Page 13 of An Irish Summer

“I think a lot of things are going to surprise you about Ireland, Chelsea,” he said, going back to cleaning glasses, apparently satisfied with the ending of our Guinness debacle.

“Don’t you have other customers to bother?” I asked, sharply. I’d heard that line enough from everyone in Boston, so I definitely didn’t need to hear it from him. We both looked over his shoulder to see a small group forming at the other end of the bar, undoubtedly waiting for his attention.

“I got ’em,” Lars said, sliding off his stool and heading behind the bar. He really wasn’t kidding when he said they picked up each other’s slack. How did he still have the energy for work?

“We’re done here, anyway,” I said.

“We...” Collin started, replacing Lars on the stool beside me, “are just getting started.”

My breath caught in my throat. Had Lars and I been sitting this close? Collin was thin and angular, but his presence so close to me was overbearing. I risked spinning my stool to face him, not quite sure what I was getting myself into but unwilling to back down.

“You like telling people what to do, huh?” I asked, sizing himup. He wore a plain white T-shirt with surprisingly few wrinkles and a pair of tan jeans, cuffed at the ankles. When he rested one of those ankles across his knee I caught a glimpse of more faded black ink, and for a torturous second I allowed myself to imagine the rest of his tattoos. The rest of his body. What it might look like under all the earth tones.

What was I doing? I came here for a job and a place to live, not to flirt with some arrogant tour-guide-bartender-farmer-handyman who seemed determined to make decisions for me.

“Only with their best interest in mind,” he said, answering the question I’d forgotten I’d asked. “Part of the territory as the resident tour guide. Though usually when I give advice, people accept it. Especially out-of-towners. You might look Irish with that red hair of yours, but that Boston accent isn’t fooling anybody.” He smiled at my surprise, leaning back on the stool, and sipping a beer of his own.

“How’d you recognize the accent?”

“Been around it quite a bit. I spent a summer there myself, years ago. Lori’s sister, Helen, has a bed-and-breakfast with her husband. Did some seasonal work for them in 2017, the first summer they opened.”

Guinness nearly shot from my nose.

“That’s where I used to work!” I said, clearing my throat before my enthusiasm got the better of me. “I started there that fall. I can’t believe you know Helen and Jack.”

“I can’t believe we missed each other,” he said, eyes glinting. “To think we could have met years ago.”

“Ah, yes. My summer after college was really missing a nosy tour guide intent on disrupting strangers trying to have a peaceful drink after a long day.”

“Ouch,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest for effect. With his fingers splayed wide, his hands looked twice the size they did when he was pulling the pints. “Besides, we’re hardly strangers.”

“We don’t know anything about each other.”

“So, tell me something about yourself.” He smiled, and I knew I walked right into that.

“Hmm.” I pretended to think. “Oh, I have something good,” I said. “A fun fact: I’m exhausted. And I would very much like to pay for this pint, go back to the hostel, take a long shower, and go directly to sleep.”

Collin laughed, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a slow sip, wholly undeterred by my attitude. “Tell me something real and I won’t even charge ya for the pint.”

“Fine,” I conceded, figuring it might get me out of there quicker than arguing. “What is it you so desperately need to know?” Apparently, the single pint was getting to my head.

“Why don’t you like it here?” he asked, any trace of jest gone from his tone.

“What?” I asked, though I heard him loud and clear. “I do like it here. What makes you think I don’t? I mean, it’s new to me, obviously, but I don’t dislike it.” My rambling betrayed me. I didn’t want to offend anyone, but I was a terrible liar.

“Aye, Chelsea, I’ve seen you around today. You’ve been looking ready to leg it since you got out of bed.”

I didn’t need a translation here. He sounded surprisingly hurt by this, as if my not liking Ireland was a personal attack.

“It’s only been one day,” I said by way of excuses. “And it was long and I’m jet-lagged and trying to catch up, that’s all.”

“It’s just usually most people show up in Galway for the summer bright-eyed and ready to jump right into the craic,you know? See what Ireland has to offer. And you seem intent on avoiding the craic at all costs, if I’m honest.”

“Have you yet to figure out I’m not most people?”

“Oh, lass. That much I’ve known since you walked in the door.”

A flush spread over my chest, and I hoped he didn’t notice. “Really?” I raised an eyebrow, secretly nervous about where he might be going but trying not to show it.

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