Page 12 of An Irish Summer

If I was honest, I hadn’t done as much traveling as I felt I should have by my age. Every time I considered planning a trip, something came up at work, or it was too expensive, or Ada was too busy to take time off and I didn’t have the courage or the desire to travel alone. So I probably had a lot to learn about what travelers foundanywhere, not just Galway.

“And what’ll it be for you, then?” A deep voice broke my reverie, redirecting my attention to the bar.

Collin was drying a pint glass, looking at me with expectant eyes. His short-sleeve shirt revealed a collection of small tattoos scattered over his forearms, which flexed as he dried the glass. I fought against the hypnotic effect of his spinning the rag around and around, trying to answer his question.

I scanned the taps before remembering there was only one option. “Well,” I said, pretending to look for another bartender, “I was hoping for a Guinness, but I’m not sure there’s someone around here who can pull a good one. Lars, any suggestions?”

“Lars, do not answer that,” he said, and Lars raised his hands in surrender, signaling he wouldn’t say a word. Collin turned to me, releasing the glass and leaning on the bar. “And what is it you know about pulling a good Guinness, hmm?”

“I know it can’t be that hard.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Pull the lever, fill the glass, what more is there?”

“Already slagging me off, are ya?” He flashed a wicked grin and I stalled, searching for a response.

“Already what?”

His grin turned to a laugh and it made me want to crawl under the bar. “Slagging me off,” he said again. “Like teasing, getting under my skin, you know.” I felt flustered thinking about teasing or getting under his skin.

“Right,” I said, feeling the banter slip from my fingers.

“You’ve a lot to learn,” he said, but not unkindly. “Starting with this.”

I watched him sling a glass under the tap, tilting it just so, pulling the pint with expert hands. When the glass was nearly full, he stopped the tap and let the beer settle before continuing. I watched the color turn from chocolate to ink, silentlyembarrassed that I didn’t know this really was an art. By the time he was finished, a perfect Guinness sat in front of me. Black as night, label on the pint glass turned outward, an inch of milky foam resting on top.

He slid it toward me, resting his elbows on the bar and his chin on the heels of his hands. On both wrists he wore thin, fraying leather string bracelets and, for a second, I wondered where they came from. “Go on,” he said, glancing from my eyes to the glass and back again. “Give it a go.”

“I know what a Guinness tastes like,” I said, not fully ready to admit I was out of my depth here.

“You’ve had one in Ireland, then?” he said.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then you’ve no idea what a Guinness tastes like.”

I narrowed my eyes, and he did the same. It was a standoff, and I was fighting uphill. I tried not to notice his gaze travel to my lips as I sipped the beer, but the way his eyes lingered made it impossible to ignore. Ada would have loved this.

“It’s fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Of all the things I thought you’d be,” he said, running his tongue over his teeth, “I didn’t have you pegged for a liar.”

I hated the way my stomach buzzed at the thought of him having thoughts about me. And he was right. I was a liar.

“Do you always go around making these accusations about your coworkers?”

“Well, it’s not every day they come into my bar and lie to my face, now, is it, Lars?” Collin looked to Lars for support, who repeated his earlier hand gesture.

“Leave me out of this one, mate,” Lars said. “I’ve been here long enough to know not to mess with anyone disparaging the black stuff.”

“Clever bloke,” Collin said, nodding in his direction. “You might learn a thing from him too while you’re at it.”

“More than I’ll learn from you, I suppose,” I said.

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” Lars said, going back on his word.

“Fine,” I said, reaching the end of my rope. “It was surprising.” Collin crossed his arms over his chest, raising his brows in a way that urged me to continue. “It was lighter than I thought it would be. And less bitter.” That was all I would give him. I would never tell him I actually liked it.

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