Paris Is Always a Good Idea Page 8

  “I received the Severin files from Julia,” Jason said. “I’ll review them tonight, and we can talk tomorrow. I have some questions about how you’re quantifying the return on investment to Severin.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what questions, since it was meticulously accounted for in my documentation, but I didn’t. Instead, I nodded and said, “Great. I’ll talk to you tomorrow . . . Huckleberry.”

  To Knightley’s credit, he laughed. It was a good laugh, deep and resonant. Then he winked at me and, with his usual swagger, rose from his seat. He shook Aidan’s hand before he left the office, telling him to let him know if he needed anything. Aidan waited until the door closed after him before turning the monitor so that it was just him and me.

  “Jason will be a good fit for this,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  I doubted it, but I wasn’t going to say anything, not now that I knew Aidan was ill. That was the most important thing, taking any worries off Aidan’s desk that didn’t need to be there.

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said. “We’ve got this—don’t you worry.”

  “Thanks, Chelsea. I knew I could count on you,” he said. “So, cow pajamas, huh?”

  “Don’t start,” I said. “They were a gag gift from my sister, but they’re really comfy.”

  He laughed, and the sound made my chest ache. “Aidan, you’d tell me if I needed to come home right away, wouldn’t you?”

  He gave me a sweet smile. “Of course I would.”

  I stared at him. Hard.

  “I promise. Now go have a pint at a pub—or even better, a shot of whiskey—get into some trouble, and find your laughter again. I miss you.”

  “I’ve only been gone from the office for a few days,” I said.

  “Yes, well, it’s not the same without you here,” he said. He sounded grumpy. “So find yourself and then come home, okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the bed. I put my hand over my face, trying to take in the news of Aidan’s illness. I felt my throat get tight and my eyes water up, but I refused to cry. I pushed my feelings down deep. He was going to be okay. It was early stages. And Aidan wasn’t an idiot. He’d get the very best of care, and he’d fight this with everything he had.

  I crossed the small cottage to the windows facing away from the village. I pushed back the thick white cotton curtain with the decorative cutouts and noted that the heavy rain had stopped, but there was a thick fog hanging down from the sky. The hills rolled all the way to the horizon like a sea of green, and somewhere out there was the woman I used to be. I just had to find her—quickly.

  At the moment, it felt impossible. Aidan’s news had rocked me, and I started to fret and worry. What if Aidan was actually sicker than he’d said? What if his treatments didn’t work? What if I didn’t get back to him in time? What if I was off gallivanting around Europe when he needed me? What if he died on me, just like my mother had?

  The thought made me gasp. It was all hitting a bit too close to home.

  A sob choked me. I was an idiot to come here. I needed to get back to Boston and help Aidan through the next few months. I could always return afterward. Of course that meant that I would have to embrace my father’s hasty marriage without the benefit of reconnecting to my old happy self. Could I do it? Maybe. Was it the right choice? I didn’t know.

  My phone chimed, and I almost ignored it. I wasn’t in any shape to talk to anyone. But maybe Aidan had forgotten something. I hurried across the cottage and scooped my phone off the bed. I hit the green button, opening the video call, expecting Aidan and not noticing that it was an unknown number until Jason Knightley’s annoyingly handsome face filled my screen. Great.

  “Martin,” he said.

  “Knightley,” I replied, immediately irritated. “What’s wrong? Was there an insult you forgot to zing me with?”

  “This from the woman who said I was an overgrown frat boy.”

  “You called me as sexy as leftovers.”

  His grin was rueful. It made him look endearing. And he scratched the scruff of closely trimmed beard that covered his jaw, adding to the charm.

  “Admittedly, that was . . . inaccurate,” he said. His gaze met mine, and I wondered what he was thinking. “Honestly, I’m calling to see if you’re okay after Aidan’s news. Are you?”

  I gave my phone side-eye. “Jason Knightley, expressing concern for me? I’m touched.”

  I sank slowly onto the edge of the bed. My heart rate was slowing, so that was something. Still, I was suspicious. What was Knightley’s angle?

  “Yeah, well.” He glanced away, out the windows of his office, and then turned back. His eyes met mine, and I could see they were clouded with concern. “I know Aidan is a mentor to you, like me, and I’m just—shit, I’m struggling a bit with the news, and I thought maybe you were, too.”

  I was surprised. I hadn’t expected this level of honesty from Jason. He’d always seemed like the sort of guy’s guy who buried anything that involved real emotions down deep, preferably six feet under and with a weighty headstone.

  “I’m worried,” I said. “I mean, lung cancer is one of the big baddies.”

  “But he’s only stage two.”

  “Which is better than three or four.”

  “But worse than one.”

  “Right. I thought about canceling my trip and coming back, but I suspect Aidan didn’t tell me before I left because he didn’t want me to change my plans for him,” I said. “I’m feeling conflicted.”

  “I thought you might be,” he said. “I mean, it’s Aidan, our hard-core lettuce eater. He’s supposed to outlive us all.”

  I smiled. “He has always seemed like a force of nature.”

  We were both quiet for a moment. I was full of thoughts about Aidan, and I suspected Jason was, too.

  “Is that why you texted me earlier?” I asked. “To tell me about the change with the Severin ask?”

  “I thought a warning might be in order,” he said. “But now that I know you think I’m handsome and charming—”

  “Shut up,” I said. My words lacked heat, and I was thankful for the dim lighting, hoping it hid the blush I could feel heating my face.

  He chuckled, and an awkward silence echoed between us, becoming more uncomfortable with each second. I didn’t want to admit how worried I was, and I suspected Knightley didn’t either.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him for you,” he said. It was the first time I could ever remember him offering to do anything for me. “If there’s any change in his condition, I’ll let you know immediately. Wait, where are you exactly?”

  I had to admit I was pleasantly surprised by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m staying in a cottage in Finn’s Hollow, Ireland.”

  “Ireland, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  I bent over to grab the blanket that had landed on the floor. I dropped the spread onto the bed and pushed my hair out of my face with my free hand. I glanced at the phone and saw Jason watching me. The look in his eyes was one I didn’t recognize.

  “Hey, Martin, I’ve never seen you with your hair down before,” he said. “You should wear it like that more often.”

  I lifted one eyebrow, feeling annoyed. Next he’d be telling me I ought to smile more. “Because how I wear my hair matters why? Am I more ‘likable’ with my hair loose?”

  His lips twitched as if he was trying to control a smile. “Um, no, actually. You’re still as lovable as a feral cat, but I gotta tell ya, Martin, the hair down . . .”

  “What about it?” I glowered.

  “It’s dead sexy,” he said. He gave me a little finger wave and a wink. “Until tomorrow.”

  The call ended, and I stared at my phone. What a jackass.

  Okay, that wasn’t fair. He had been decent
and called me to see if I was okay after Aidan’s news. So perhaps he wasn’t 100 percent jackass—more like 75 percent, with the remaining 25 percent being a cubbyhole in his soul that housed his compassion and empathy. If I got lucky, I’d have to deal with only the 25 percent for the next few months. In the meantime, I absolutely planned to ignore the part of me that had been just the teeniest, tiniest bit flattered that he’d noticed my hair and called me sexy.

  I stretched my arms over my head, trying to get the kinks out. I wondered if I should go hit Darby up for a spin on the pole. The mere idea made me smile. As if.

  The nap had helped to clear my head, and now, after that unexpected conference call and Aidan’s news, I felt compelled to take action. I was on a mission to find Colin Donovan and look him right in his pretty blue eyes and see if I remembered what it felt like to feel all the feels again, even the ones that terrified me.

  chapter seven

  THE PUB WAS packed. A tourist bus was parked out front, and groups of people filled every table, forcing me to sit at the bar. Not that I minded, since I wanted to see if Michael Stewart still owned the Top of the Hill, but they were an awfully loud group, and I had to shout over the conversations to be heard.

  “What can I get ya?” A woman was behind the bar, and she looked at me expectantly.

  “Um . . .” I stared at the taps, trying to read the names on the handles in a mild panic, as I didn’t want to keep the busy woman waiting and really just wanted to know if Michael was around, but wasn’t sure how to ask.

  “Was that going to be today or Thursday?” the woman teased. Her accent was a soft lilt, and she pronounced Thursday with a hard T, which I thought was just charming, even though she was looking more exasperated by the second.

  “She’ll have a pint of the Golden Spear, Sarah.” I turned to see a man walking up behind the bar, carrying a full keg on one shoulder. He set it down on the ground and grinned at me. It was the full grin that did it.

  “Michael,” I said. I leaned over the bar to give him a hug, and he met me halfway.

  “Chelsea Martin,” he said. He squeezed me tight and then released me. “What are you doing here?”

  Well, that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Instead of giving him a rundown on my father’s impending nuptials and how they had sent me into a panicked downward spiral, I opted to be vague.

  “Just passing through.”

  His gaze narrowed. He clearly suspected there was more to it, but he didn’t press.

  “And how are you?” I asked.

  “I’ve no complaints,” he said.

  “I can’t believe you remember me. It’s been seven years,” I said with a grin.

  “You haven’t aged a day,” he said. “But you and your crew did make quite an impression.” He jerked his thumb at the wall behind him, and I saw that it was full of photographs. He tapped one with his forefinger, and my eyes went wide. There I was, sitting in this very bar with Colin and our other friends in a snug over in the corner, and Colin had his arm about me.

  Sarah slid a pint of blonde ale in front of me, and I took a long sip. So many memories were coming back thick and fast.

  “Oh, look,” I said. I squinted at the picture and hoped I sounded more casual than I felt. “That’s Colin Donovan, isn’t it? He was quite the troublemaker.”

  “Still is,” Michael said.

  I felt my heart pound. Did that mean that Colin still lived in Finn’s Hollow? I wasn’t sure how to ask, so I just went for it.

  “Is he still in the area, then?” I tried to sound mildly curious instead of desperately hopeful. No small feat. “I lost touch with him over the years.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Michael said. “He manages the O’Brien farm since Mr. O’Brien passed four years ago.”

  That was an unexpected blow. I took a moment to remember the man who had been so kind to me when I was fresh out of college and on my own in a foreign country. Mr. O’Brien didn’t need to have a pack of twenty-somethings running amok on his farm, but he loved his life, and he wanted to expose as many young people as he could to the rewards of sheep farming.

  My best memory of Mr. O’Brien was of him striding across the green pastures with Fiona, his border collie, at his side. He’d give a command, and Fiona would run the sheep in any direction he asked. They’d had an uncanny ability to communicate with just a few terse words. Mrs. O’Brien used to joke that the only woman she had to share her man with was Fiona.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “He was such a good man.”

  “Timmy O’Brien was at that,” Michael said. His voice sounded resigned to the loss. Another customer arrived at the bar, and he turned away to serve him. “Give me a wave if you need me, and welcome back, Chelsea.”

  I lifted my glass in a silent toast to the man who’d had a hearty laugh, a rogue’s grin, and a love of Ireland that ran deep into his soul. “Godspeed, Mr. O’Brien,” I said and then finished my pint and ordered some dinner to take back to my cottage.

  Now that I knew Colin was here, at the farm no less, I realized I had to follow through and go see him. Tomorrow I would drive out to the O’Brien farm and find my old friend. I was nervous, no question, but I was also excited. I tried to remember the last time I’d felt this sort of thrill. I couldn’t. Was this it, then? The feeling I was looking for? I certainly hoped so.

  * * *

  • • • •

  A GLANCE OUT the window the next morning, and I was pleasantly surprised to see the sun beginning to lighten the sky. Maybe my luck was turning. The peat in the fireplace had burned out, and the room was chilly. I hurriedly took a hot shower to warm up, wanting to get to breakfast, as I was starving.

  I took a bit longer with my appearance than usual. This was a reunion, after all, and I didn’t want to look too dowdy. I kept my hair loose, not because Jason had said it looked dead sexy, but because it was cold out and my hair would keep my head warm. I put on mascara and lipstick and a thick black turtleneck sweater to fight the March chill.

  The O’Brien farm was only a few miles—er, kilometers—away, and I could be there in fifteen minutes. The thought was tempting, but I knew I needed to eat and get myself together first, meaning coffee, I needed coffee. I walked up to the main house to find the door open and the smell of sausage and bacon coming from the dining room, where the large table was loaded with food, and two other guests, a husband and wife by the look of them, were already seated, sharing the newspaper over coffee.

  “Mornin’, Chelsea.” Darby greeted me from the doorway to the kitchen with a wide warm smile. There were no sparkly boy shorts today. Instead, she wore a large apron over jeans and a sweater and was carrying a spatula. “I’m frying up another batch of bacon and sausage, if you don’t mind waiting a bit.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I’ll just get myself some coffee, thanks.”

  Darby nodded. “These are the Parks, Mary and Jerry, visiting from Nova Scotia, Canada.”

  “Really?” I said. “My mother was from Pocologan, New Brunswick, but moved to the States when she married my father. I’m just south of you, in Massachusetts.”

  “Practically neighbors,” Jerry said. His round face broke into a smile.

  “Indeed. Nice to meet you, dear,” Mary said. She had curly white hair and a smile as friendly as her husband’s.

  Jerry pushed a few sections of the Irish Times my way. I poured myself a cup of coffee and slid into a seat.

  “Do you come to Ireland often?” Mary asked.

  “No, it’s only my second trip,” I said. “I came for the first time about seven years ago while living and working for a year abroad after college.”

  “Tried to put off being a grown-up?” Jerry teased.

  “Exactly.” I smiled. “I toured most of Europe and had planned to head on to Asia, Africa, and South America, but life changed my plans.�
�

  “As it does,” Mary said. I suspected there was a world of living packed into that sentence.

  “We’re here to drive the Ring of Kerry but also to check out the border collie demonstration at the O’Brien farm,” Jerry said. “I’ve always liked the breed, and I want to see them in action.”

  “Border collie demonstration?” I asked. I felt my face get warm at the mention of the farm. What were the odds? They hadn’t done any dog demonstrations back in the day, which was surprising because Fiona would have done anything for Mr. O’Brien. “That sounds fascinating.”

  “It is if you like dogs, eh,” Jerry said.

  “We’re going after breakfast. You should join us,” Mary said. “Unless, of course, you’re here to take classes with Darby.”

  “Uh, no,” I said. “I don’t think I bend that well.”

  “I hear that,” Jerry said with a laugh.

  “But I am a dog lover,” I said.

  Just because I didn’t have a dog didn’t mean I didn’t love them. Going to the farm with the Parks could really work for me. It would give me cover if Colin didn’t recognize or remember me or if I lost my nerve. I could just cling to the Parks and pretend I’d never been to the O’Brien farm before. And if he did remember me but everything was awkward and weird, the Parks would be my out. I’d be leaving with them, one way or another, so it was perfect.

  “Then it’s all settled,” Mary said. “We’ll go together.”

  * * *

  • • • •

  IN HINDSIGHT, CARPOOLING might not have been my best idea. The drive to the farm was steep and treacherous, but Jerry didn’t drive like caution was warranted along the winding road. Oh, no, the eighty-something Canadian drove like he was a cow in a race to get to the barn.

  I buckled myself into my seat in the back, and as Jerry stomped on the gas pedal, I wished for a set of rosary beads to pray on. Which was new for me, because I wasn’t generally a praying type. But Jaysus, as the locals said, when Jerry took a curve too fast and the car felt as if it was going to go up on two wheels, I found myself digging deep for some dusty bits of a Hail Mary, particularly Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.