Flames in the Frost Book 2: After the Bloom
Автор
Sofia Jade
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443K
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Chapter 1
Book 2: After the Bloom
LIV
“Querida! Wait!” a voice shouts from behind me as I sprint out of the tall apartment building that I spent the night in and out onto the bustling streets of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
“Taxi!” I shout, waving my arms wildly in the crowded street full of commuters and tourists.
A yellow vehicle with blue stripes on the side pulls to a halt in front of me. Jumping in, I throw my backpack on the seat next to me and shout at the driver.
“Dirija, por favor!” (Drive, please!) The driver steps on the gas and begins weaving through the congested streets to Galeão Airport.
Sure, this isn’t one of my proudest moments, but the scene that just unfolded a mile behind me has been a recurrence now that I’m making my way around the world on my own version of Eat, Pray, Love.
I like to call it Eat, Sightsee, Fuck.
You see, it all started five years ago when I’d graduated from college with a degree in design.
I joined a retail company called Green Festive Co for a brief contract position, and then quickly entered the workforce as a product designer, ready to show off my knowledge while designing eco-friendly, holiday products that would be sold to the masses who love celebrating all the seasonal things.
Four years into that career, I found myself miserable and searching job postings online one late night. An ad for a design position led me to social media, where I received a notification from a group that I’d recently joined on a whim.
That social media group is how I found out that my boyfriend of eight months was also someone else’s fiancé. Cue the panic, self-loathing, and rage.
After a few too many nights of spiraling, I realized I absolutely loathed my corporate career and needed a drastic change. So, I quit, packed a small backpack with a few belongings, and set off to explore the world.
I was twenty-seven years old, single, and heartbroken.
Nine months ago, I kicked off this journey as far away from New York City as I could get—Australia. After exploring the outback and the Gold Coast, I headed to New Zealand and then Bali, where I spent the holidays under the coconut palms.
I then headed down to South Africa, where I brought in the New Year with a bang—literally. Michael’s body was built like a tree, and when I was grinding against it to the local music in Johannesburg, nothing else mattered.
Not the job I’d left behind, my friends, or the cheating, engaged ex-boyfriend. I was intent on forgetting my ex, Colton, with a different boy on every continent, and I was succeeding.
Two months ago, I arrived in South America. After hopping from country to country, dancing salsa late into the night, exploring new food, making friends, and crashing in hostels, I ended up in Brazil.
And that brought me to this morning and Lucas.
Sinfully handsome, thirty years old with deep brown smoldering eyes, and a body chiseled like a god. Lucas plays for one of the semi-pro soccer teams in Brazil, and when our eyes connected across the room during last night’s party, I swear sparks ignited.
But when the morning arrived, I knew it was time to leave. I never stay anywhere for too long.
Next on my list is Europe, and even Lucas and his delicious body couldn’t stop me from continuing on my heartbreak tour.
The flight to my destination in Ireland is sixteen hours long, so I decide to spend that time catching up on work. Though I’d quit my design job before embarking on this journey, my mom helped set me up with an online teaching job with our local community college, where she also works.
Thankfully, it’s allowed me to make money from anywhere in the world while bringing in some income to support my travels. The one catch, though, is eventually, they want me to move to Washington DC—my hometown and where my mom still lives.
Do I want to leave New York City and my life there behind? Absolutely not.
But do I need a fresh start? One-hundred-fucking-percent.
I fire off emails, responding to my students and grading papers as we cross oceans below. Somewhere over the Atlantic, I doze off, only waking once I hear the pilot come over the air saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be making our descent into Dublin Airport in the next…”
I jolt awake, my cheek sticking to the tray table, a warm line of drool trailing down my chin. I swipe at it with the back of my hand and sit up, stretching out the soreness in my neck.
A quick glance in the tiny seatback mirror confirms the damage—my dark auburn curls are a tangled mess, and mascara is smudged underneath my eyes just enough to make it scary.
I smooth my hair into a high ponytail, taming the chaos as best I can, then swipe on some pink lipstick and freshen up my lashes with a few quick coats of mascara.
I close my laptop and slide it under the seat, just as the flight attendant makes her way down the aisle for final checks.
No checked bags. Traveling light? Best decision I ever made. I have enough emotional baggage to carry around.
Once we land, I move through customs like a pro, scanning the crowd of bleary-eyed travelers dragging their luggage behind them while I breeze through with nothing but my carry-on.
I fish my phone out of my pocket as I walk, pulling up the ride-share app to book a car to the hostel. A notification pings almost instantly. Driver confirmed.
Ethan. White Volkswagen. Four minutes away. Perfect.
Except…pickup point’s all the way on the other damn side of the terminal. Of course it is.
I tighten the strap of my bag and take off, dodging slow walkers and carts loaded with luggage like I’m an NFL running back weaving through the defense.
“Excuse me, sorry, coming through!” I whisper under my breath, barely slowing down as I weave through a group of tourists gathered around a map. Who looks at maps anymore? I just let the wind guide my decisions these days.
By the time I burst through the sliding glass doors and into the cool Irish air, I’m panting, flushed, and absolutely sweaty as hell. But at least I spot the car right away—white Volkswagen, license plate matches.
I tug the door open and slide in smoothly, brushing stray curls out of my face as I buckle up.
“Ethan?” I ask, glancing up, my voice still a little breathless.
Please be the right car.
The driver laughs easily. “Yes, but I think you’re supposed to ask that before you get into a stranger’s car.”
American accent. Of course he’d be heavy on the sarcasm.
“Liam’s Hostel?” Ethan asks me from the front seat.
“Yes, please,” I respond as he turns on his signal and pulls out onto the freeway. “You’re American?” I ask.
“I am.”
“What are you doing driving for a rideshare in Dublin?”
“My buddies and I are on a bit of an extended holiday,” he responds, his eyes glued to the streets ahead. “Have to fund the pub nights. Plus, it gives me something to do during the day. Keeps me distracted.”
“Ah,” I respond, redirecting my attention to my student’s emails. One of them has a question around the new software that I’m teaching, so I fire off a response and then sit back, resting my eyes and feeling the heaviness in my body from the long flight.
After a few minutes of silent driving, Ethan’s voice comes to me from the front again.
“Did you come in for the holiday?”
“Um…which one?” I ask, sitting up.
“St. Patrick’s Day, of course.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize that was today.” I hardly know what month it is, let alone day, and winding up in Ireland on St. Patrick’s Day is purely chance. A very strange, serendipitous chance.
Our eyes meet in the mirror again, but he doesn’t say a word. His gaze holds mine just long enough to make my stomach flip before I drop it, turning to stare out the window, lost in thought.
This year…it’s slipped past me like sand through my fingers—a whirlwind of flights, parties, and chasing life experiences that I was sure would make me feel something other than hurt and betrayal.
But all it has left me with is a deep, aching loneliness.
I wonder what Emma’s doing back in New York right now. Probably hosting one of her holiday parties with our friends.
And my college best friend, Natalia? She’s in DC, counting down the days until I move back and crash in the spare room she’s holding for me.
This used to be a holiday we’d spend together in college—Natalia and me. Pub crawls. Street celebrations. Laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe as we stumbled through downtown.
And when I moved to New York, Emma and I picked that up in a new city. But New York?
That part of my life is over.
I can’t go back. Not after everything.
So, to DC I’ll go.
I keep my eyes trained on the window, taking in the beautiful, unfamiliar scenery of my new temporary home.
Ireland in the spring is something out of a dream—rolling green hills dotted with wildflowers, stone cottages straight from a postcard, and the kind of warmth that doesn’t just touch your skin.
I never book return flights when I go somewhere new. I tell myself it’s because I like the freedom, the spontaneity of it, but deep down? I just never know how long I’ll want to stay.
And right now, Ireland—with its blooming flowers and smiling faces—is quietly whispering promises of spring and new beginnings.
When we pull up to Liam’s Hostel, I barely register the car slowing to a stop before Ethan’s already out and coming around to open my door. His movements are effortless, smooth.
“Thanks,” I murmur, stepping out as his hand brushes lightly against mine.
And that’s when I finally get a chance to look at him.
Holy. Hell.
Ethan is well over six feet, towering over me with broad shoulders that stretch his T-shirt in all the right places.
His light brown hair is a little disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and those deep-green eyes? They’re even more striking up close, flecked with hints of gold that catch the sunlight and a lingering sadness that tells me he has some stories too.
His skin carries the kiss of spring’s early sun, a warm glow that makes his strong, muscular frame look like he spends more time outdoors than behind a desk.
And the tattoos? I can only see hints of them peeking out from under his sleeves, but whatever they are, they’re enough to make me very curious.
But it’s the smile that does me in. That cocky, lopsided grin that crinkles the edges of his eyes and bares a deep dimple in his right cheek, half-hidden by the slightest beard.
Sheesh.
I’d been glued to my phone for the entire drive, and now I’m kicking myself for it. Hard.
When I finally meet his eyes again, there’s a glint of amusement dancing in them, and the corner of his mouth quirks up just enough to let me know… Yeah. He knows I’m checking him out, and he doesn’t even mind.
“You know, Liv, my buddies and I are planning on checking out some new pubs tonight for the holiday. Why don’t you join us?”
I think for a moment. Though Ethan is beyond handsome, there’s something behind his smile that begs for more than the one-night stands that I’m willing to participate in these days.
“I’m not interested in hanging out with other Americans. I’m here to sightsee and immerse myself in the culture,” I reply, knowing I sound rude but not caring. It’s better this way.
He smiles in response, like he was expecting me to say that.
“Well, just in case you change your mind, how about I give you my phone number?”
I hesitate before placing my phone in his open hand.
With a smile, he enters his number and name and then hands it back to me.
“It’s under Ethan Harrison—American Driver in Ireland. Although, feel free to change it to Ethan-Guy-I-Can’t-Stop-Staring-At when I leave.”
I shake my head, rolling my eyes even as a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
“Okay. Goodbye, Ethan. Thanks for the ride. I’ll give you five stars for the driving…but one for the conversation.”
His laugh is low and rich, the kind that hums in your chest and lingers in your ears.
He doesn’t respond, just flashes a grin one more time before turning back to his car.
