As she stood there on the curb, taking in the beautiful blue sky and clouds dancing over the Seine and the stone bridges in the distance, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled to see Sean standing beside her, newspaper in hand. He tipped his tweed flat cap at her. “So you are off, eh?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes. I guess I am. Are you?”

“Nope. Not going back to old Ballygangargin quite yet. Thinking I’ll tool around Europe, just like you. Let the wind take me where it takes me. How did Paris treat you, lass?”

Well, she could’ve probably spoken volumes on that. France hadn’t been anything like she’d dreamed or expected. And yet, it had been an adventure. Something she would always remember, with a bit of fondness. No, she hadn’t done a lot of what was on her itinerary, but that was fine. In fact, it was perfect. She wouldn’t have done it any other way. And now, she couldn’t wait for more. “It was great. I loved it.”

He chuckled. “Yet another person who has fallen in love with this city. It gets its claws in you, I believe,” he said. “So where does that itinerary say you’re off to next?”

She was holding the bound book against her chest, but hadn’t yet opened it. She wasn’t really sure she wanted to. “I’m not going by that, anymore. I’m trying to decide.”

“Ah. What are your choices?”

“I was thinking either Barcelona or Florence. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “Seems to me you can’t go wrong with either. When I’ve got a choice like that, I flip a coin.”

She laughed. Like she would ever leave such a monumental choice like that up to fate. “Thanks for the tip,” she said, as the shuttle pulled up. “I hope I will see you again?”

He nodded, his eyes glinting with something like mischief. “I hope so, too. Let’s count on it, why don’t we? Until we meet again.” He tipped his hat again and started to stroll off, then seemed to think better of it, because he reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and pressed it into her palm.

When she opened her hand, she found a coin there, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It was old, and more octagonal than circular, with what looked like Gaelic runes upon it. Before she could ask him what it was, she looked up and realized he had gone.

The driver loaded her bags into the van, and she climbed inside, laying the itinerary on her lap. “Train station, please,” she said to the driver.

As they moved through the mid-day traffic, Diana dared to open the cover and look at all the crossed-out, missed plans. All the forgotten dreams that had once been so important to her. That meal at that bistro, that in-depth tour she’d hoped to get at the Louvre. Funny, now that she looked at them, they hardly seemed to matter much at all.