was him momentarily pushed aside my nerves, and I moved closer to the platform just to take a better look. Once I knew if it was Colin or not, I reasoned, I could always run back and hide behind the car. So mature, I know.

  Halfway to the observation deck, disaster struck. One of the sheep broke away from the flock, heading straight for me. Instead of jumping out of the way, like a perfectly functional normal person, I stood frozen, even as I saw one of the dogs peel away to run down the sheep, who was now bleating in a frenzied terror that seemed perfectly understandable to me.

  The sheep’s eyes were wide with fright, and the black-and-white dog looked more like a wolf, with teeth bared, as it closed in on its prey. The sheep sideswiped me, knocking me to the ground as if I were a human shield that would protect it from the dog, which would have bounded past me in hot pursuit if not for the voice of command that broke through the cacophony of the tourists’ gasps and cries, the bleating sheep, and the panting dog.

  “Lie low, Seamus, lie low,” the handler I’d seen on the hill ordered, and Seamus dropped to the ground beside me. I glared at him, but he showed not one bit of remorse.

  It was then that I felt the cold seep into my hands and knees. I glanced down to see I’d been knocked into a mud puddle. Great. I pulled my hands out of the muck. They were dripping mud and water—I sincerely hoped it was water—and I tried to find a patch of grass so I could push myself up to my feet. I flailed a bit just before two strong hands grabbed me under the arms and hauled me up to standing.

  I glanced over my shoulder, and my breath caught. I’d know those blue eyes, those deep dimples, and that particular cowlick in that thatch of dark-red hair anywhere. Colin Donovan!

  chapter eight

  ALL RIGHT, MISS?” he asked.

  I ducked my head, letting my hair fall over my face. For the nanosecond that our eyes met, I didn’t see startled recognition in his gaze, just the polite inquiry of a stranger making certain I hadn’t hurt myself.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Sure, if wet, muddy, and cold is your definition of fine,” he replied. There was laughter in his voice. It was so achingly familiar, I wanted to tip my head back and laugh, too, but a hot case of shyness kept me from looking up. “Thomas, take our guest here to the washroom and ask Mrs. O’Brien if she has a change of clothes for her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said.

  “That’s not necessary,” I protested.

  “I insist,” Colin said. He was talking to the top of my head, as I kept my face averted—like a weirdo—while I brushed at my knees as if I were trying to get clean, although what I was actually doing was avoiding his gaze. I simply couldn’t reconnect with him like this. It wasn’t at all like I had imagined it, and the control freak in me was having a hissy fit of epic proportions. I wondered if I could slink off the property without anyone noticing and walk back to the cottages.

  “This way, miss,” Thomas—I presumed it was him, since I had yet to look up—said.

  I turned away from Colin and followed the voice. Tall and skinny, with the open face of a boy rather than a man, Thomas looked to be about eighteen, and he smiled at me with kindness and not mockery, which I appreciated.

  We left the platform behind, and there it was. The old white farmhouse with black trim and shutters; flower boxes on all the lower windows; and a big garden, barren now, that ran along the side of the house. Beyond that was the barn, where I had learned to shear sheep, and in between the two was the long low-slung bunkhouse, also white with black shutters, just like the big house. It was there we’d all bunked down during our time on the farm. I smiled, remembering late nights of laughter, big breakfasts, and days spent out in the mountains, tending the various flocks of sheep. My heart swelled at the memories.

  Thomas let me into the bunkhouse. It hadn’t changed much. The same utilitarian bunk beds stacked on each side of the room with a random collection of dressers between them.

  “I’ll just run up to the house and ask about some clothes,” Thomas said.

  I glanced down. “There’s no need. It’s just my knees. A towel will do the trick.”

  Thomas fetched one from a nearby cupboard and gestured to the bathroom. I went inside, hoping to repair the worst of the damage. I used the towel to scrub at the drying mud on my knees and washed my face and hands. I tossed the towel into a nearby hamper.

  I wondered if I could hide in here until the exhibition was over. Probably not. Both Thomas and Colin knew where I was. They were sure to come looking for me if I didn’t turn up soon.

  Leaving the bunkhouse behind, I walked back up the trail. I was huffing and puffing as I reached the deck. The crowd was applauding, so it was clear I had missed most of the demonstration. I was disappointed by that. I would have liked to have seen Colin with the dogs.

  Colin was standing on the ground below. He grinned at the crowd’s applause and then turned to open the gate. The sheep pressed forward into the pen in a nervous mob. It was clearly a general admission situation here, and I was surprised none of them were trampled in their hurry to get away from the dogs.

 
“Have you ever had a dog kill one of the sheep?” a young boy asked. His eyes were huge and he looked concerned.

  Colin latched the gate and turned back to the group. His bright-blue eyes moved over the crowd and rested on the boy with a friendly gaze.

  “Not to date, but it could happen easily enough,” Colin said. His lilting accent curled around me like a soft, woolly blanket. “The hunter spirit of their ancestors, the wolves, is still in them, so if they killed one sheep, they’d kill them all. That’s why you never leave them alone with the sheep. It’d be a massacre, and it wouldn’t be the dog’s fault but the master’s.”

  The boy nodded. There were a few more questions. Someone else asked about the red, blue, and black markings on the sheep’s coats, and Colin explained what I already knew, that the colors designated which farm the sheep belonged to, which ones had been dipped, meaning inoculated against disease, and which females had been serviced, so to speak.

  I was riveted. How had I forgotten his killer dimples and the wicked twinkle in his eyes when he teased? The man was full-on Irish hottie, and I had come so far to see him. Could I really skulk away now? Not a chance.

  How I was going to approach Colin, I had no idea, so instead, I watched him, indulging in the moment. I recognized the way he carried himself with his back straight, his broad shoulders strong, and his head tipped ever so slightly to the side, as if he was just looking for a bit of mischief to make the day fun. Oh, how I had missed him.

  With a wave of his arm, he signaled for the crowd to start down the gravel path to the shearing shack. Colin was busy. He was working. I knew I should leave the man alone, but I didn’t. Adhering my courage to the sticking place, which at the moment felt more like a preschooler’s paste than the superstrength glue I used as an adult, I stepped forward into his line of sight.

  “And don’t let Seamus bamboozle you into thinking he needs extra food now,” Colin instructed. He clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “He’s goin’ to get fat if everyone keeps believin’ those big sad eyes of his.”

  “Aye, sir, I know better than to fall for his beggin’.” Thomas whistled, and the dogs jumped to their feet. They followed him, crowding his legs as they left the area.

  “Sir?” I said. “You’ve certainly come up in the world, Colin Donovan.”

  He turned to face me. His face was kindly polite. “Are you all right, miss? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  He didn’t recognize me. It shouldn’t have been the crushing blow that it was. It had been seven years. Clearly, I was not as memorable to Colin as he was to me. The mature thing to do would be to introduce myself and tell him we’d met before, but I just couldn’t make myself do it.

  The truth was, I’d built him up so much in my mind that I was bitterly disappointed that I was no more than a stranger to him. I gently tucked my pride and my dignity into my pocket and forced a smile.

  “No, I’m fine,” I said. “After all, a little mud never hurt anyone.”

  His smile slipped off the side of his face, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at me with an intensity that made me nervous. Was he worried I was going to sue the farm? I would never. I was about to reassure him of that when his frown faded into a look of pure astonishment.

  “Chelsea Martin, as I live and breathe, is that you?” he asked.

  He remembered! My heart swelled and I found I had no words, so I just nodded with a grin parting my lips. The next thing I knew, he was climbing up the front of the platform, not even bothering to go around to the stairs. He vaulted over the railing and landed in front of me.

  “I can’t believe it. It’s been donkey’s years since I’ve seen you,” he said. He grabbed my arms to hold me in place while he studied my face. “Pinch me. Am I dreamin’?”

  Obligingly, I pinched the tender skin between his glove and his sleeve.

  “Ouch!” he cried.

  “You said . . .”

  “Aye, and you’re still a literal girl and a very fine thing,” he growled, which made me blush. Then he laughed and pulled me into a rib crusher of a hug, lifting me off my feet.

  “And you’re still a charmer,” I said, hugging him back with all my strength. He smelled of fresh air and peat smoke, warm wool and sunshine, everything that was clean and good. When he set me back on my heels, I missed his warmth immediately.

  “Colin, you’re still givin’ the tour, yeah?” a voice called from the barn down the hill.

  “Blast, I have to go,” he said. He waved to the man to signal he was on his way, but then he turned back to me. “We need to visit. What are your plans? Where are you staying? How long are you here?”

  The flurry of questions had me blinking.

  “I don’t have any plans. I’m at the cottages. I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” I said. I didn’t add that it depended upon him. “Did you want to have dinner tonight?”

  “Brilliant, let’s do that,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the Top of the Hill, say, at six?”

  “I’d like that,” I said. Impulsively, I stood up on my toes and kissed his cheek.

  Colin flushed a pale pink and grinned at me. “What was that for?”

  “For remembering me,” I said.

  “Oy, I could never forget you, Chelsea, love,” he said. He kissed my forehead and then turned and reached back to take my hand to pull me along behind him as if he didn’t want me to get away as he strode down the hill toward the barn. He didn’t let go until he stepped into the shed to give his demonstration. It was no exaggeration to say I was halfway to smitten.

  * * *

  • • • •

  THE PARKS WERE exhausted by the end of the tour. I had no doubt it was because Jerry had volunteered to try his hand at shearing. Suffice to say, he’d gotten one of the wigglier young sheep, and much hilarity had ensued as the ewe had outmaneuvered him at every turn.

  “Come here, you stubborn girl,” Jerry cried as she slipped through his hold. When he got a grip on her again, he looked to be in control of the situation, but then she slipped right through his legs. “I think I’d have better luck with a greased pig!”

  “Bacon would be a bigger incentive for you—that’s for certain,” Mary teased her husband.

  Colin stepped up and muscled the sheep into submission, managing to shear her in a matter of moments. I watched in fascination. He’d thrown off his coat, and his tight gray sweater hugged his muscular form. Gone was the slender young man I’d known before, and in his place was this burly man’s man. It was easy to see when he hefted the sheep, as if it weighed nothing, where those powerful shoulders of his had come from.

  Despite the chill wind that greeted us outside, I was relieved by the bite in the air, as I felt a bit overheated by the whole morning. As impossible as it seemed, Colin was even more attractive now than he’d been in our youth, and that was saying something, ’cause he’d been smokin’ hot then, too.

  I offered to drive the Parks back to the cottages, and to my relief, Jerry was happy to let me, which was good because I didn’t fancy the idea of wrestling an octogenarian to the ground and forcibly taking the keys, but I would have. As we climbed into the car, my gaze met Colin’s. He mouthed the word six and I nodded, feeling a thrill course through me. The tingle started at the top of my head and ran all the way to my toes. Had he had that much of an impact on me seven years ago? Or was it years of pent-up emotion just looking for an outlet? Hard to say.

  On the drive back, Mary and Jerry talked about the dogs, particularly the one called Seamus, wondering if they could have a dog like that running around their cottage in Nova Scotia or if it would get into too much trouble with the local farms. I listened, but my mind was elsewhere, wondering what Colin’s life was like outside the farm. Well, I supposed I’d get my chance to ask him at the pub tonight. I felt my heart race in anticipation as I contemplated all my body parts that needed some landscaping.
Finn’s Hollow did not boast a beauty salon. This was going to be a DIY project of major proportions.

  * * *

  • • • •

  JET LAG AND nerves overwhelmed me, so I took a nap until midafternoon and then began to prep for my date. It was a date, I reasoned. I’d asked and he’d said yes. Two consenting adults meeting for dinner in a public place was a date. Absolutely.

  Because I had packed so minimally, I chose to go bold and wore my clingy red tunic sweater over black jeans and half boots. I styled my hair in big loose waves and decided to put on a little extra makeup. Was the cat eye thing with eyeliner still happening? I frowned at my reflection. Could I even manage it?

  I opened up YouTube on my phone and watched a quick tutorial. It didn’t seem that hard. I’d just finished one eye, which came out okay, and was working on the other when my phone chimed. The noise startled me, and I stabbed myself in the eye, because of course I did. I closed my eye as the tears started, and slid my thumb across the display, unable to see the number through my tears.

  “Hello,” I answered. I tried to sound chipper while I grabbed a tissue out of the holder on the top of the toilet and attempted to wipe my eye without smudging the liner and ruining the rest of my face. That was a fail. My eye was watering so much I looked as if I were bleeding black out of my eyeball. “Damn it.”

  “Well, hello to you, too.”

  I glanced at my phone. Jason’s annoying face smiled at me through the display, and then his eyes went wide. “What happened, Martin? Did you piss someone off with an overzealous itinerary and they popped you in the eye?”

  “Ha ha, you’re hilarious. It’s a makeup malfunction,” I said. “Can I call you back?”