Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,50
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