I used to dream of discovering new places, and yet now all I do is work in LA, with only the rarest work trips to Georgia and Vancouver and the occasional weekend in Palm Springs, Joshua Tree, Big Bear, or Lake Arrowhead. I hardly ever go farther than a few hours, and I rarely even go to the beach. Which, to be fair, is something that can be said by most Eastside Angelinos. It takes forever and the traffic-jammed trip back sort of eclipses any seaside relaxation.

But seriously. I need to think bigger; I mean, I’ve never even been off this continent.

I open my phone and pull up the Airbnb app.

Number of guests? One.

I’m not bringing Grayson. I need a break from Grayson.

Duration of trip? Uh … one week.

My heartbeat quickens at the idea of getting away. Far away. To really change the scenery.

Destination?

I hesitate. Then I select Anywhere.

I browse for a while: an Airstream in Santa Barbara, a beachside casita in Rosarito, a hut in Bora Bora, a tree house in San Jose, a city loft in Lisbon, a high-rise on Bondi Beach. Then I do what I was always going to do. I change Anywhere to Avalon, Ireland.

There is only one result. I’ve got flash-sale fervor as I scramble to get it before someone else does.

It’s a little white cottage called Surrey House with a red door and green vines. There’s soft-looking grass in a gated front yard. It has old, warped pane windows and a crooked mailbox. Inside, there are exposed wooden beams and a high-arched ceiling. There’s a stone fireplace in the living room and a stack of magazines on a coffee table (when was the last time I even saw a magazine?) in front of a plush love seat draped with blankets. The kitchen is cramped, with a miniature gas stove and fridge, a huge copper sink beneath a window, and a wide wooden butcher-block island in the middle.

In the bedroom, packed built-in bookshelves surround a bed that looks like an absolute cloud with a fluffy duvet and pillows. There is another fireplace at the foot of the bed.

This place is a dream. Maybe not to everyone. Maybe someone else would look at this and see a drafty old cottage with no modern appliances.

Not me.

I don’t even look at the total before I press Book.

CHAPTER TWO

I awaken abruptly to a voice I don’t recognize.

“What?” I say, confused.

“Looks like you fell asleep, miss.”

I sit up, remembering where I am. I’m in the back of a cab. In Ireland.

“Sorry,” I say. “I never fall asleep in cars.”

He says nothing but gives a good-natured laugh and opens his door.