Sweat trickles down the nape of my neck as I climb the uneven stone steps, dragging my suitcase along behind me. I think the wheels may snap off at any moment, which will make the many days of travel ahead that much more difficult. It’s been quite the production to get here as it is, two trains and six hours later.
It’s worth it, though, I surmise, taking in the sand-colored caves ahead of me. It was a pure fluke that I stumbled upon this place over a year ago—an incorrect Google search that led me to a travel blog for the south of Italy. It was there that I found Sextantio le Grotte della Civita, a series of prehistoric caves that have been transformed into a boutique hotel just outside of Matera, not far from the Adriatic Sea. As soon as I saw the pictures of the candlelit rooms and the honeycombed walls, I knew I had to splurge, even if only for one night.
Still, I’m sweaty and tired and covered in a layer of travel dust. My hair is sticking to my skin. All I want right now is a long soak in my bathtub with the balcony doors kicked wide open.
The patient, smiling receptionist inside the rustic entryway—an almost ethereal woman with crystal-blue eyes and thick, shiny raven hair cascading down her back—checks me into my cave, one of only eighteen, which I reserved a year ago and thankfully didn’t cancel, back when I was with Aaron and willing to give up this life-changing experience.
Finally, I step into my room. I push my battered suitcase to the side and toss my purse on the bed, relishing the temperature change in here as compared to the scorching midday sun outside. It’s as picturesque as the hotel’s website promised, the view of the mountains beyond the balcony even more so.
I sigh, soaking it all in.
Wishing, for the thousandth time, that River were here with me, just as I wished he were there with me to stand in awe of the majestic Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, and to smell the potent lavender fields in Provence, and to experience the countless wonders in between. All that I’ve done since he kissed me goodbye at the Dublin airport almost three weeks ago, I’ve done with every intention of enjoying. And I have enjoyed my time.
But River hasn’t left my mind or my heart through all of it.
Each day I wonder if I’ve made the right decision by leaving Ireland. If I will one day regret not choosing him instead.
Maybe it’s because I won’t stop texting him—sending little messages and pictures—and he won’t stop responding, within minutes of me reaching out. Maybe if I just cut him off, our time together could fade away into history. Maybe if I stopped pulling out that piece of paper and reading over the line he added, he could have the time and space he needs to realize that it’s not true.
I don’t see a good reason to let us fade, though. I don’t want to give up on this yet.
But is this what my life with River will be like? A series of messages and pictures from thousands of miles away because he can’t step off Irish soil? The thought makes me sick, so I push it away.
It’s just after three o’clock here, which means it’s two in Dublin. They have WiFi in the lobby, so I can touch base with him soon. While I don’t want to lose exploring time, I need to clean myself up.
I’m just drawing water in the bath—a freestanding tub off to one corner—when a knock against the worn wooden door sounds. That must be the complimentary bottle of wine that the receptionist promised was coming.
I yank open the heavy door.
The sight of River standing there, a bag slung over his shoulder, steals my breath.
“We have caves in Ireland, too. You didn’t have to make me come all the way out here,” he murmurs in that light brogue that makes my heart pang. He steps into me, the familiar mix of soap and cologne stirring my senses, even though I’m still in shock.
“What are you . . . How . . .”
“You walked right past me in the lobby.” He chuckles. “I’ve been sitting down there, waiting for you since noon. I figured I’d just follow you up here and let you drop your bags before I surprised you. Even the receptionist was in on it.” A mock frown creases his forehead. “You know, you really should be more aware of your surroundings. It’s gotten you into some trouble before. Have you forgotten already?”
That’s why he wanted to know what time I was getting in. But, how is he here? A thought strikes me, along with a hint of panic. “You came here legally, right?”
He chuckles against my ear, sending shivers through my body. “My passport came through two days ago.”
“Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me!” I’m laughing, even as tears slide down my cheeks. Because I’m just so incredibly happy.
He tosses his bag to the rustic tile floor, and then, with his hands free, he ropes his arms full around my body. “I was afraid I’d have issues with customs once I landed, and I didn’t want to have to explain that to you, if I was sent back. Duffy warned me that they rarely ask about a criminal record but, if they did, not to lie.”
“Detective Duffy?”
“Yeah, I helped him out with some information on an extortion case for this fella who owns a few chips shops around Dublin, and he agreed to sign my application for me as a guarantor. Can you believe it?” He smiles sheepishly. “He’s actually alright.”
“So . . .” I can’t help but simply stare up at his handsome face for a long moment. He’s here, in the flesh, on my adventure with me. “I just can’t believe that you’re here. For how long?”
He shrugs. “As long as you’re in the EU and I don’t run into trouble. You still have Greece and the Czech Republic, right?”
“And Germany.”
“Then I guess for a while. Assuming you’re okay with that.” His mouth seals over mine in a kiss. That uncontrollable physical craving for River comes alive again, as it always seems to when I’m around him, lighting a fire in my veins.
“So?” He releases me and wanders over to shut the running water off. “What are we going to see first? I passed a church in a cave not far from here. Thought you’d like that.”
I look at the tub—now half-full of water—and at the bed. “You want to go sightseeing right now?” All thoughts of exploration disappeared the second I laid eyes on him.
“I do. Right now.” He pulls me into his chest, the feel of him hard against my stomach contradicting his words. “And then I want to come back here, light all these candles . . .” He kisses me again. “. . . and tell you a story about a lowly Irish peasant bartender who falls in love with a beautiful American princess.” He kisses me yet again, hard enough that I don’t think we’re going to get past the door at all today. “Do you want to hear that one?”
I do. I may not have all this figured out, but whatever time and space I’ve gained from leaving River hasn’t changed what I’ve struggled to accept as possible until now. “Only if it ends with her falling in love with him and them living happily ever after.”
Rich green pleading eyes stare down at me. “I truly hope it does.”
