“Hey, Declan, thanks for the business,” Jimmy said. “I’ve got a table reserved for your group in the back.”
“Thanks, mate.” Declan led them to the back of the room, where a table had been set up against a row of upholstered seating.
Grace, conscious of where she wanted to sit—which was anywhere away from Declan—went to the far side and sat at the end of the rectangular table. She figured everyone else would crowd in around her, and that would leave Declan at the opposite end, out of conversation range. But things did not go according to her plan. Mr. Peete sat in the chair on her right side, which she thought was good, as that left the chair on her left vacant. But things happened quickly. Mrs. Peete sat next to her husband. Mrs. Robinson sat across the table from Mrs. Peete, and when Mr. Robinson went to sit in the vacant chair on Grace’s left, his wife patted the chair on the other side of her and asked him to sit there instead. As the priest headed toward the empty chair next to Grace, she sighed with relief. But Mrs. Peete caught the priest’s attention. “Father, would you mind sitting next to me? There’s some questions I want to ask you about the tenets of the faith.”
The priest looked longingly over at the group of musicians setting up in the corner and appeared to resign himself to his fate. “Of course, Mrs. Peete.”
Grace realized both women had conspired against her. Mrs. Peete smiled at her and Mrs. Robinson gave her a wink. Grace could feel herself reddening.
Declan sat down in the empty chair next to her and smiled, an unwitting participant in their scheme. “Well hello, Grace Kelly, we meet again.”
She gave him a weak smile and could have sworn she heard a chuckle from one of the women, but she refused to look up to confirm. The best thing would be not to engage with Declan at all, she thought. Just enjoy the music, she told herself.
THE WARM AND CHATTY Grace Kelly from the Horse and Hound was nowhere to be seen that night at the trad session. Declan wondered—more than once—what he had done wrong. He’d tried several times to engage her in conversation but all he got were one-word answers.
“Kelly is an Irish name—are your parents from Ireland?” he asked. He realized how stupid he sounded. But he was desperate to get her talking again.
She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. The coolness felt as thick as the polar ice cap. “Um, no. I’m a fifth-generation American on both sides. Irish and English on my father’s side and Italian and Portuguese on my mother’s side.”
“Interesting,” he said, mentally berating himself. Interesting? Was that the best he could come up with? Had he always been an inane conversationalist? He needed to go back to speech and drama class.
“Did you always want to visit Ireland?” he asked. Another stupid question. But again, anything to get her talking and to keep her talking. To him.
She nodded. “Yes, I’ve been fascinated with it since I was a child. My gran, whose own gran came from Ireland, used to say there were only two types of people in the world: the Irish and those who wished they were.”
“Smart woman.” Declan winked. That got a laugh out of her. The ice was thawing. That was a good sign. He raised his glass and indicated that she should do the same. “To our grans!”
“To our grans,” Grace repeated with a smile.
“Do you like to travel?”
“Mark never liked traveling, but now that that part of the equation has been removed from my life, I plan on traveling extensively, and by myself if I have to,” she said.
He didn’t think she’d be traveling alone for long. Before he could think things through, he blurted out, “Have you ever wanted to go to Australia?”
She looked startled for a moment, as if he’d just snuck up behind her. But before she could answer, they were interrupted by Mrs. Robinson.
“What are you two talking about down there? You look like you’re solving the world’s problems,” she said.
Grace blushed. “Just chatting.”
“About what?” Mrs. Peete pushed.
“Mainly about traveling and what we thought about it,” Declan answered, trying not to get annoyed at their interference. He stood up. “Next round of drinks is on me. What’s everyone having?”
He took their drinks order and marched off to the bar. By the time he’d returned, the priest had sat in his seat. Declan looked longingly at Grace, but she never looked over at him.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Grace was determined to stick to her plan to avoid Declan at all costs. This was her last day, and once he dropped them back at the hotel later that evening, she’d never have to see him again.
She hoped that Mrs. Peete and Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t run interference. What was it with older people wanting to fix up every young person with someone else? Romance couldn’t be further from her mind. In a parallel life, she’d be a newlywed just returning from her honeymoon.
She had no business looking at Declan or any other man. Not yet. Her head wasn’t in the right place for that sort of thing. And although she was functioning, she didn’t know if there’d be blowback still coming down the road from being dumped. That wasn’t a chance she could take. Besides, Declan seemed like a nice man. Too nice. He shouldn’t get involved with her, not when her heart was broken. She needed a strong dose of common sense.
When he’d asked her if she’d ever consider visiting Australia, she hadn’t been sure if he was asking in general or inviting her personally. And that had scared her. Because at that moment, she’d realized she could not jump into another relationship. No matter how much she thought about running her fingers through his silky, dark hair. No matter how much she daydreamed about tracing a finger along his jawline. No matter how many times she closed her eyes and thought of the way his voice sounded. No matter how hard she tried not to think of Declan, he appeared in her mind, unbidden, when she least expected it. Maybe he was just a distraction. If she was daydreaming about Declan, she didn’t have to focus on Mark.
The first seventy-two hours after she’d been dumped, her phone had blown up with well-meaning texts from her sister, her bridesmaids, and the ushers and best man. All apologizing and inquiring after her well-being. But nothing from Mark. Not even a how-are-you-doing text. That hurt along with everything else. Grace knew once she got home, she had some serious work to do regarding the end of her relationship with Mark. There would be no moving on if she didn’t do it. And move on she would. She wasn’t the type to wallow; she tended to get on with things. She knew from experience that the only way to get over a difficult time was to go through it.
Declan was on time, and she stood at the back of the group, waiting to board the bus. She couldn’t wait to sink down into her seat at the back, out of sight from the handsome Irishman. As she boarded the bus, she wished him a polite good morning and he did the same.
When she stepped into the aisle, she realized that the Robinsons and the Peetes had opted for the seats in the back, leaving only front seats available.
“We wanted to see if the view was any different from back here,” Mrs. Robinson said, smiling.
Grace plopped down in the second seat back from the driver’s seat, annoyed at the older women’s meddling.
When Declan appeared from the stairwell, he noticed everyone sitting at the back of the bus.
“My mouthwash must be failing me,” he said with a cheeky grin.
Everybody chuckled, and even Grace found herself smiling.
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL sunny morning. The sun was high in the sky, and the sky was a deep shade of blue with not a cloud to be seen. It was going to be a perfect summer day.
Declan drove the bus south toward County Kerry.
“Our first stop is the lovely Ballybunion beach and its accompanying town,” he said as he headed off the road toward the straight run to the beach. “If you look out your window, you’ll see a statue of your former president, Bill Clinton, swinging a golf club. It was put up to commemorate his visit here to Ireland during his term as president.”
The run to the beach was through a flat expanse of grassy lands and dunes. A couple of miles from the beach, holiday cottages, B and Bs, and caravans lined the road, displaying signs declaring whether they had vacancies or not. But in June, there’d be a nary a room, Declan would bet. He’d always liked Ballybunion and had spent many a weekend there as a kid. His mother would take the four of them to the beach on the odd Saturday with a basket of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and a thermos of tea. Those had been happy days.
He drove down the main street toward the beach. It was a hilly area, but it was populated with shops and restaurants, all catering mainly to the natives.
“I’m going to drop you all off near the castle strand and go find a place to park. You’ll notice there are two separate beaches, divided by the remains of a castle. One wall is all that’s left, really. Years ago, even before my time, by order of the local parish priest, the beach on the left was designated for men, and the beach on the right was termed the ladies’ beach. This priest would stroll the beach every day to make sure the men and women were segregated.” Declan laughed. Looking in his rearview mirror, his eyes caught Grace’s. “But you know how that goes. If two people want to be together, there is nothing that is going to stop them.”
Mrs. Robinson twittered her assent.
“No offense, Father,” Declan said.
“None taken, young man,” the priest replied.
Declan pulled over against the curb and let everyone off. He asked them to wait for him in the general vicinity. He found a car park about ten minutes away and trotted back to his group. The group had dispersed a bit but were in the general area of the castle strand.
The Robinsons were taking pictures of the remains of the castle wall, which sat atop a sea cliff. Below, on either side, were the beaches. Seas caves were visible in the cliffs. Across the way, on the opposite cliff, cows and sheep grazed together.
The Peetes sat on a bench, taking in the view below. The priest walked along the asphalt path, his hands linked behind his back. Grace stood at the cliffs’ edge, taking pictures.
Once the group caught sight of Declan, they gathered around him. “We’ve got two hours here. You can go down to the beach or explore the town. Have a bit of lunch. Or would you like only an hour?”
Everyone looked at each other, shrugging, and declared that two hours would be fine. The Robinsons and the Peetes were going to go to town to do some shopping and have some lunch.
Mrs. Robinson pointed to the herd of cows on the opposite cliff. “They look awfully close to the edge. Won’t they fall?”
“Yes, they look awfully close,” Mr. Robinson tut-tutted.
Declan replied, “Sometimes they do. The edge of the cliffs can be very unstable, so if you’re taking pictures, please be careful. True story: about ten, fifteen years ago, there was a woman sunning herself down on the beach. She got up and went into the water. A cow fell off the cliff, landed on her blanket, and died instantly. The woman would have been killed had she not chosen that moment to go for a swim.”
Murmurs of astonishment rolled through the group.
Declan pointed to the sea caves at the base of the cliffs on the beach. “For those of you brave enough to go down to the beach, be careful exploring the sea caves. If you’re inside and high tide rolls in, you’re doomed. By all means, take a look inside, but be mindful.”
The beach was crowded. There was hardly any room to walk. Any time the weather was hot and sunny, which totaled about three days a year, Irish people packed up their gear and flocked to the beach. Blankets and windbreakers of blue, yellow, and orange stripes dotted the dark, golden sand the color of treacle.
They all agreed to meet up again in two hours. Declan watched the group depart, especially Grace. He would have loved her company but didn’t want to force himself on her.
Declan sat down on one of the benches, folded his arms across his chest, and looked out at the sea. He had not slept well. He donned his sunglasses as a way to get in a quick nap, allowing his head to loll and sink down onto his chest.
The sound of the seagulls and the chattering from walkers as they strolled by and the people on the beach below soon became muted, sounding as if they were far away. He began to dream and, in his dream, a dark-haired woman appeared in his periphery.
“Declan?” asked a female voice. It sounded familiar and yet it had an underwater quality to it.
He half opened his eyes. For a minute, he didn’t know where he was. Or even who he was. But then he saw the bright blue sky and the remains of the eastern wall of the castle. Ballybunion beach.
Grace stood in front of him, regarding him with uncertainty. In her hands, she held two ice cream cones.
“Oh! I didn’t mean to wake you,” she started.
At the same time, Declan removed his sunglasses and sat up straighter on the bench. Closing one eye against the brightness of the late-morning sun, he said, “It’s a good way to get a nice sunburn, falling asleep.”
She started to say something but stopped. She thrust one of the cones toward him. “I thought you might like an ice cream.”
He took it from her. “You thought right.”
She stood there, taking a lick from her cone.
“Sit down, Grace,” he invited, hoping she would.
With some obvious hesitation, Grace sat down next to him, leaving a small gap on the bench between them.
“Have I done something to offend you, Grace?” he asked, scanning the crowded beach and the surf below. He tried to locate the Peetes, the Robinsons, and the priest, but it was impossible. Everyone was too far away.
“I’m sorry?” Grace blinked, confusion clouding her face.
“Since we left the Horse and the Hound, you’ve been trying to avoid me, and I wonder if I’ve insulted you,” he said, licking his ice cream cone.
Grace sighed. “No, it’s not that, it’s . . . I don’t know,” she said. Deftly she changed the subject. “I’m sorry about dumping my tale of woe on you earlier. It’s embarrassing. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Declan said quietly. “I do feel angry on your behalf.”
“Okay. Sometimes, I think about what happened and I guess I get a little down.”
“That’s understandable,” Declan said. My kingdom for my hands around that guy’s throat, he thought.
She chuckled but it felt forced, as if she were trying to convince not only him but herself as well. “Just ignore me.”
That was the problem. He couldn’t ignore her. It was impossible. He’d never been a big believer in fate. Not until he’d met Grace Kelly. What he believed in was being the master of your own destiny. Nothing left to chance. But then she walked into his life out of the blue. He’d never have met her if his brother hadn’t broken his leg. For the first time in his life, Declan wondered if there was a Master Orchestrator.
But he also knew that he had to proceed with caution. Grace was in a fragile state. Even if she didn’t know it herself. He wished he’d met her a year after her breakup. If he was to pursue her, would he only be her rebound man? That was a label he really didn’t want; he was looking for something a bit more permanent. Everything felt hopeless. Was this the way you were supposed to feel when you met “the one”? It seemed as if they’d either met too late—after this Mark guy—or too prematurely, before she was healed.
“You look deep in thought.” Grace smiled.
Declan avoided looking at her. He sighed. “Just trying to sort some things out in my head.”
“Anything you want to tell your Aunt Grace?” she asked with a grin.
There were a million things he wanted to tell Grace Kelly. Like that he longed to touch her hair to see if it felt as soft as it looked. That her eyes were better than any star-studded night sky. That he wanted to ask her to stay. And how ridiculous was that? Even he had to laugh. He concentrated on the refreshing coolness of the ice cream and the heat of the sun on him. “Ah, it’s nothing.�
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“What’s next on the tour agenda?” she asked.
Over the top of his ice cream cone, he asked, “Do you like to dance, Grace?”
Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head and she looked relaxed. Declan hoped she found some peace on this trip. It was the least she deserved.
Chapter Six
Grace and Declan stood up from the bench to go and catch up with the others. Grace was beset by confusion. Her plan had been to ignore Declan and stay away from him, but that plan had failed miserably. When they’d first arrived at the beach, Mrs. Robinson had asked her if she’d like to join them and the Peetes for lunch. But Grace had declined, stating she wanted to check out the beach, which she did. She took pictures of the sea caves but, not being the best swimmer, she wasn’t brave enough to explore them at length.
She’d soon found herself back on the asphalt heading up to the castle strand. She spotted Declan sitting alone on a bench, and something tugged at her heart. She turned around on her heel and went in search of some ice cream. She didn’t have far to go. On impulse, she bought a cone for him, too. She was just trying to be nice.
Declan glanced at his watch. “We need to meet up with the rest of the group in fifteen minutes. I’m going to run and get the bus. Can you tell them I’ll be back soon?”
Grace nodded.
She watched him run off, liking the way he looked. He was so full of ease and confidence.
Within ten minutes, the rest of the tour group wandered back. The women had shopping bags on their arms and Mr. Peete appeared deep in conversation with Mr. Robinson and Father Smolarek.
Mrs. Peete and Mrs. Robinson approached her.
“How was your lunch?” Grace asked.
“Delicious,” answered Mrs. Peete.
The three of them made small talk, comparing notes about the seaside town, until Declan returned with the minibus.
Once they boarded the bus, Declan announced, “Nothing like a little bit of afternoon tea dancing.” He navigated the bus back onto the main road. “Now, afternoon tea dancing is just what it sounds like: dancing, live music, and a cup of tea. In the afternoon. It’s usually for the over-fifty crowd”—here he looked in his mirror and locked eyes with Grace—“Sorry, Grace. But the craic is good.”
Her Great Irish Escape Page 6