Finding the King

Chapter 01

As I slowly open my eyes, sunlight streams through the window, its golden rays cutting through the lace curtains and warming my face. It's a brand-new day. I blink a few times, adjusting to the brightness, and let out a deep, satisfying yawn. Sitting up, I take in the sight of my bedroom, which is still cluttered with moving boxes stacked like a miniature skyline. Just yesterday, I officially moved into my new house, and the excitement of starting fresh in this beautiful place hasn't waned.

The air smells faintly of fresh paint mingled with the salty breeze wafting in from the nearby coast. I swing my legs off the bed and stretch, feeling the gentle creak of the wooden floors beneath my feet. My plans for the next few days are crystal clear—unpack, settle in, and transform this house into my home. Despite the chaos of this past year, I can't help but feel a surge of gratitude.

After my epic bike journey across Africa with Ewan and Charlie last year, life had felt like a whirlwind. That adventure was a high like no other, but I needed to slow down and recenter. Earlier this year, I dove headfirst into writing my third book, and now here I am—moved from the bustling energy of London to the serene charm of Bray, a picturesque seaside town just a short hop from Dublin.

This place is everything I dreamed of and more. The house—a charming mix of modern and classic Irish architecture—sits perched on a quiet street, close enough to hear the gentle crash of waves in the distance. As I soak it all in, I feel like this move isn't just a change of scenery; it's the beginning of something extraordinary.

Filled with energy, I leap out of bed and head downstairs to the kitchen, where the sunlight dances on the glossy countertops. The radio is the first thing I switch on, followed by my go-to Nathan Carter CD. Within seconds, his familiar melodies fill the space, and I'm belting out the lyrics while making myself a steaming cup of coffee.

Feeling spontaneous, I grab my phone and hit record. "Gooood morning, lovely people!" I say cheerfully, my grin stretching wide as I frame the shot to show off my kitchen. "How're you doing today? I have some exciting news for you!" I pause dramatically, tilting my head with a playful smirk. "You might be wondering where I am... This doesn't look like my London apartment, does it?" I gesture behind me, where the cosy, sunlit kitchen is now unmistakably Irish.

"Well, the thing is... As of yesterday, I'm officially living in Ireland—yeeeees!" My excitement bubbles over, and I let out a laugh. "The next few days are going to be all about unpacking, settling in, and making this house feel like home. Isn't it just thrilling?" I blow a kiss to the camera before uploading the story to Instagram.

As I sip my coffee and scroll through the avalanche of notifications, I'm overwhelmed by the warm welcome from my followers. Messages pour in—people wishing me luck, offering tips about the area, and sharing their excitement about my move. Among them is a WhatsApp message from Nathan: "How's Emerald Isle treating you so far? I'm so happy for you, babe, for following your dream! Have the best time! And I'll make time to visit you ASAP, I promise!"

A smile spreads across my face as I quickly reply: "You better!" Nathan always knows how to lift my spirits—that's why he's my best friend.

By mid-afternoon, the living room is a sea of cardboard chaos, but progress is happening. I'm busy folding clothes when a faint knock on the front door catches my attention. Curious, I make my way through the house and open it to find a striking blonde woman standing there, her smile warm but her expression sharp with curiosity.

"Hello, dear," she greets me in a lilting voice. "I saw lights on last night and thought we had new neighbours. I'm Susan, from next door." She points toward a cosy-looking house with a meticulously kept garden.

"Hi, Susan," I reply, smiling as I extend my hand. "I'm Alex. It's lovely to meet you."

Her handshake is firm but brief. "Are your parents around?" she asks, glancing past me into the hallway. The question throws me for a second.

"Oh, no," I say, suppressing a chuckle. "It's just me. I live here alone."

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. "Really? How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven," I reply, feeling my smile falter just slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," she says, shrugging, "it's not common to see someone so young living in a house this size by themselves."

I laugh awkwardly. "Well, here I am, defying the odds, I guess."

There's a beat of silence, and I can tell Susan is sizing me up. To break the tension, I glance at her house. "You've got a lovely garden," I say.

Her face softens. "Oh, thank you. I live there with my husband and our son—he just turned sixteen."

"Your husband or your son?" I quip without thinking, cringing immediately at the awkward joke.

Susan blinks, clearly unamused. "My son," she says flatly.

"Right. Of course," I say, feeling my cheeks flush.

Susan tilts her head, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Well," she says finally, "welcome to the neighbourhood, Alex. If you need anything, don't hesitate to knock."

"Thank you, Susan," I reply, grateful for the exit cue. "It was nice meeting you."

As I close the door and retreat to the living room, I let out a laugh. "Great first impression, Alex," I mutter to myself.

But even with the awkward encounter, I can't shake the feeling that this is exactly where I'm meant to be.