Chapter Two

Stirling Castle in Scotland was a blend of the ancient world and the new. White lights outlined the windows and castle entrance, while snow only partially covered the war-pocked grey walls. It was the perfect backdrop for a Christmas card.

The snow picked up speed.

It swirled around Irene as though the storm had singled her out for personal torment as she waited in line to buy her ticket for the noon tour. She hated waiting in line. Her partners were right. This was a dumb idea, but if she left, her sister would never let her hear the end of it.

Resigned, she glanced toward the front of the line to see what was taking so long. Three men who looked to be in their mid-thirties were ahead of her. They wore ill-fitting brown tunics belted over leggings, as though they’d planned to attend a medieval or Renaissance faire. Their costumes were made from synthetic cloth and their belts were black plastic. Their spiky hair, agitated gestures, and closely spaced eyes reminded Irene of mice who’d escaped their cage. It was obvious by their weaving and slurred speech that they’d started celebrating the holiday season a little early.

Two of the men flirted with the young woman inside the ticket booth, while the shortest of the trio chose to include Irene, pairing a wink and a leer together with comical results. When his advances were ignored, he turned back to the booth. He addressed the young woman as Fiona and tried to convince her to sell them tickets.

Even from a short distance away, Irene could tell they were losing their argument. Fiona’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore white fake bunny fur earmuffs and black-framed glasses. But despite her sweet appearance, she looked like she had a spine made of steel.

“You were told never to return,” Fiona said. All three of the men talked at the same time, each in turn offering her triple the price of the tickets. Fiona peered over the rims of her glasses at the three men and said slowly, “Go. Away.”

They seemed startled but didn’t argue as they turned and headed toward the castle.

When Irene reached the ticket counter, she rolled her eyes toward the men and received a mirrored response and a nod from Fiona. “They’re idiots,” Irene said.

“Aye, and soon to get what they deserve, if I was to put a wager on it.” She paused. “If you don’t mind me saying, you have the look of Ireland about you, all dark hair and green eyes.”

Irene accepted the familiar compliment. It felt good to remember happier times. “I was born on St. Patrick’s Day, and until first grade, I thought my name was Shamrock.”

Fiona’s laugh was as warm as her expression. “Ah, a family with a sense of humor. That’s a blessing.” There was a slight hesitation. “Will that be one ticket?”

The question bothered Irene less and less these days. Perhaps it was because she was taking seriously her mother’s advice. She had said you had to be happy being alone before you could be happy in the company of another person.

Irene nodded and pushed the exact amount of money through the window slit.

“Our tours are running a little late,” Fiona said as she handed Irene a ticket. “If you’re cold, you can wait inside the castle. The Matchmaker Café serves yummy hot cocoa.”

The word “matchmaker” hung in the air. Irene had had her fill of friends offering to set her up on coffee dates or blindsiding her with their friends or relatives showing up unannounced at a dinner party. She’d even experimented with online dating services. The sites suggested that a new relationship would heal a failed one. It had made her feel only lonelier.

Irene shook her head slowly. “They won’t try to do any…you know…” She cleared her throat. “I’m only in Scotland until tomorrow evening. Besides, I don’t have time for a relationship.” She clamped her mouth shut and folded the ticket, trying to figure out why she was sharing so much with a perfect stranger. That was not like her.

Fiona’s laughter drifted out from the booth. “It’s good you’re in Scotland, then. Time is a curious thing here. But be off before you catch a cold. I wouldn’t want you missing our tour.” She leaned forward, and her features warmed as though she were sitting close to a cheery fire. “And remember, it’s just hot cocoa. What could possibly happen?”

A gust of wind shoved Irene’s hood off her head. She pulled it back into place. “I didn’t see the café when I arrived. Where did you say it’s located?”

Fiona opened her window a little wider and a warm breath of air weaved toward Irene as Fiona pointed toward the three-story-high doors to Stirling Castle. On the wall a short distance away was an arched entrance with the words Matchmaker Café spelled out in white blinking lights.

“It looks innocent enough,” Irene said, shoving her gloves back onto her cold fingers.

Fiona drew back into her snug booth. “Be sure to ask for sprinkles.” With that, she closed the shutters over the ticket window and the booth went dark.