"Did you sleep well?" Orin asked the second Keira descended the staircase early the next morning, emerging into the pub part of the B&B.
She rubbed her bleary eyes. "Yes, thanks." The lie came so easily. Much better to pretend she loved her rickety bed, thin duvet, and lumpy pillows than to complain and have Orin fuss about it. She could write about it later, after all, and get some cathartic release that way.
"Take a seat and have some breakfast," Orin said, leading her to a table and placing a coffee in front of her. It was swiftly followed by a bowl of oatmeal. He sat in the seat opposite. "I've made it the Irish way. I hope you like it."
He was grinning rather widely.
"What's the Irish way?" Keira murmured suspiciously.
She took a sip of the coffee and was surprised by how delicious it tasted. Whatever the Irish way was, it was good! Then she spooned some of her oatmeal into her mouth and almost cried out in delight. She'd never tasted anything so creamy, so utterly fantastic.
"Wow, what makes this taste so great?" Keira said, as she munched on another spoon of oatmeal. "Are the cows fed organic grass and milked by the hands of maidens?" she joked.
Orin's grin grew wider. "Baileys in the coffee. And a splash of whiskey in the milk."
Keira was shocked. "Liquor at eight a.m.?" she gasped. "Is that a good idea?"
Orin gave her a wink. "The best way to start the day. That and a brisk walk. Which you'll get just as soon as I escort you to your meeting with William Barry, the head of the festival."
Keira realized then that Orin was already ready to leave the B&B. He was wearing boots that reached halfway up his calves as if in anticipation of puddles. Or mud. Either way, Keira wasn't in the mood for perambulating.
"You don't have to do that," she said. "I have SatNav in the car so I won't get lost."
Orin pointed at her coffee. "That's not why I'm doing it."
The cynical part of Keira's mind wondered whether Orin had deliberately inebriated her in order to ensure she couldn't refuse his offer of a walk. But she knew that was crazy thinking. Orin was just a gentle old man, proud of his town. He wanted to show it off to the cynical New Yorker he'd been lumped with.
"Come on," Orin continued. "You're here to get a real taste of Ireland! To live like a local! You won't really know what our lives are like if you don't walk a mile in our shoes!"
He yanked on her arm playfully, encouraging her to join him. His enthusiasm was quickly turning to cajoling and Keira realized there was literally no way of turning him down. Orin was going to make her walk to the meeting with him no matter what she said! There was no refusing.
Giving in, she downed the last of her boozy coffee, feeling the effects as soon as she stood. Then she and Orin left the dark B&B and emerged into the bright early morning sunshine. Even though the sky was a muted gray, Keira squinted against its harsh glare.
"Lead the way," she said to Orin, as she glanced down the only path, a winding country road that snaked its way down the hillside. There were occasional buildings dotted on either side but it was mainly surrounded by lush green fields filled with sheep.
"It's a two-mile walk to the town hall if we stick to the road," Orin said. "But if we cut across the fields it's half that distance. Of course, the farmer has every right to shoot us since we'd be trespassing but everyone around here knows everyone else so we'll be fine."
Keira gulped. "Let's take the scenic route, huh?" she said.
"If you want," Orin said nonchalantly, clearly not even picking up on her alarm.
They began strolling down the street. Despite the early hour, everyone they passed seemed so happy and friendly. When they reached the main street (if it could be called such) there was even a small troupe of musicians playing fiddles and accordions, singing old folk songs. People danced and sang along. Keira couldn't really believe what she was seeing. How could a place be so collectively happy? Maybe she'd been wrong to make such harsh, snap judgments.
"Here we go," Orin said as they arrived at their destination.
Like all the buildings in Lisdoonvarna this one was brightly painted, a burnt orange color in this case, adding to the rainbow streets. A sign above the door proclaimed: Home of the Matchmaker. The door itself was covered in images of cupid.
Keira raised an eyebrow at the tacky decor, then followed Orin inside. An elderly gentleman rose from his desk and came toward her.
"William Barry," he said, extending a hand. "You're the American reporter."
Keira shook his hand. "I'm a travel writer, not a reporter."
"So this piece isn't going in the New York Times?" William asked, frowning.
Keira glanced appealingly at Orin. Had William been under the impression she worked for some huge organization? What if Heather had bent the truth a little as she'd organized this event, knowing that Josh would have been willing to lie and sweet talk his way to his goal?
Suddenly, Orin burst out laughing. Keira looked back at William. He was creased over with laughter as well.
"You should have seen the look on your face!" he exclaimed, his face turning bright red.
Keira wasn't quite able to see the funny side. There was too much at stake for her with her first real assignment that teasing was not exactly welcome.
"Take a seat, take a seat," William said as his laughter began subsiding.
Keira did, drawing up one of the wooden chairs and sitting at the desk. Orin sat beside her. Just as William sat down, a woman with fiery red hair entered holding a tray with a teapot, mugs, and a milk jug on it.
"This is my secretary, Maeve," William said as the woman put the tray down. "Thanks, dear."
She disappeared out of the room, leaving William to pour the cups of tea. It didn't matter that Keira wasn't much of a tea drinker, she felt unable to decline, and so she took the mug of steaming tea without protest.
William folded his hands across the table. "I must say we're ever so excited to have you here, Keira. With the way the world is changing and all these Internet dating sites, it's becoming harder and harder to get customers. I'm hoping your piece ignites some renewed interest."
Keira covered her guilty expression with her tea mug. She felt bad knowing that she was going to write such a cutting piece. William and Orin seemed like sweet, genuine people, and they'd treated her with such hospitality. But she had her assignment, had her instructions. She told herself that bashing a silly festival from halfway around the globe in a magazine that didn't even get imported to Ireland would hardly cause their business to fold.
"Do you know the history of the festival?" William continued.
"I did some research before I came," Keira said, nodding.
But as William launched into his monologue about the festival, she shut her mouth. Clearly she was going to be given the aural history whether she liked it or not.
"It was my father's business. His father's before that. In fact, the Barrys have been matchmakers for as long as anyone can remember. Way back then it was about matching the nobles who were visiting for the water with a beautiful young local girl. Irish girls are considered very prolific child bearers, you see, which was a matchmaker's main selling point."
Keira could hardly stop the look of disgust on her face. William didn't notice, however, and continued with his story.
"It would usually take place just after the harvest, when the girls were at their plumpest and their bosoms fullest. A good matchmaker would make sure the girls were married and whisked away before winter fell, since the chances were they'd get pneumonia and die over the winter."
Keira pressed her lips together to stifle a giggle. She couldn't tell how much of what William said was tongue in cheek but she had a slight inkling that he was deadly serious. Though she'd done her research, hearing the way William phrased it really was amusing.
"Then of course times changed. Different sorts came to the town. Wars depleted the male stock. The threat of famine made people desperate to marry young, and marry anyone. It was a hard time for the matchmaker. When I took over the business from my pa I was mainly paid by farm apprentices to match them with one of my local girls." He patted a book. "So I kept a list of them."
"Is that legal?" Keira said, finally breaking her stunned silence. "It sounds a bit stalkerish to me."
"Nonsense!" William laughed. "The girls loved it. They all want to get married. Even if it is to a farm hand with no brain cells to his name and terrible hygiene habits."
Keira just shook her head. Her article was writing itself!
Just then, the door opened. Keira was expecting to see the flame-haired Maeve again, but when she looked over her shoulder it was Shane she saw entering the building. She suddenly felt tingly all over and sat up, stiff-backed, in her chair.
"Morning," Shane said, taking a seat in the corner.
William continued. "Now here is my book of matches." He handed her a huge, hardback leather tome. "Well, one of them. I've been doing this for so many years now I've got quite the collection."
Keira began to thumb through the book, reading all the names of happy couples. Some included photos, others had dates of weddings. There were cards addressed to William from couples he had matched. It all looked very twee. Keira, ever calculating, began to formulate a paragraph for her article in her mind.
"You know," William said, leaning across the table toward her. "I could match you. Maybe a nice Irish lad is just what you need."
Keira felt her cheeks burn. "I have a boyfriend," she said. Maybe she imagined it, but out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Shane flinch. "Zach. He works in computers."
"You're happy with this man?" William asked.
"Yes, very," Keira replied, trotting out the old party line.
William didn't look convinced. He tapped the book that Keira had set down on the desk. "I've been doing this a long time. I'm an expert in love and I can see it in people's eyes. I'm not so certain this man is right for you."
Keira knew he wasn't trying to be rude, but his skepticism touched a nerve, especially with her and Zach arguing so much at the moment. But William was also journalism gold and she wanted as much out of him as possible.
"Not right for me in what way?" she pressed.
"He doesn't support you in the ways you need. You're no longer growing together, no longer following the same path."
Keira felt chills all over. This was far too close to the bone.
"You're a fortune teller as well as a matchmaker?" she quipped. "You hiding a bunch of tarot cards under there?"
William let out a belly laugh. "Oh no, nothing like that. But I have developed an intuition over the years. There was no sparkle in your eyes when you said his name. No lilt in your voice."
"I think that's just my cynical New Yorker personality," Keira said.
"Maybe. Or maybe it's because you don't really love him."
Keira pondered that statement. She and Zach rarely exchanged the L word. In fact, she couldn't even recall when they last had.
"I don't think love always has to come into these things," she said.
"But why waste your time with someone you don't love when you could be out looking for The One?"
Keira folded her arms. "Because maybe there isn't a 'One.'"
"You don't believe in The One?" William pressed.
Keira shook her head. "Nope."
This admission seemed to excite William. "We have a naysayer," he exclaimed with a laugh. "Which means it's our challenge to change your mind. Shane, lad?" He gestured for the tour guide to come over, which he did. Once he was standing beside him, William slung an arm across his shoulders. "You've been promoted," he joked. "You're no longer just to guide this young woman through the festival, you're to guide her towards true love. I fear it may be a tall order!"
Keira shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. But despite her discomfort at being the center of the strange meeting, she knew she'd collected some excellent material for her article, thanks to the doddering old man and his antiquated opinions on relationships. Elliot was going to love this. And writing it, for Keira, would be somewhat therapeutic.
She just had to get through her first day with Shane and then she'd be able to purge herself of all this silliness by typing.