Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
R ory hurried down the stairs, hoping her damp hair wouldn’t mark her white shirt.
It was still too early for guests to check in, but when she’d returned inside after that unsettling encounter with the Aussie it was to discover her professional attire had been anything but.
Ugh. Thank goodness he wasn’t a guest here at Castle Griffin—how could she ever live down that first impression?
Who thought mud and twigs in hair a style statement?
She’d relished a quick warming shower, then enjoyed a spot of lunch and tea.
She’d then been drawn into talking to Mam, then Rebecca who wanted to know if Rory would be okay if she didn’t come in tomorrow for her shift, thanks to a medical appointment for her son.
Rory had instantly assured her they would manage—she would manage, somehow, despite the fact she was working tomorrow at the bookstore—and added little Thomas to her prayers.
So now she was clean, dry, warm, fed, and ready to tackle the hotel’s social media, as per her role in the family hotel business, until the first of the guests checked in an hour or so.
A quick glance around the lobby revealed all was the same as before, so she went into the office and began work. If someone arrived she’d no doubt hear them, and they could always ring the bell if need be.
She was soon lost in the world of Instagram posts and Facebook, updating and refreshing with tags and keywords and all the things that people said would help shift algorithms and gain traction and get more eyes on their hotel, thus resulting in more bookings.
This naturally led to a rabbit-hole of things she never knew she was interested in, such as cute videos of tiny bunnies eating strawberries, like a modern-day Peter Rabbit tale.
Or alpacas smiling, or lambs springing high in grassy meadows, or camels—
“Ahem.”
She jumped, startled, then blew out a breath. “Ash! What are you doing here?”
Aisling grinned, her freckles on her nose uncovered by makeup for once. “Scaring you, obviously.”
Rory rolled her eyes. “I thought you were in Cork for another day.”
“Tomorrow’s class isn’t on, and today’s finished early, so here I am.”
“Well, good.”
“Aww, it’s nice to be missed.”
“Actually, it’s good because we need you to do the cleaning for Rebecca tomorrow.”
“Why can’t she do it?”
“Thomas is sick.”
Her sister’s face softened. “Ah, poor little boy. Then of course I will. You’re at the bookshop, aren’t you?”
Rory nodded. “Which is why I’m trying to do this work now, to get ahead on things.” So the mouse wheel of her life didn’t reach completely unmanageable proportions.
“Okay, okay, message received. I’ll get out of your hair.”
She grimaced at the reminder of what had happened before.
“What’s that look for?” Aisling asked.
“Oh, nothing.” Except it had felt like everything.
“That face is not saying nothing. Come on. What gives?”
Rory shrugged. “I just had an unfortunate encounter with a man and only discovered later I had sticks in my hair.”
Her sister grinned. “Pray tell.”
A sigh escaped, and then the story did too. “So he was laughing at me, and it was only when I got back inside I discovered I had twigs and mud all over me.”
Aisling sniffed. “Doesn’t sound like much of a gentleman to me.”
“It’s okay,” she soothed. She didn’t need her ever-fiery sister to get offended on her behalf. Rory was already too good at taking arrows to the heart and holding onto them, letting things fester. “He’s a tourist, and I doubt I’ll see him again.”
“Okay, well, if you need me to say something I will.”
God bless Aisling. She might be the youngest sibling in the Fairall clan, but she was ever-willing to fire up on her family’s behalf. “Thanks, but I’m okay. I’d better get on with this then.” She clasped her hand and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re back though.”
“I know.” Aisling grinned. “Hey, is Mam upstairs?”
“Yes. She’s probably ready for another cup of tea.”
“Good. You ready too?”
“Always.”
Aisling exited and Rory returned to the computer screen, forcing her attention to updating the website.
The office door opened. But Aisling held no cup of tea. “What is it?”
“Can you tell me why there is an extremely handsome man asleep in the lounge room?”
“What?”
Aisling beckoned for Rory to follow her, then gestured to the lounge area, a section adjoining the foyer with comfortable seating designed to showcase the views down the coast. And yes, just like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, in one of those seats sat a man, slumped against one side which was why she hadn’t seen him before.
But it was no surprise really as he was fast asleep.
In fact, he was so asleep he was snoring quietly, his mouth opened a little. But despite that, he still certainly fit her own personal criteria of what constituted a handsome man. Even if he clearly had not understood the no trespassing rule she’d mentioned earlier.
Aisling looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she shrugged. It was probably best to not mention this was the man who had embarrassed her before.
“Excuse me?” She poked his arm. His head slipped then jerked up, drawing an unholy amount of satisfaction as Aisling giggled.
Heavy lidded eyes lifted, his blue eyes piercing hers, and she heard Aisling’s intake of breath.
Yes, the man was beautiful. But there was no need to get carried away.
Especially as, once again, she was struck by that unsettling feeling from before.
This man. Who was he? Why was he here? Wasn’t he staying at the pub in town?
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
His lips pulled to one side. “Having a Nanna nap.”
“A what?”
He straightened in his seat, still looking far too comfortable for someone who was trespassing. “I was just getting some shut eye. It’s been a big day.”
“Oh goodness, he’s Australian,” Aisling murmured.
Uh oh. Aisling was a big fan of Aussie rugged types, and had been completely invested in watching all eight seasons of McLeod’s Daughters last year, the TV series set on a South Australian sheep property with its plucky female shearers and band of handsome Aussie men.
That TV location was the genuine article too, and had ended up hosting Kara earlier this year, on her grand Australian tour that Colin had surprised her by joining.
But Aisling couldn’t afford to be entranced by this man.
Not when an internal tug demanded otherwise.
Even if Rory still had to know—“What are you doing here? Like I said before, this is private property.”
Aisling’s breath hitched. “This was him ?”
His mouth twisted into a lazy half smile. “So, you’ve talked about me.”
Rory huffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Aisling joined her in the crossed arms brigade. “If you’re not a guest then you’re trespassing.”
“Hey.” He chuckled. “There’s two of you.”
“Did you not hear what I said?” Rory demanded. “If you’re not staying here then—”
“If this is your version of customer relations then you really need to know it kind of sucks.”
What? Oh no. Judging from that smirk it could only mean one thing. “You’re staying here?”
“Well, I’m booked, but I have to say the customer service leaves a lot to be desired.”
“But, but…” Her mind flicked to the bookings. Surely there should’ve been something on the registration to show his nationality and the fact he was young—well, older than her, but not ancient like most of their guests. “I don’t recall your name.”
“I’m not surprised, seeing I haven’t given it to you.” His eyes flicked to her chest where her name badge perched. “Aurora.”
Her cheeks heated. Why did everything he said sound so impertinent? Why was she still feeling these tendrils of… something , when they were barely civil to one another?
He stood, and suddenly she was standing far too close to the man.
The hotel guest, it seemed. She paced back.
Oh, what if he was one of these influencer types, who travelled the world and made recommendations on TikTok about where to stay—and where to avoid?
She’d never forgive herself if her snarky ways led to bad reviews.
They couldn’t afford bad reviews. She glanced at Aisling who seemed to understand her silent plea.
“So what is your name?”
Thank you, Ash.
“Aidan Quinn.”
If she was in a historical drama she’d need a fan and fainting couch immediately. Aidan had always been one of her most favourite names. But it still didn’t change the fact that she did not recall an Aidan Quinn on the booking list.
She hurried to the registration desk to make sure. A few taps on the computer key revealed a triumphant “There is no Aidan Quinn booked here.”
“I think you’ll find it’s under my grandmother’s name.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Lucy McDiarmid.”
She tapped and discovered that a Lucy McDiarmid had indeed made a booking. “She’s your grandmother? Is she not coming?”
“No. But I think you’ll find she’s left a note explaining things. That’s what she said she’d do, anyway.”
She frowned, and clicked into the booking notes and examined them more closely.
A sick feeling swirled. He was right. A Lucy McDiarmid had booked their cheapest room for her grandson who was here for two nights. He’d been right. She’d been wrong. And now she had a lot to make up for.
She glanced up. Met his gaze, which appeared all-too smug and knowing.
“You found that then, huh?”
She bit back her first response. Bit back the second too. Found a smile, strained though it may be. “Please forgive me. It appears you are correct. I am very sorry for the confusion.”
He nodded. “No worries.”
She blinked. No worries? That was it then? Such easy forgiveness felt excessive for how she’d treated him before. She’d never treated any of her guests so rudely before. There was only one thing for it. “We will of course be upgrading your room to a sea-view.”
His face brightened. “Nice. Thanks.” He shivered. “As long as it’s got good heating, then I’m okay wherever.”