Ten minutes from Erin’s secluded house was Waterville, a small seaside village nestled between Lough Currane and the Atlantic Ocean, overlooking Ballinskeligs Bay. Living in Ireland all her life, Alex had seen many of these villages but as they drove through, Aiden seemed enthralled.
‘I’ve been living in cities way too long,’ he insisted. ‘This is charming.’
‘It’s quite normal for Ireland,’ Alex replied. ‘Lots of coastline. Ha, I sound like the tourist board. Come to Ireland. It’s quite island-ish.’
She found his enthusiasm for the scenery rather adorable. Had this man never seen a coastline before?
‘Wait… was that a Charlie Chaplin statue?’
Alex slowed, almost to a stop, to see a green statute complete with cane and bowler hate to her left. ‘Oh yeah,’ she replied, squinting at the information plaque. ‘I think he stayed here on holiday. It’s a bit random.’
Aiden laughed. ‘It says there’s even a film festival in his honour every year. I love this place.’
Alex steered the tank off the main stretch of road and into the car park at the side of a small supermarket.
‘Have you got the list?’ Alex asked, taking a trolley. Aiden nodded, rummaging in his pocket. The shopping list was small and concise; two different types of bread, some soft cheese and six cartons of cranberry juice.
‘Sex on the beach,’ she concluded.
‘Sorry?’
‘The cranberry juice. She’s either making sex on the beach cocktails or she has terrible cystitis.’
It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for, yet they strolled slowly up and down each aisle, like an old married couple.
‘Are there any foods you miss from home?’ Alex asked as they sauntered past the condiments, ‘Anything you can’t get over here?’
‘Oatmeal crème pies, definitely,’ he replied swiftly, obviously something he’d thought about previously. ‘Oh, and honey buns… apple jelly… and root beer.’
‘I’ve heard of honey buns,’ Alex replied, picking up some hot sauce. ‘But it’s generally been from prison movies, you know where they trade them for cigarettes and shanks and the like.’
Aiden beamed. ‘I’m sure they’re a valuable commodity in prison.’
‘Oatmeal crème pies sound vile though,’ she said, making a face. ‘It sounds like a dare.’
‘Hush your mouth! They are delicious. Little Debbie is the queen of cakes. Next, you’ll be telling me you don’t like Oreos.’
Alex scrunched up her face. ‘I mean, they’re alright… a bit bland. Not exactly my go-to biscuit.’
‘Cookie,’ he reminded her. ‘And what would be your go-to biscuit?’
‘KitKats are good,’ she replied. ‘I’m also a big fan of the ol’ shortbread, but I think chocolate digestives are my downfall. I didn’t get this arse from playing nicely with a packet of chocolate digestives.’
‘I feel like I should thank them,’ he mumbled quietly.
Reaching the checkout, Alex placed her items on the conveyor belt. Everything on the list along with some lemonade ice lollies for the sunbathers back home.
‘This wasn’t on the list, was it?’ Aiden asked, picking up the Tabasco sauce.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s for me. I noticed Erin ran out last night. Thought we might make Bloody Marys. I’ve thrown in some tomato juice too.’
‘Tomato juice is the worst,’ he replied. ‘First the car and the cookies and now this,’ Aiden said, bagging the items. ‘I think I’ve gone off you.’
Alex laughed. ‘Yeah, well, you eat porridge pies! That’s enough to make any women question her choices.’
‘That’ll be fourteen forty, love.’
‘You do know they’re not actually porridge pies…’
