Seagulls screech overhead and a chilly wind blows in directly from the Atlantic. The tide is high. Waves crash thunderously against thousands of round, smooth stones, dragging them back out with a soothing, rhythmic, rolling sound that no relaxation app could adequately reproduce.
I feel lighter than I’ve felt in months. Maybe even years. And not just my balls. My soul feels happier or something. It’s surprisingly good to be home. In Ireland, I mean. The rugged coastline is hard to beat.
I just hope to fuck I don’t ruin it all by embarrassing myself in this new project.
Cruising past the pier, I pass a woman setting up what looks like a coffee caravan decked out in tinsel and flashing red and gold Christmas lights, complete with a sign that says, ‘Even Santa needs coffee. Fuel up here.’
At least I know which way to come home.
Home? For fuck’s sake. Back I mean. I know which way I’ll drive back to bring breakfast to Holly. I’ve already broken all my other habits, may as well forgo the egg white omelette too. Fresh coffee and buttery croissants might lubricate Holly’s perfect pouty mouth.
I have so many questions. Starting with her last name. Occupation. Who she’s hiding from. If she wants a repeat…
Around the next bend, my eyes are drawn to a sign for a hotel called The Ocean Palace. If the weathered sign is anything to go by, I doubt there’s anything palatial about it, but it’ll have to do. Indicating left, I climb the winding dirt track all the way to a large white building.
It’s definitely not fancy, but the view of the beach is outstanding. Only six cars occupy the car park. If I was hoping there would be no room at the inn, and I’d have to go beg to sleep in Holly’s stable, I’m right out of luck.
I abandon the Audi across two spaces and jog up the steps and in through the automatic sliding doors. A hit of heat bursts against my face. I probably look like a total dick in these sunglasses, but it’s a risk I’ll have to take.
A grey-haired woman in her mid-fifties raises her head from a granite topped reception desk. Other than her, there isn’t another sinner around. The soles of my boots squeak against the polished floor tiles as I approach.
‘Hi, I’m wondering if you have a room available?’
If she recognises me, it doesn’t show. I rub my hand over my two-day-old stubble. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even recognise myself under this level of growth.
Holly’s bound to have a stubble rash today. Everywhere. For some reason I like that I’ve marked her as mine. I bite back a smirk at the thought.
‘Mister, I have a whole floor for you, if you want it.’ Her chirpy words ring with heart and humour.
‘I’ll take it.’ I nod and pull out my wallet from my jacket.
Her silvery head cocks to the side. ‘You are joking, I presume?’
‘No.’ I slide my Amex card over.
‘When I said I have an entire floor, I meant the bridal suite.’ Her fingers skim over my credit card.
‘That’s perfect.’ I nod and motion for her to swipe the card.
‘How many nights would you like to stay for, sir?’ Laser eyes peer inquisitively at my sunglasses.
‘Four, maybe five weeks?’
‘It’s four hundred euro per night.’ She swallows hard, like she’s delivering a blow. What she’s actually delivering is a bargain.
‘That’s fine.’ I motion for her to charge my card.
‘I’ll just take some details Mr…?’
An hour and a half later, I swing back into the driveway of Ard Na Mara. The smell of fresh, warm croissants wafts deliciously through the Audi as I pull up on the asphalt.
The Mini that was parked outside last night is gone.
I leap from the car and rattle the front door handle, instinctively knowing already that it’s locked.
Holly’s gone.
My heart sinks.
