We gather our luggage and head towards the rental car area. His Mom offered to pick us up, but he insisted on getting a separate car. I think part of him just doesn’t want the first reunion with his mother in four years to be in an airport. Once we have the key to the rental, Eamon loads our suitcases in the back and we climb in. It takes him a minute to reacquaint himself with driving a European car, but as he tells me, it’s like riding a bike. Once you learn, you don’t unlearn it.
“Alright, love,” he says. “Mam said she would be at home for a shower by the time we reach Kilkenny, so we’ll head there after our first stop—breakfast.”
“Yes, please,” I yawn. “And coffee. Lots of coffee.”
“Yer in Ireland now, Acushla. It’s tea you’ll be having.” His accent seemsto be thicker now that he’s back on his home turf, and it’s sexy as hell.
“Listen, Kennedy. I don’t care what country I’m in. Coffee will always come first,” I say, glaring playfully at him. “And I know for a fact that I can get coffee in Ireland.”
Eamon gapes at me in mock horror. “That’s sacrilege right there. You better not let my mam hear you talk like that.”
I roll my eyes as I reach up to tighten my ponytail. “Just keep your eyes on the road, mister.”
He laughs loudly. “Are you nervous, Norah? Worried I’ll drive us right off the M50?”
“Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me that this isn’t completely insane compared to the States! I’m on the verge of having a panic attack. Are there even any traffic laws here?”
“Alright, I’ll admit it’s a little more…complex than back in North Carolina, but there is a method to the madness,” he says soothingly.
“And that method is what? Try not to die?”
Eamon laughs again and reaches to grab my hand. I snatch it away from him. “Oh no, both hands on the wheel.”
“Calm down, Grady. I’m not going to get us killed. Why would I drag you all the way across the Atlantic just to end us as soon as we land?” he asks, purposefully grabbing my hand and not letting go. “Trust me, Norah.”
I hesitate before taking a deep breath. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. I do trust you.”
“Good. Now, just relax and take in the sights.”
So that’s what I did. Rather than watching the highway fill with speeding cars, I soak in my surroundings. The excitement I felt earlier floods back in, overshadowing the anxiety I was feeling over ourimpending doom. I’m in Ireland again, and it’s just as beautiful as I remember. Everything is sogreen.So alive. The architecture of the buildings never ceases to amaze me and the brightly colored doors of the dwellings lining the streets make the smile on my face grow. I think I’ll paint my front door when we get home.
Occasionally, Eamon points out something that was a part of his childhood. A football field where he played regular tournaments duringhis school days. A restaurant his family loved. A historical site that the history teacher in him just has to share, recounting all of the stories that have circulated through the ages. I learn a little more about him with each memory he relives for me. It’s a surprisingly intimate experience. My first time in Ireland was incredible, but being here with Eamon, knowing how much I love him, makes it all the sweeter.
I think back to my first conversation with Paddy after discovering O’Nelly’s. “I’m going to find my husband in Ireland,” I’d told him. I’m sure I sounded both ignorant and arrogant. But now, I turn to look at Eamon, admiring his profile, and wonder if maybe that dream will become a reality.
Eventually, we turn down a narrow street lined with a variety of shops and cafes. Eamon pulls into the small parking lot of a quaint place calledSealed With A Quiche.
“That’s clever,” I remark, pointing at the name.
“Aye, and if I remember correctly, their quiche is quite good. Shall we?” he asks, turning to face me.
Stepping out of the car, we make our way to the door. Eamon holds it open for me and ushers me in with a hand on the small of my back. The inside of the cafe is just as cute as the name with antique quiche pans lining the pale yellow walls, painted in a rainbow of colors. There’s an array of eclectic cafe tables scattered around the room in no particular pattern. Each one is adorned with a small teapot filled with flowers, a sugar bowl, and a milk carafe all nestled on a tray in the center.
“Mornin’, loves!” a tall older woman calls as she walks through a swinging door carrying a tray of baked goods. “Grab yourselves a table. I’ll be right over.”
I turn to Eamon. “This place is adorable! Have you been here often?”
“Only a few times when I had a match up here,” he says, leading me to a table near the front window.
I sit on the edge of my seat and lean in. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
His mouth tips up on one side in response.
“Alright, yous, thanks a million for waitin’ on me,” the lady from behindthe counter interrupts as she walks towards our table. “I’m Moira. Can I start ya a cuppa?”
“Aye, grand,” Eamon answers. “And a coffee for you, Acushla?”
“Yes, please,” I say with a smile.
