Page 21 of An Irish Summer

I took a bite under the scrutiny of his gaze, trying to keep crumbs from dusting my lap.

“Bang on, right?” he asked almost immediately. If my mouth wasn’t stuck together by the dryness of the white bread and the chips, I might have returned his smile. Instead, I had to focus every muscle in my jaw on just chewing and swallowing.

Before I could open my mouth to speak, he cracked the tab on a beer and handed it to me. “You’ll need this,” he said. I took a grateful swig, washing down the bite.

“It’s dry,” I said.

“But it’s delicious,” he said.

“But it’s delicious,” I repeated, finally able to laugh. I handed it to him and he took a bite twice the size of mine, and I watched the corners of his jaw as he chewed.

“A delicacy, huh?” I asked.

“A proper one, at that. Used to eat these as kids when it was too hot to cook in the summertime,” he said. “So you’re getting more Irish by the minute, you know.”

“I thought the goal was to make me like Ireland,” I said, “not to make me Irish.”

“All in good time,” he said, taking another bite. “Is it working yet?”

I considered his question. It was a nice afternoon, sure. The scenery was beautiful. But it wasn’t home. Not by a long shot.

“I do like it more than I did last weekend,” I conceded. “Well, this part, anyway. The history is interesting, and this is an incredible place. And it’s definitely much nicer when the sun is out. But there still isn’t a chance I’m staying,” I added, perhaps too quickly. I tried to laugh in case it sounded harsh.

“Aye, what’s so important back in Boston, then?”

“Other than my entire life?”

He shook his head, brushing his hands off on his knees and leaning back on his elbows. “Your view of life is so rigid,” he said. “It can look like more than one thing, you know.”

“Not for me,” I said.

“It does right now. I mean, look at ya. Halfway across the world working for a hostel. I bet that wasn’t in your plan.”

I laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “No,” I said. “It wasn’t. But I’m going to get the plan back on track. Go home, get another job, find another apartment, live happily ever after.”

He didn’t respond, but instead folded his hands behind his head and lay back on the blanket, turning his face to the clouds. “Lie down,” he said eventually.

“Will you ever stop telling me what to do?”

“Maybe you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out,” he said. “But definitely not anytime soon.” He shielded his eyes with his hand, and the sliver of sun that got through turned them nearly translucent. “I’m serious. Lie down.”

I took another swig then joined him, flat on my back, facing the sky.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Bloody hell, Chelsea,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair. “Because the sun is out. Because sometimes it feels good not to be thinking or planning or working or any of that. And because we both need a minute of peace and quiet, don’t ya think?”

It was hard not to envy how easy it seemed for him to turn his brain off, to do nothing other than lie in the sun. Growing up in Boston hadn’t exactly prepared me for that. But at the end of the day, city life soothed me in a way nature didn’t. Most of the time, I felt more at peace on a subway surrounded by people or in a coffee shop than I did on an aimless walk, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked after a few minutes, unable to tolerate the silence.

“I’m not,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Collin’s eyes were still closed, and it was infuriating how a person could be so cavalier. The lines on his face were smooth, and a tattoo on his bicep of what looked like a snare drumpeeked out of his shirtsleeve. I had to close my own eyes to stop them from lingering over the rest of his body.

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