Page 37 of Arse Over Irish Teacup
“It was just there in the middle of a field!”
“Your first castle sighting! How exciting! Now, tell me more about Aidan.” Lauren had priorities and while castle sightings were fun, they were not on the list right now.
Beth looked in her rearview mirror to try and get a glimpse of the ruins again but saw nothing but darkness. “I doubt I’ll ever see Aidan again. He’s only here for his sister’s wedding.”
If that didn’t suck pickled ass …
After driving the wrong way down two one-way streets, and backing out from both, narrowly avoiding a shop window or two, Beth finally reached the hotel.
“What will you do today? Can you walk around town?” Lauren asked.
“That’s a good idea. I can walk inside the shops instead of backing through their windows. I think there’s an old church here too.”
“You know what Gram used to say: Life is like a dogsled team. If you’re not the lead dog the scenery never changes.” Lauren got out her tarot deck and shuffled.
“I’m scared.”
“I know, sweetie. But I have a good feeling about this. You’re meant to be there.” Lauren flipped up a tarot card. “Just ask Ursula, nine of cups. She says you’re meant to be there too.”
If Ursula says so then it must be true.
So Beth didn’t know how to get in touch with him. Maybe there was still hope. A man who could handle Beth’s antics and not run away screaming was not only rare but unheard of.
The more Lauren thought about it the more she was convinced, Aidan Turner must be found.
ChapterSixteen
The rainthat had so generously welcomed Beth when she arrived in Ireland was still falling. It had been four long, soggy, dark days. Morning after morning, or afternoon after afternoon if she was honest, jet lag weighed her down. She might have been able to shake it if the sun appeared. But since the sun didn’t seem to exist in this country her outlook became dark as the sky.
This wasn’t like Beth at all. She wasn’t one to wallow and sulk and yet that’s precisely what she’d been doing. But in her defense, she had finally made it to Ireland and all it did was rain. She had been nowhere. She had seen nothing except nearly every season ofMurder, She Wroteon TV. Ireland had little to offer in the digital entertainment department. She had ordered everything offered for room service—her favorite items on the menu so far were the cheesy potatoes, stuffed roast chicken, and the chocolate raspberry tart. While on her scouting expedition Beth found an elegant sitting room and from there, through the eight-foot-tall windows, she saw a garden with a gazebo. She braved the downpour to go sit outside under the protection of the gazebo. Beth stepped into the vestibule and there, asleep in a small bed was a cat curled up cute as you please. Even he had the sense to stay indoors. She looked through the doors in front of her at the river of water flowing down the glass, sighed and turned back for her room.
Enough feeling sorry for yourself!
Well, when in Rome. Or in this case, Ireland. The Irish lived with the rain just fine, so could she.
Beth got dressed, put on her jacket, and texted Lauren, thanking her for suggesting she bring her duck boots, then headed out for the street. Outside was a town, centuries old, and the ruins of a Friary she was aching to see. And according to the friendly hotel manager, it was all within walking distance. That put her at ease. If she had to drive in town again, she might have a nervous breakdown. Whether that breakdown began before or after she ran the car through a shop window was irrelevant.
Ennis was a charming market town with shops ranging from what they called a pound shop (which was a dollar store, never mind that Ireland no longer used pounds as currency. That was a little confusing,) to antique stores. She had never seen so many used violins in her life. There was a very nice jewelry store where she bought absolutely nothing. Buying something as celebratory as jewelry didn’t seem at all appropriate. Not unless they had a magic ring that would transport her home or at least change the weather. There was even an old man playing his fiddle and singing underneath an entryway, safe from the rain, but only just. His case was open at his feet for donations. Beth reached inside her wallet and left him fifty euros. Not because he was particularly good but anyone who dared perform on a day like this needed that money more than she did.
Beth would have surely been lost if it weren’t for the two towering landmarks on either side of town: the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul and the Daniel O’Connell monument. She could always see one of them and all she had to do was head in that direction to find her way.
Behind a great stone wall and iron gates were the imposing, magnificent ruins of Ennis Friary. Wow. To step through centuries old halls, see the graves, admire the limestone sculptures. This was something she could never have seen back in Minnesota.
Now back in her room, shaking off her wet coat, her thinking changed. Sure, it was raining now and had been for days but the rain had to stop falling eventually, and today she proved Ireland could be enjoyed even in the lousy weather. As she combed her fingers through her long, wet curls, she decided. Tomorrow she would load up her suitcase and travel to a new location. A bed and breakfast would be a pleasant change of scenery. Maybe she could find one near the sea somewhere along what was called the Wild Atlantic Way. It was supposed to be a can’t-miss route.
Besides, happiness can be acclimated, right?
She would be fine.
This would be fun!
Look out Wild Atlantic Way, here comes Bethany Spinner!
ChapterSeventeen
Four more daysand four bed and breakfasts later …
Beth wasn’t one for curses but she dearly hoped that hotel manager contracted a flesh-eating bacteria. The Wild Atlantic Way was the worst route on earth!
