Page 51 of An Irish Summer

“Not on purpose,” I said.

“Thank god,” he said. “If you’d actually been putting effort in, I’d probably have lost my job by now.”

“I’m not so sure,” I said. “I’d say you manage distractions just fine.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, leaning his head against the seat, also seemingly resigning to our position on the side of the road. “I told ya, Chels, I was just doing my job.”

“And right now?” I asked. “This is also just doing your job?”

“You think I’d be working on my day off, do ya?” I rolled my eyes, and he went on, “We both know this is far from just doing my job. I meant it when I said it the other night, you know. It’s different with you.”

I wanted to ask how, to urge him to say more, but my heart was still in my throat from a minute ago and I wasn’t sure howmuch more I could handle. Instead, I shot him a soft smile before unbuckling my seat belt, preparing to switch places.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “You’re still on.”

“After that performance?” I looked at him in disbelief. “God, no. We’re switching seats. You’re driving.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” he said. “You’re grand. Keep going.”

“You’re not going to make fun of me?” I was so surprised I couldn’t resist asking aloud.

“Don’t get used to it,” he teased. “It’s only because I want to survive the rest of this trip. As soon as we’re back at the Wanderer, all bets are off.”

“Lucky me.”

“If we make it back to the Wanderer, that is.”

“I thought you were being nice.”

“You’re right,” he said.

Once I successfully merged onto the exit, the drive became far more comfortable. I was getting the hang of driving on the left, and Collin and I slipped back into small talk about the scenery and the weather and the current batch of guests at the Wanderer. The clouds broke across the sky to reveal a deep summer blue.

“This,” Collin said after a few more turns, “is Sky Road.” The pride in his voice and the gentle smile I caught from the corner of my eye reminded me why he tours for a living.

There might have been a lot of things about Collin that were still a mystery to me, but if there was one thing of which I could be absolutely certain, it was that he lived and died by Ireland. And for a second, I wondered whether I felt even close to the same about Boston.

“You’ll want to be careful here,” he said as we climbed higher along the road. “It gets tight, and these inexperienced drivers are a real hazard.”

I whipped my head in his direction only to be met with that cheeky lopsided smile.

“Rude,” I said, refocusing on the road in case he was right.

“It’s easy to wind you up,” he said. “Sometimes it’s hard to resist.”

“Well, try,” I said.

“Oh, I’ve been trying.”

With a slow inhale, I continued working my way around the curves in the road. And just as I started to find my rhythm, the Atlantic revealed herself beyond the cliffside. The water was a deep navy, streaked with white caps of small waves crashing against the rocks.

“Oh my—”

“Told ya,” he said. “Pull over up here. We can switch now.”

“My driving’s that bad?”

He laughed, but softer than I was expecting. “I want you to see the whole view,” he said.

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