“Loosen your grip,” Darby said. “You’ll slide down.”
“I can’t!” I cried. “This is not sexy! I feel like a cabbage in a salad spinner.”
Darby laughed. “Unclench your hands!”
I forced my fingers to relax, and sure enough, I slid down the pole, finally landing in a heap on the floor. I looked like a felled gazelle that had some extra junk in the trunk.
“That’s the way,” Darby said.
I gave her a dubious look.
“It was an excellent start,” she insisted.
The lesson continued until I finally managed to spin and slide down the pole without dropping like a rock. We went on to the fireman and the scissor sit. By the time I’d gotten a handle on those, my arms were shaking, my core was wrecked, I had a blister, and I was drenched in sweat. It felt amazing!
When I swiveled down from the final hold, I slapped the floor twice and breathlessly announced, “I’m tapping out.”
Darby leaned over me and asked, “You all right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Don’t I look all right?”
“Take some Nurofen,” she said. She gave me a knowing look. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow, but on the upside, you have new skills.”
I used the pole to pull myself to my feet. “It’s a bit like flying, you know, when you’re not flailing.”
“That’s why I fell in love with it,” Darby said. “And if I can do it, anyone can, and now I’m teaching it to others.”
“In other words, you’re living the dream,” I said.
“Aye, I’ve always believed that if I can think it, I can do it,” she said. “And I’ve yet to see any evidence that that’s not true.”
“You’re an amazing woman, Darby O’Shea,” I said. I went to hug her and only whimpered a little when I lifted my arms.
chapter eleven
IT WAS EARLY afternoon when I drove off with a wave, watching the pretty house and the cottages get smaller and smaller as I went. I motored slowly through the town of Finn’s Hollow, smiling as I passed the Top of the Hill where it sat at the bottom.
I wasn’t sure where I wanted to land that night. I knew I needed to make my way back to Dublin, but there was no rush, as my flight to Paris wasn’t until tomorrow. I decided to take my time and soak in the beautiful countryside of the west counties, not knowing when I’d ever be back this way again.
I was just outside of Limerick and headed into County Clare when the mercurial Irish weather decided to make a mockery of my life choices. I’d gotten a wild hair to go see the famed Cliffs of Moher before heading to Dublin, and I was almost there when a fierce storm blew in, blotting out the colors of the landscape with a blanket of ominous gray.
My small car was buffeted by the wind as the rain came at me sideways, making my wipers practically useless as they tried to swish the rain off the glass. My knuckles gripped the steering wheel until they cramped, and my heart started keeping time with the beat of the wipers. I squinted through the storm, hoping I didn’t surprise any cows or sheep on the roadway, because with the rain this thick, I doubted I’d see them until I was on top of them.
I cursed myself for not checking the weather. Then I double-cursed myself for leaving Darby’s delightful cottages. Why had I been in such a hurry to leave? Quite simply, because I was on a quest and Colin’s part in it was over.
Had I bothered to check the weather, I’d have chosen differently, but now I was probably going to die on some back road in Ireland. My car would be swept off the road and into a bog, to be sucked into the earth and exhumed hundreds of years from now. My body just a skeleton labeled rando female X, who was smothered by gobs of mud in her car because she was too stupid to live.
A strange noise gurgled out of my throat, something between a whine and a whimper. I was alone in the middle of nowhere, leaving me just vulnerable enough for a scorching case of nerves to come rushing at me, jostling me just like the wind rocked my car.
What if I died out here? I’d never get to see my dad or Annabelle again. I’d never remember what falling in love, laughing wholeheartedly, or being happy felt like.
Panic was making my head buzz, my skin itch, and my breath raspy. My heart was speeding up and slowing down in a weird rhythm that was making it hard to focus on anything except not passing out. My grand adventure, my new start, my search to find myself was going to be cut short when I had a freaking heart attack!
Desperately, I started making deals with the universe. Shelter, I bargained. Give me shelter, and I’ll forge on with my journey. I’ll find Jean Claude in Paris and reconnect with Marcellino in Italy. I’ll do everything I can to find the lighthearted, fearless me of my youth, as opposed to the sweaty, panicked, borderline-hysterical woman I am right now.
Kilometer after kilometer, I bargained, pleaded with the fates, and wheedled the powers that be for mercy. Darkness, pouring rain, and wind were the only response. I was certain the universe had forsaken me, and I was about to pull over and start planning my trip home—why had I thought this solo trip was a good idea?—when I spotted a very faint light up ahead. Half-afraid I was hallucinating, I stepped on the gas.
I had reached the outskirts of Ennis when a large stone building two stories high appeared on my right. In the encroaching darkness, I could see every window illuminated from within. A stylized sign at the edge of the road announced the place as the Bee and Thistle Inn. I turned my rental car into the drive, not caring that I was lurching through puddles or that the lot looked alarmingly full.
My compact umbrella was helpfully packed in my suitcase in the trunk of the car. I pulled into the lone empty spot at the edge of the parking lot and knew I’d have to make a run for it. I looked down at my favorite black leather boots. If I ran quickly, maybe they would survive. I switched off the engine, grabbed my shoulder bag, and bolted for the door.
Loud music poured out of the inn, waving me in with the promise of happy people, hot food, and a dry bed. I was almost to the front door when my legs, exhausted from this morning’s workout, slipped on some mud, and I didn’t have the strength to keep my balance. Instead, I flailed and failed, and my heels shot out from under me. I went down with a horrific splash and a smack of my behind on the gravel below that smarted enough to make my eyes water. For a nanosecond, I thought about just sitting there and having a good cry.
A shout sounded, and the next thing I knew, two strong arms were lifting me out of the mud and helping me to the door. The pouring rain soaked me and my rescuer, a man who looked to be about the same age as my father, and when I turned to thank him, my voice was lost in the downpour. Once we stepped inside the inn, my teeth began to chatter, and I turned to thank my hero properly. To my dismay, he was in a tuxedo, and the pink rose pinned to his lapel looked wilted by the blast of the wind and rain.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt your swim, lass,” he said.
I stood still as the water sluiced off me, forming a small personal reservoir in the lobby, while my butt bone throbbed. I looked at the man in front of me, and the ridiculousness of the moment hit me. I laughed.
“It was my best dive of the night, too,” I joked in return, and he grinned. I gestured to his suit. “But I am sorry about your tuxedo and your poor flower.”
He grinned at me with a smile so like my father’s it made my heart pinch. “Don’t you worry about it. Another pint or two, and I won’t even feel the damp. Come along—let’s get you settled.”
The lobby was crowded, and I turned sideways to follow my new friend as we navigated our way through the small groups of people who were all dressed up. The man I followed greeted everyone he passed, and I wondered what was happening to warrant such a celebration.
When we approached the desk, we were joined by another man, who looked remarkably like the first, except instead of touches of gray in his hair, his was fully silver.
“You�
�re a bit late for the party, miss,” the older man said to me. He handed each of us a thick, fluffy white towel.
I smiled. “My boat was delayed. I had to swim for it.” I began to dry my sodden hair and blot my face, gratefully wrapping my fingers in the towel’s warmth.
Both men laughed. The younger of the two said, “I’m Joseph Connor, and this is my father, Niall.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I said. I offered my freezing cold hand, and it spoke well that neither of them flinched when they shook it.
My rescuer, Joseph, turned to the counter and said, “Elliot, my lad, my new friend is in need of a room.”
“Yes, Mr. Connor.”
Tall and skinny, Elliot had big ears and an even bigger smile. His brown hair fell over his forehead into his eyes, and he tossed his head to move it out of the way. He looked young, early twenties maybe, but his grin was infectious, and I found myself smiling back at him.
A burst of music came from the big room at the far end of the lobby. I glanced over my shoulder at the boisterous party. A woman in a puffy white gown danced by the open door with a man in a tuxedo. Her head was tipped back as she laughed, and he looked at her as if he was the luckiest man in the world. A wedding. That explained my rescuer’s fancy duds. I had a feeling my quest for a room was going to die a quick and painful death right here. Damn.
Elliot tapped at the keys of his computer and said, “We have exactly one room left, but—”
“I’ll take it.” I was so cold. I didn’t care if it was a closet wedged between a noisy kitchen and a smelly bathroom. I was positive I’d sleep through anything, even an all-night wedding reception, if I could just put my weary head down. I handed Elliot my credit card.
“Brilliant.” He began to tap on his computer, and I turned to watch the reception in progress. The music and laughter were pouring out unrestrained, and I found myself tapping my toe to the lively beat. I glanced at my phone and noted that it was Thursday. What an odd day for a wedding. I wondered if that was an Irish thing, to have the wedding midweek.
“You’re all set,” Elliot said. “We do have room service, but the kitchen is a bit busy at the moment. I’d be happy to have them send a tea tray up to you as soon as possible. It may just take a bit. Your room is on the second floor. Room twenty-two, right above us. To give you fair warning, it’s a bit on the small side.”
Elliot looked at me as if expecting me to complain. I didn’t. I took the keycard and said, “Thank you. You can hold off on the tea tray, though. I think I’ll be all right.”
“Nonsense, you have to eat,” Niall said. The Connors looked at each other.
“How do you feel about cake?” Joseph asked.
“I love cake,” I said.
“Who doesn’t?” Niall asked.
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“We’ll have some sent to your room,” Joseph said. “With a whiskey on the side to warm you up.”
I grinned. There really was no beating Irish hospitality. “That would be grand.”
My new friends returned to the wedding, and I went up the stairs, happy to let Elliot take my car keys and retrieve my bag for me. Letting people help me was always a struggle for me. Control freak! Also, I didn’t like to put people out, okay, and perhaps I felt that no one did things the way I would, meaning the correct way, but I was so tired and sore, I just didn’t care.
Elliot had not exaggerated. The room was tiny, barely more than a closet, really, with just enough space for a twin bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a very small washroom. The lamp was on, so I could see, and the calming blues and greens of the room soothed me. I knew I was going to crash as hard as a bear in hibernation.
Elliot arrived a few minutes after me with my bag and a tray that held a gloriously rich piece of wedding cake, which was the traditional Irish fruitcake, soaked in whiskey and stuffed with sultanas, raisins, and cherries, and slathered in a thick buttercream frosting. It was quite possibly the most decadent dinner I’d ever had, and I was completely here for it.
I thanked him and then maneuvered around my suitcase to put the tray on the small dresser. I settled back on my bed, listening to the sounds of the party below. Every now and again a laugh boomed, but the music was muted to a nice background noise that accompanied the wind and rain that continued to pelt against the window. I drew the thick comforter over myself, planning to rest my eyes, just for a moment, before changing into my pajamas.
It was my phone that woke me out of a deep slumber. I blinked. I’d left the lamp on, so it wasn’t dark, but it still took me a moment to remember where I was and how I’d gotten here. The Bee and Thistle Inn outside Ennis.
I listened for a moment, but the rain and wind had stopped, and only the muted sound of the party below and the chime of my phone interrupted the quiet. I checked the clock as I grabbed my phone. It was just after eleven.
I glanced at the display. It was a text from Jason. I winced. I’d told him I’d call him back today, but with the long drive in the storm, I’d forgotten. Feeling a pang of guilt, I called him immediately.
“Martin,” he said. “There you are. I called earlier but there was no answer, so I thought I’d send a follow-up text.”
“Sorry, I was caught in a surprise storm,” I said. “I didn’t hear my phone ring.”
“Are you all right?”
The concern in his voice sounded genuine, and I couldn’t help but think how odd it was that the guy who had driven me nuts for the better part of three years was feeling more like an ally. Weird. Cool but weird.
I could hear noise in the background, like a busy restaurant or maybe a bar. Oh no! Had I called him when he was on a date? Awkward.
“You sound like you’re out of the office, Knightley,” I said. “Please tell me I’m not interrupting something.”
“Define something,” he said.
“Like a date,” I said. I ran a hand through my hair. “Seriously, you should just hang up on me if it’s a date. For that matter, what are you doing answering the phone on a date? Rude.”
He laughed. “Relax. I’ve got to say, you are wicked high strung, Martin.”
It occurred to me that I liked the way his light Boston accent dropped the R in my name, making it Mahtin. I shook my head. Everyone said my name like that in Massachusetts—heck, I said my name like that. This was not charming. I was not charmed.
“I’m not high strung,” I protested. “I’m just making sure you observe the niceties.”
“Appreciate it, but I’m not on a date, as I’m not dating anyone right now. In fact, I just left my bros at a bar, and I’m freezing my tail off as I walk to the T.”
“Oh, well, at least you’re not chatting on your phone on a date,” I said. “That’s the worst.”
“Noted,” he said. “And for the record, I happen to agree.”
“Did you call me earlier to discuss the spreadsheet or to strategize a meeting with Severin?” I asked.
“Both,” he said. “But given that I’m out of the office and don’t have any of my notes with me, it’ll have to wait.”
“Sorry.” I sighed. I hated that I’d missed his call, and now I felt like a screwup. This was not normal for me.
“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re doing me a favor. There’s no need to apologize.”
“Except that I promised to help you for Aidan, and I’m not much help if I don’t answer my phone,” I said.
“Seriously, not a big deal,” he said. “We can hash it out tomorrow.”
“All right. How is Aidan, by the way?” I asked. I was hit with a sudden pang of missing my boss. I hadn’t had much time to think about him since I’d heard the news, and when I did, it was with a mild blast of panic that I was so far away and couldn’t do anything.
“He’s fine,” Jason said. “You know him. He plans to meditate right through his treatment an
d come out the other side.”
I could see Aidan doing just that. “That’s good to hear. Well, I’ll let you go—”
“Hang on,” he said. “I can’t feel my feet. I’m catching a cab.”
I waited until I heard a car door slam and Jason gave the driver his address.
“Wild guess here,” I said. “You’re wearing your black high-tops, and it probably snowed.”
“How did you know?”
“Because you always wear those and you always complain about your feet being wet and cold when it snows.”
“So what you’re saying is you’ve noticed me.” His voice was amused.
“No, what I’m saying is you’re an overgrown man-boy who needs to buy some decent footwear,” I said.
“But you have noticed me.”
I rubbed my forehead with my fingers. “Why is talking to you always like trying to communicate with a fourteen-year-old? I think I liked you better when I was drunk.”
“Everyone likes me better when they’re drunk,” he said. “It’s part of my charm.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
“So, where are you right now?”
“At an inn in Ennis,” I said. “There’s a wedding happening, so it’s loud, but I did manage to score a room, some cake, and a whiskey.”
“You’re living large, Martin.”
I chuckled. “Actually, I fell in a puddle, and a lovely man in a tux came to my rescue. I think he’s the bride’s father but maybe the groom’s. I’m not sure. I only know he ruined his tux to help me up and then gave me cake.”
“Not all heroes wear capes.”
“Indeed.”
His voice was amused when he asked, “Why do I think this could only happen to you?”
“I’ve no idea,” I said. “I can assure you my life is not that exciting normally.”
“Hang on a sec—I’m at my place,” he said.
I listened as he settled up with his cab driver. There was the sound of a door closing, some street noise, and then silence.
Paris Is Always a Good Idea Page 13