Love Like This (The Romance Chronicles—Book #1)

by Sophie Love

  “Yeah. It’s great. But I have to go to Ireland tomorrow so I’m going to miss Ruth’s wedding.”

  “Oh pft. So what?” Bryn said. “This is way more important. I didn’t think you liked Ruth anyway.”

  “I don’t. But I like Zach,” Keira said, prompting Bryn to consider why jetting off to Ireland at the drop of a hat might not be the easiest thing to do in the world. “I’ve really upset him this time.”

  Bryn exhaled. “Look. Sis. I know this is hard. And I like the guy, believe me, I do. But you have got to go! You have to do this. I hate to be the one to say it but you really shouldn’t be with a guy who holds you back. You’ll only resent him if you give in to his demands.”

  “And he’ll only resent me if I don’t.”

  “Yup. It’s a sad truth, but sometimes life just gets in the way of love. Two people can be right for each other but the timing can be all wrong.”

  Keira felt her chest ache at the thought of dumping Zachary in favor of her career. But maybe Bryn was right. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time for them.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Bryn asked, breaking Keira from her reverie.

  Keira took a deep breath. “You know what, I’ve gone through too much crap climbing the corporate ladder to give up at the last hurdle. I can’t turn this down.”

  Keira felt her drive return back to her. She was sad about the prospect of leaving Zachary behind, but she really didn’t see any other option. Turning down this opportunity would be the end of her career. There were no two ways about it.

  She had to go.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Keira’s alarm clock woke her up at a stupidly early time the next morning, blaring like a foghorn. She rolled over and turned it off, then realized that the other side of the bed was empty. Zach hadn’t slept there last night.

  She got up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and peered into the living room. No Zach. So just as she’d predicted, he hadn’t returned last night. He must have stayed at Ruth’s.

  Pushing her disappointment and sadness away, Keira took a quick shower, fighting hard to stop the warm water from lulling her back to sleep, and dressed in comfortable clothes for the long journey.

  Grabbing her bag, she checked to make sure she had the tickets and itinerary that Heather had given her. Satisfied that her paperwork and passport were in her possession, she headed out of the house and hopped into the back of a waiting cab.

  As she sped through the early morning streets of New York City, Keira took a moment to collect her frantic thoughts. This was really happening. She was really about to head abroad for work, something she’d always dreamed of doing. She just wished Zachary had chosen to share in this moment with her, rather than keep his distance.

  The Newark airport was as busy as if it were rush hour on the subway. A 5 a.m. start was par for the course for so many busy career types, and Keira felt a sudden surge of pride to consider herself among them. She checked her luggage onto the flight, feeling like a superstar at LAX, her head held just as high. Then she found a coffee shop to get her morning fix and kill the time before her flight was ready to board.

  As she sat in the bustling coffee shop, she checked her phone over and over. Even though she knew Zachary would still be sleeping, she desperately wanted some kind of communication from him. She knew she’d done the right thing by taking up the assignment and she hoped Zach would see it that way eventually. Or perhaps their relationship really was doomed like Bryn seemed to think it was. Perhaps their differing priorities really were a blockade they could no longer pass.

  She fired off a light-hearted text to Zachary, leaving out any mention of their dispute, hoping that if he awoke to a sweet message he may feel more warmly toward her.

  Her phone pinged and she leapt with excitement, thinking Zach had replied. But it was Heather checking everything had gone according to plan and she was on time for her flight. Disappointed, Keira texted back, telling Heather everything was fine.

  Just then, she heard the boarding call for her flight. Quickly downing the last of her coffee, Keira headed to the check-in gate, vowing to call Zachary as soon as she landed. There was a five-hour time difference between New York and Ireland that she’d have to keep in mind throughout the duration of her stay.

  On board the aircraft, Keira settled into her seat, checking one last time for any communication from Zach. But there was none, and the flight attendant flashed her a disapproving look to see her using her phone after they’d asked that all electronic devices be switched off. Sighing, Keira turned her phone off and stashed it in her pocket.

  Just then, a crowd of stag party-goers crowded onto the flight, chatting loudly. Keira groaned. It was going to be a long flight. Seven hours, in fact, to Shannon in County Clare. It would be dark when she landed, but her body would think it was midday. She’d been hoping to get a bit of rest on the flight but the group of loud men was going to something of an impediment.

  The plane began taxiing to the runway. In an attempt to block out the rowdy stag party, Keira put in earbuds and closed her eyes. But it wasn’t anywhere near close enough to blocking out their loud banter.

  The plane took to the air and Keira resigned herself to plan B: caffeine. She called over the air steward and ordered a coffee, knowing it would be the first of many. She drank it, huffily, to the background sound of the stag party.

  As she cruised through the skies, Keira took some time to look through Heather’s itinerary and reminders.

  There aren’t any cabs so a rental car will be waiting for you in the parking lot. I hope you can drive a stick shift. And remember to drive on the LEFT.

  The thought of having to drive while so sleep deprived worried Keira. She hadn’t driven in ages, since she usually took the subway everywhere. Stick shifts certainly presented an extra challenge. And driving on the left was going to be even harder. If she stood any chance of not crashing, she was going to need to drink a heck load more coffee!

  You’ll be staying at a traditional Irish pub and B&B so don’t expect the Hilton treatment. It will be basic.

  That didn’t bother Keira. She’d been a starving writer ever since graduating from college; hotels had been out of her price range for years! She could slum it for a month no problem. As long as she wasn’t expected to pee in an outhouse, she was certain she’d be able to survive even the most basic of accommodations.

  You’ll have the evening to acclimatize before work starts. We’ve arranged for a tour guide to show you around. You’ll be meeting the matchmaker and festival owner the next morning. The festival begins the following evening.

  Keira began to feel even more excited as she read through all the information. The flight seemed to be going by faster than she was expecting, which must have been thanks to the adrenaline pumping through her body. That and the copious amounts of caffeine.

  Keira landed in Shannon in good spirits, stepping off the plane and into the cold, fresh September air. She’d been expecting to see rolling green hills and fields dotted with cows and sheep, but instead the Shannon airport wasn’t much to look at. The area was somewhat industrialized, with large gray buildings that lacked any kind of architectural flare.

  The car rental place was just as grim. Instead of a warm Irish greeting, she encountered a stony-faced young man who took her booking slip silently and handed her the keys without so much as uttering a syllable.

  Keira took the keys and found the car in the lot. It was impossibly small. She got in the right-hand side, remembering Heather’s reminder to drive on the left. It took her a while to refamiliarize herself with the concept of a stick shift and clutch pedal, and then she was off, using the SatNav to direct her out of Shannon. It would take approximately an hour to reach her destination, Lisdoonvarna.

  No sooner had she left the main road than she found she was suddenly driving along small, winding roads with no sidewalks, no road signs, and no streetlights. Keira clutched the steering wheel anxiously and put every ounce of en
ergy and concentration she had into driving along the roads that just seemed to become narrower and narrower.

  After fifteen minutes or so, she began to relax somewhat. The traffic was very light, which helped calm her nerves because she wasn’t so terrified about crashing into anyone. The environment was also very relaxing, with nothing around for miles but hillsides and fields dotted with sheep. The grass was the greenest green Keira had ever seen in her life. She wound down the window in order to sniff the pure air, but instead got the smell of manure. She wound the window up quickly.

  There were hardly any roads signs to guide her so she was thankful for the SatNav. But there were also no streetlights, which made driving difficult, especially with so many tight, blind corners. And the markings on the road had all but faded. Keira also found driving on the left disorientating. The difficult drive was compounded further by the sheer number of tractors she had to overtake!

  Just then the road became so narrow there was only space for one car. Keira almost plowed headlong into oncoming traffic and had to squeal to a halt, the car juddering to the side of the road and scraping against the hedgerow. Keira held a hand up to apologize to the driver of the other car but they just smiled kindly as if it were no bother at all, and reversed a little in order to allow the space for her to pass. Back home in New York City, such an incident would have resulted in Keira being loudly cussed. She was already getting a feel for that infamous Irish hospitality.

  Her heart still pounding from the shock of the near miss, Keira managed to slowly inch forward past the car.

  She continued onward cautiously, feeling more terrified of the roads than she had before. She hoped the scrape against the hedges wouldn’t be visible on the paint work—she wasn’t sure how the company would feel about her coming back with a huge bill from the car rental place for damage!

  Any residue of excitement she’d been feeling before the treacherous drive had begun started to wane. Running on adrenaline and coffee had only gotten Keira so far. Now instead of being in awe of the beauty of nature, she saw her surroundings as sparse and somewhat bleak. The only living creatures she saw were sheep. There were old stone farmhouses dotted around that were abandoned, crumbling. Up in the hillsides, Keira also saw a derelict castle nestled within a smattering of trees and wondered how such a historic old building had been left to decay.

  She began mentally taking notes for her article, remembering the cynical angle Elliot wanted her to take. Instead of seeing the beauty in the coastal view, she focused instead on the gray clouds. Instead of seeing the vast view over the ocean as miraculous, she instead decided to cast her gaze to the bleakness of the distant craggy mountains. Though it was stunningly beautiful on one hand, Keira felt that debunking the romance of Ireland wouldn’t be that much of a challenge. She just needed to know where to look and how to twist things.

  She passed through a handful of small, stone-walled towns. One was called Killinaboy and she laughed aloud, quickly texting a picture of the town sign to Zach, who she hoped would appreciate it.

  She was so distracted by the amusing road sign, Keira almost didn’t notice the next obstacle in the road—a herd of sheep! She slammed on the brakes and came to a halt just in time, stalling the car in the process. It took a long time for her terror to abate. She could have mown down a whole family of sheep!

  Taking a moment to calm her heartbeat, Keira grabbed her phone and took a photo of the crowd of sheep’s backsides, sending it to Zach with the caption: the traffic here is a nightmare.

  Of course, she received no reply. Frustrated with his complete lack of interest, she sent the same pictures off to Nina and Bryn in turn. Both responded almost immediately with laughing emojis and Keira nodded, satisfied to know that at least someone in her life found her escapades interesting.

  Keira revved the engine back to life and slowly overtook the convoy of sheep. They watched her pass with knowing expressions and she almost found herself apologizing aloud. The sky was starting to darken, making the drive feel even more precarious. It didn’t help that the only buildings she saw were churches, with solemn statues of the Virgin Mary praying by the roadsides.

  Finally, Keira arrived in Lisdoonvarna and was pleasantly surprised by what she saw. At least it looked like a place where people lived! There were streets where more than one house stood side by side, which gave it the feel of a town… almost. All the buildings, houses, and shops were so small and quaint, many barely a couple of feet away from the road, and they were painted in bright rainbow colors. Keira was glad to finally be somewhere that seemed like a community rather than just single dwellings connected by roads.

  She slowed her car, following the street signs until she found the address she was looking for, the St. Paddy’s Inn. The B&B was right on the corner of two roads, a three-story, dark red brick building. From the outside, it looked very Irish to Keira.

  She parked in the small lot and leapt out, grabbing her bags from the trunk. She was exhausted and ready to get inside and rest.

  But as she approached, she realized rest was not something she was about to get. Because even from here she could hear the sounds of merry conversation and rowdy debate. She could also hear the sound of live music, of violins, pianos, and accordions.

  A bell over the door tinkled as she walked inside to find a small, dark pub with old crimson wallpaper and several round wooden tables. The place was filled to the brim with people, beers in hand. They looked over at her as if they could tell right away she didn’t belong here, that she wasn’t just a tourist, but an American.

  Keira felt a little overwhelmed by the culture shock.

  “What can I get yee?” a male voice said in a thick accent that Keira could hardly understand.

  She turned to the bar to see an old man standing behind it. He had a wizened face and a tuft of gray hair sprouting from the center of an otherwise bald head.

  “I’m Keira Swanson,” Keira said, approaching him. “From Viatorum magazine.”

  “I can’t hear yee! Speak up!”

  Keira raised her voice over the live folk music and repeated her name. “I have a room booked here,” she added when the man just looked at her with a blank frown. “I’m a writer from America.”

  At last the man seemed to understand who she was and why she was there.

  “Of course!” he exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face. “From the paper with the fancy Latin name.”

  He had a warm aura about him, very grandfatherly, and Keira felt herself relax again.

  “That’s the one,” she confirmed.

  “I’m Orin,” he said. “I own the St. Paddy. Live here too. And this is for you.” Suddenly, a pint of Guinness was plonked onto the bar in front of Keira. “A traditional St. Paddy welcome.”

  Keira was taken aback. “I’m not much of a drinker,” she laughed.

  Orin gave her a look. “You are while you’re in County Clare, my lass! You’re here to let your hair down just like the rest of the locals. And anyway, we have to toast your safe journey! Thanks be to the Virgin Mary.” He crossed his chest.

  Keira felt a bit shy as she accepted the Guinness and took a sip of the strong, creamy liquid. She’d never tasted Guinness before and the flavor wasn’t particularly agreeable to her. After just one sip she was certain she wouldn’t be able to finish the entire pint.

  “Everyone,” Orin called out to the patrons in the pub, “this is the American reporter!”

  Keira cringed as the whole pub turned around and began clapping and cheering like she was some kind of celebrity.

  “We’re so excited you’re here!” a woman with frizzy hair said, leaning in a little too close and smiling a little too widely for Keira’s comfort. Then in a lower voice she added, “You might want to wipe off your Guinness stash.”

  Feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, Keira quickly wiped the suds from her top lip. A second later, another of the pub’s patrons had wedged her way forward, barging elbows with others on her way—
not that anyone seemed to mind. Her drink spilled a little as she stumbled. “I can’t wait to read your piece!”

  “Oh, thanks,” Keira said, shrugging. It hadn’t occurred to her that the people here would want to read what she’d written about them. It might make the whole cynical angle a little harder for her to pull off.

  “So what made you want to be a reporter?” the man next to her said.

  “I’m just a writer,” Keira said with a blush, “not a reporter.”

  “Just a writer?” the man exclaimed, speaking loudly and looking for the attention of the others around him. “You hear that? She says she’s just a writer. Well, I can barely hold a pen so you’re a genius as far as I’m concerned.”

  Everyone laughed. Keira nervously drank small sips of her Guinness. The Irish hospitality was very welcome but it was also a culture shock, and she found herself cringing, thinking of the myriad ways she could bash this place in her piece.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Orin said finally, once she’d managed to drink almost half the pint of Guinness.

  She followed him up a creaking, narrow stairway and along a corridor with a threadbare carpet that smelled strongly of dust. Keira walked silently, taking it all in, constructing cutting sentences in her head as she observed the dated decor. The walls were decorated with framed, faded photographs of local soccer teams from the past and Keira smirked when she saw that the majority of the players shared the same surname, O’Sullivan. She took a discreet picture of the black-and-white soccer team and pinged it off to Zach with the caption: Mr. O’Sullivan must have been a prolific breeder.

  “Here you go,” Orin said, opening a door and showing her inside.

  The room was awful. Though large, with a double bed and a huge window, it was decorated horribly. The wallpaper was a sort of peach color, stained in places as if from years of grubby handprints. The bed had a thin duvet on it, which was quilted but not in an endearing country-house way, more in a thrift store castaway way.