Mismatched by Elle Casey, Amanda McKeon Page A

much in that area.
    “Well, first thing is to check into the B&B. Then …”
    “B&B? What happened to the hotel?”
    “Full. The festival has everything booked to the gills. But Uncle Miley has a friend of a friend who got us a good deal over in Doolin.”
    “Doolin? What’s a doolin? And you told me Uncle Miley’s good deals were never good deals.” I’m worried I’m going to end up in a shower like Erin had this morning. I’m kind of really attached to the idea of the power-shower or whatever they call that thing I used off her parents’ bedroom. I’m not exactly sure how it earned the name power anything , since the water pressure was barely there, but at least the thing didn’t attack me like Erin’s did.
    “That’s generally true, but Auntie Ger said this one was a good one. Doolin’s a town right next to Lisdoonvarna. It’s really close, not to worry.”
    “Why does that not make me feel any better?” I’m not really expecting an answer.
    “Hey, it’s an adventure, loosen up. Besides, we’re hardly ever going to be in the room, right? We have things to do, places to go, people to see. Bam, bam, bam. Get in, get out, no fuckin’ about.”
    I grin. “Well, maybe a little fuckin’ about.”
    She smiles back. “Okay. A little. But not a lot.”
    “After we check in, what’s next?”
    “We find a local solicitor. We find Padraig O’Fuck-me-no-way-are-you-getting-my-bar Flanagan, and then we buy him out.”
    I play-frown. “Hmmm … sounds like you have it all figured out.”
    She slaps my leg. “Shut up. It’s an evolving plan.”
    “And by evolving, you mean non-existent.”
    “No, by evolving , I mean feel free to add your two cents because I can’t be expected to come up with everything on my own. I’m just the driver.”
    A sign catches my eye, so I sit up straighter and point. “There! That’s our destination. Turn left. Turn left!” I’m still not used to this whole driving on the wrong side of the road thing. It feels weird to be on the left side of the front seat without a steering wheel.
    Erin waits until the last possible second and then jerks the car to the left. We bounce off the motorway onto a side road so narrow it could rightly be called a path. My head hits the side window when it whips back in the other direction.
    “What the hell!” Stomach ache plus headache equals cranky girl.
    “I’m sorry! I was waiting for the GPS bitch to say something.” She waves at the dashboard as she’s leaning really far forward, her boobs resting on the steering wheel. “Is this the right way? Did I go the right way?”
    I poke the screen, getting control of my temper. “The GPS bitch is sleeping apparently.”
    The Bambino is trundling over this secondary road that’s not only narrow but could also use some re-paving. I hold my hand against my stomach. “My god, where are we? Did we just travel back in time or what?” I’m staring out over mist-covered green fields, outlined by low stone walls that must have been erected over a thousand years ago and possibly by elves. There is nothing out here but us. “How many people are at this festival? Five?”
    “No. Thousands. I think we went the wrong way.”
    I point. “There’s a guy up there. Ask him for directions.” As we draw closer, I’m struck speechless. He’s holding an actual shepherd’s hook. Thank heaven he’s wearing jeans and not brown robes or I would for sure think we’d dropped back into biblical times. The guy’s black and white dog runs up to the car and starts barking.
    Erin slows the car to a crawl and rolls her window down. “Hey there … we were wondering if we’re going the right way. We’re looking for Doolin?”
    He stands there and nods at us. The dog settles in at his side, finally silent.
    “Doolin,” Erin says a bit louder. “We’re looking for Doolin.”
    For a moment I’m thinking he’s deaf, but then he begins to talk. At least, I think he’s talking; but whatever he’s