Page 42 of An Irish Summer

I waited while they exchanged small smiles, hoping they weren’t going to ask for something that required more emotional stamina than I had this morning.

“You’re the event planner here, right?” one of the men asked, clasping his hands together like he was praying I’d say yes.

“I mean, I’m not sure if I... maybe?” I laughed. “It isn’t in my job title, but I have planned a few events since I’ve gotten here. Have you heard of our weekly movie night?” I hoped to persuade them with an event that already existed, rather than have them ask me to plan something entirely new.

“We do love a proper film night,” the other man said, clearly enticed by the idea. “What d’you think, Grant? We could stay in, cozy up with a film and a few drinks?”

“We were hoping you could arrange a cooking class for us,” Grant said to me, patting his partner’s hand. “You see, Liam here is a terrible cook—”

“Terrible is a strong word.”

“—and we’re moving in together after we get back from this holiday, and I can’t be the only one feeding this family.”

“It’s a family of two,” Liam said. “It’s not that hard.”

“Which is why you’ll learn to do it.”

They nudged each other, giggling in a way that suggested they forgot I was sitting right there.

“Anyway,” Grant continued, remembering my presence. “Is that something you might be able to do?”

Their smiles were so contagious it would have been impossible to say no.

“Of course,” I said, turning to my computer and slipping into customer service mode. “Let me have a look.”

“And between you and me,” Grant said, leaning across the desk and dropping his voice to a whisper, “it doesn’t have to be an Irish cooking class. I think Irish food is terrible, if I’m honest.”

“And if I’m also honest,” I said, matching his whisper, “I totally agree. Just don’t let anyone around here hear you say that or they’ll be shoving cabbage down our throats until you leave.”

“Please,” Grant said. “Don’t even say the word. It’s been a day in Ireland and I already never want to think about cabbage again.”

“I quite like cabbage,” Liam said, crossing his arms.

“You also like American football and the Queen, so I’m not sure your opinions can be trusted,” Grant said with a laugh.

“Do you want to keep cooking yourself dinner or not?” Liam said, to which Grant raised his palms and turned back to me at my computer.

“Well, what is something you can agree on?” I asked. “Is there a specific cuisine you both like?”

“What about Italian?” Liam said. “That way maybe someday I can learn to make that pasta dish from Giacomo’s that you like?”

“Now we’re talking,” Grant said, kissing Liam on the temple. “Though I can’t imagine that’ll be something easy to find in Galway, will it?”

“In fact,” I said, bells and whistles and strobe lights flashing around in my brain, “I know just the chef.”

I wasn’t sure Flo would go for it, especially given how few days off we had. But I hoped that once she met Grant and Liam, she would like them enough to make it work.

“How do you feel about coming back here for a drink later?” I asked the couple. “Our chef gets off after dinner, and I’d love to introduce you and set something up. I should warn you, she didn’t go to culinary school but she grew up in Italy in a house with all her relatives, so if you’re looking for traditional Italian—”

“That’s perfect,” Grant said. “Even better that way.”

“Agreed,” Liam said.

Once they left I made my way to the kitchen, where Flo was preparing grab-and-go-style sandwiches for lunch even though the hostel was mostly empty during the day.

“Florence, darling,” I said, approaching the bench with caution as she had a giant knife in her hand.

“Chelsea, if you’ve come to ask me to blow-dry your massive head of hair again, the answer is no. You know how to do it, and my hands are already sore from all the prep work today.”

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