mature, Keira thought.
At least she’d received responses from both Nina and Bryn, asking a myriad of questions. She texted Nina – who would be editing the piece – to tell her that her itinerary was filled to the brim and not to expect any work for a while. To Bryn, she texted a brief description of Shane’s physical features and some flame emojis.
He’s a pain, though. One of those arrogant guys who thinks it’s endearing to tease you.
Bryn’s reply came quickly. It IS endearing.
Keira laughed and put her phone away. The music downstairs was certainly going to keep her awake for some hours, so she may as well put in some time on her laptop. She took it from her bag and began writing an email to Elliot with some of her initial ideas for approaching the article. Thanks to all the Guinnesses, she found herself able to adopt an even snarkier tone that she’d anticipated.
If you’ve ever wondered what decades’ worth of stale Guinness smooshed into a carpet smells like, then look no further than St. Paddy’s Inn in Lisdoonvarna, County Clare. As an exotic American, my arrival here prompted an outpouring of suffocating Irish hospitality. I say suffocating, because turning down the offers of copious amounts of alcohol was simply not an option, hence the aforementioned stale Guinness smell that permeates every inch of this gritty, dark dive. In fact, the place is so saturated with Guinness the carpets, curtains, and wallpaper are all tacky to the touch. Let’s just say I won’t be surprised if the water of my morning shower (in the dated, cramped en suite) comes out black and frothy…
She continued in the same snarky tone. She knew it was mean to bash the B&B and the friendly people she had thus far met but she just couldn’t help herself.
She finished up and hit send. Elliot replied almost immediately with a praising email.
Keep this up, Keira. It’s gold!
Just then, Keira’s phone rang. It was Bryn. Keira sighed, realizing she wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. She folded down her laptop and answered the call, climbing into bed as she did so.
“What’s up?” she asked her sister.
“I just had a failure of a date,” Bryn explained. “So I thought I’d call you for the lowdown on this hunky tour guide.”
Keira laughed. “Well, he has too much hair. And his fashion sense sucks. But he would scrub up nicely.”
“I think you should go for it,” Bryn said.
Keira gasped, surprised by how forward Bryn was being, even for her. “What about Zach!” she laughed.
“What about him?” Bryn replied dismissively.
Keira groaned. “He’s my boyfriend,” she reminded Bryn. “And even if Shane got a haircut and a whole new wardrobe I wouldn’t be able to spend more than five minutes in his company before throttling him.”
Bryn laughed. “That’s going to make the next few weeks a bit difficult, isn’t it?”
“That and the fact that my room is above a pub that seems to have no closing time and a live folk band twenty-four/seven.”
“That sounds amazing,” Bryn refuted. “Jeez, Keira, you work so hard you can’t even see what an exciting situation you’re in! You’ve just told me the party never stops with a groan.”
“You sound like Shane,” Keira replied. “If I don’t want to drink, dance, and be merry I don’t have to!”
She and Bryn finished up their conversation, and Keira found that in spite of all the noise coming from downstairs, she was hardly able to keep her eyes open. So she settled down under the thin cover and rested her head against the lumpy pillow. There was still no response from Zach to any of her humorous texts. She tried calling him but the phone just rang and rang.
She checked Instagram and saw photos of Zach at Ruth’s wedding. He was looking gorgeous in his suit, but his expression was so lonely. He seemed awkward standing there alone, and she felt bad not to be there with him. Maybe her mom had had a slight point. Turning up at weddings alone clearly was very embarrassing.
As she began to fall into slumber, Keira began dreaming that she was there at the wedding with Zach. Only it wasn’t Zach, it was Shane, shaved and in a sharp suit. He looked more handsome than she’d even anticipated.
Keira woke herself with a start. Things were already complicated enough without her developing a crush on her tour guide!
She pushed all the thoughts from her mind and, finally, fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Did you sleep well?” Orin asked the second Keira descended the staircase early the next morning, emerging into the pub part of the B&B.
She rubbed her bleary eyes. “Yes, thanks.” The lie came so easily. Much better to pretend she loved her rickety bed, thin duvet, and lumpy pillows than to complain and have Orin fuss about it. She could write about it later, after all, and get some cathartic release that way.
“Take a seat and have some breakfast,” Orin said, leading her to a table and placing a coffee in front of her. It was swiftly followed by a bowl of oatmeal. He sat in the seat opposite. “I’ve made it the Irish way. I hope you like it.”
He was grinning rather widely.
“What’s the Irish way?” Keira murmured suspiciously.
She took a sip of the coffee and was surprised by how delicious it tasted. Whatever the Irish way was, it was good! Then she spooned some of her oatmeal into her mouth and almost cried out in delight. She’d never tasted anything so creamy, so utterly fantastic.
“Wow, what makes this taste so great?” Keira said, as she munched on another spoon of oatmeal. “Are the cows fed organic grass and milked by the hands of maidens?” she joked.
Orin’s grin grew wider. “Baileys in the coffee. And a splash of whiskey in the milk.”
Keira was shocked. “Liquor at eight a.m.?” she gasped. “Is that a good idea?”
Orin gave her a wink. “The best way to start the day. That and a brisk walk. Which you’ll get just as soon as I escort you to your meeting with William Barry, the head of the festival.”
Keira realized then that Orin was already ready to leave the B&B. He was wearing boots that reached halfway up his calves as if in anticipation of puddles. Or mud. Either way, Keira wasn’t in the mood for perambulating.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I have SatNav in the car so I won’t get lost.”
Orin pointed at her coffee. “That’s not why I’m doing it.”
The cynical part of Keira’s mind wondered whether Orin had deliberately inebriated her in order to ensure she couldn’t refuse his offer of a walk. But she knew that was crazy thinking. Orin was just a gentle old man, proud of his town. He wanted to show it off to the cynical New Yorker he’d been lumped with.
“Come on,” Orin continued. “You’re here to get a real taste of Ireland! To live like a local! You won’t really know what our lives are like if you don’t walk a mile in our shoes!”
He
