Love & Luck(39)

“Do you surf at Slea Head?” I asked.

“What kind of crazy do you think I am?” He folded his arms and gave me an appraising look. “Why do you look like you floated here? You weren’t out walking in the storm, were you?”

“Driving. Our car isn’t waterproof.”

“Ah,” he said, like he knew all about it. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in until after evening, but this looks like an emergency. You could use a hot shower.”

“Yes, I could,” I replied gratefully.

He grabbed a grimy white binder from the table and began flipping through pages full of names and phone numbers. The hostel’s record book, I assumed. “Where are you from?”

“Seattle. Well, that’s where my brother and I are from. The other guy we’re with is from Dublin.” A loud creak erupted behind me, and Rowan and Ian poked their heads in. Bradley immediately launched himself at them. “You must be brother. And other guy. I’m Bradley.” He shook their hands enthusiastically. “But why aren’t you two as wet as this one? I thought your car wasn’t waterproof.”

Rowan grimaced. “The back leaks the most.”

“And the back is where I sit,” I filled in.

“Way to be gentlemanly,” Bradley said brusquely, his gaze drifting back and forth between them.

Ian yanked at his sweatshirt strings, his cheeks slightly pink. “She wasn’t supposed to come; we weren’t prepared.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it.” Bradley waved them off. “Now come sign the book while little sister takes a shower.” He turned to me. “Bathroom is past the bunk room. Towels are in the closet next to it.” I was out of the room before he even finished his sentence.



Despite the bathroom’s questionable cleanliness, the shower felt life-changing. I changed into a fresh set of clothes and wandered back into the lobby, tugging a comb through my hair. Bradley sat paging through a dog-eared copy of Encyclopedia of Surfing. When he saw me, he slow clapped. “Huge improvement. Huge. You look one hundred percent less like a boiled rat.”

“Thank you,” I said, biting back a smile. “I wasn’t aware that I ever looked like a boiled rat, but that’s an incredible compliment. Do you know where the guys are?”

He nodded his head to the dining room. “Bouncy one’s in there, trying to track down the Internet signal. Good luck to him. Sad guy is in the bunk room.”

Sad guy?

“Sad guy is here,” Rowan interrupted, walking into the room.

Ouch. “Oh, sorry, bloke. I meant, um . . .” Bradley backpedaled.

Rowan ignored him. “Addie, you ready to go to Inch Beach? It looks like it’s clearing up out there.”

“Already?” I turned to look out the window. A patch of blue beamed brightly among the gray clouds. “That was fast.”

Bradley dropped his book. “Weather turns pretty quickly around here.” He straightened up, dropping back into a sales pitch. “And might I interest you two in renting bicycles for the small fee of three euro apiece? I can also toss in the best free tour guide Dingle has to offer.” He extended his arms out wide. “Me.”

Stretching my legs on a bicycle sounded like perfection. “That’s a great idea! Rowan?”

He hesitated, keeping his eyes firmly away from mine. “Bikes would be great. I have no interest in getting back in that wet car. But . . . I’ve spent some time on the peninsula, so I think I can manage the tour guide role.” He didn’t want an audience for the Heartache Homework. Rowan was really taking this seriously.

“Ahhh,” Bradley sang, looking between us.

“We’re just doing this guidebook thing,” I said quickly. My cheeks boiled even though I had nothing to hide.

“Guidebook thing, is that what the kids are calling it?” Bradley winked. “No worries. I know when I’m not wanted. Bikes are around back in the shed. You can have them on the house. Just don’t tell my uncle Ray. And you’ll come to the party tonight, right? People start gathering on the porch at about nine o’clock.”

Party? I’d forgotten about the party. “Maybe,” Rowan answered for us.

“We’ll be there,” I said. Bradley winked, then took off down the hall.

Rowan exhaled slowly. “That guy is too much.”

“I like him.” I studied the fresh T-shirt Rowan had changed into. This one featured a cat holding a piece of pizza in one hand and a taco in the other. A purple-and-black galaxy played out in the background.

“I think I like this one even more than the hypnotized cat,” I said, pointing at it.

“Thanks.” He lifted the familiar coffee-stained book into the air. “Ready for an adventure?”

“You mean am I ready to walk back out into the cold?” I flourished my hand toward the door. “Why not?”



Poststorm Dingle had a completely different temperament. The heavy clouds had thinned into a soft haze, and water lapped restfully against the edges of the cliffs. We rode past a marina filled with colorful bobbing boats and signs about a local hero, a dolphin named Fungie, who, according to Rowan, had been visiting tourists for decades.

“We’re here,” Rowan called back to me. We coasted off the main road, our bikes picking up speed as we curved down to a small inlet.