Page 57 of An Irish Summer

“I don’t have to be careful,” he said, unlocking his own door. “I know exactly what I want.”

His door closed behind him before I could say another word, and I stood pressed against my own, trying to regulate my breathing. What the hell had I just gotten myself into?

Chapter 14

“Look at you!” Ada said as soon as she opened FaceTime. “You look great. Ready for the big interview?”

“I’m not so sure it’s ‘The Big Interview,’” I said. “It’s just that tourist center by the water.”

“Hate to break it to ya, babe, but at this point, any interview is a big interview.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Don’t remind me. I miss you. And Boston. And iced coffee. All the drinks here are warm, even in the summer. I don’t know how they live like this.”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she said. “And missing cold brew is a weak excuse to want to come home, just so you know. But you need to focus, here. This is important for you.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” I said, saluting her. She rolled her eyes, and I knew she was right. Only it didn’t feel as important as it did a few days ago when I originally scheduled the interview. Before the abbey. Before the kiss. Now, the interview didn’t feel quite so big. Or so necessary.

“It would be okay if you changed your mind, you know,” she said, reading the tone in my voice even from three thousand miles away.

“Why on earth would I ever change my mind?” I said, even though I was beginning to sense we both knew the answer to that.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe you’re into Ireland now. Maybe its kissing has charmed you into staying.”

“I thought I was supposed to be focusing on my interview.”

“You shouldn’t have told me about the kiss, then,” she said. And again, she was right. If you gave Ada an inch she took a mile. “You can be two things at once, Chels. You can be interested in this fling with Collin and trying to get your plans back on track at the same time.”

“How does that make sense?”

“First of all, not everything has to make sense,” she replied. “That’s what makes life interesting. And the whole point of a fling is that it’s short-lived, isn’t it? Don’t all summer flings burn hot and bright for a few months and then fizzle out come September?”

She had a point. Though now was not the time to define “flings,” so I tried to let it roll off. Or at least roll elsewhere until I had the bandwidth.

“You’re blowing my concentration,” I said eventually, though we both knew that Ada wasn’t the problem here. “I need to finish preparing and get this thing over with. I feel like an idiot in this shirt.”

“You look like a goddess.”

“Wish me luck.”

“Bonne chance,” she said, blowing me a kiss. “Call me later.”

I agreed, ending the FaceTime and staring at myself in the reflection of my phone. It was the first time I’d really put myself together since I’d been living in Galway, and I hardlyrecognized myself. The freckles under my eyes were all but covered by a layer of foundation, and the unruly curls that had been framing my face all summer were slicked into a low bun.

While I waited for the hiring committee to join the video call, I looked over my notes one last time. The tourist center had undergone serious renovations in the past five years and was looking for a community recreation coordinator to oversee the planning and execution of a variety of events in the surrounding neighborhoods. I didn’t feel particularly enthusiastic, but it was close enough to what I wanted.

The interview went like they always do. Tell us about yourself, what experience can you bring to the role?, what are your greatest weaknesses?, whatever corporate nonsense they needed to include.

“What does success look like for you?” one of the interviewers asked as we neared the end. I couldn’t remember her role and she hadn’t spoken much the whole time, so her voice was as jarring as the question.

“For me, success is excelling at a job that makes a positive impact on my community,” I said, instantly hating that every candidate probably gave the same answer.

“And beyond work?” she pressed. “What is your full picture of success, Ms. Gold?”

Had this woman spoken to my mother before we got on this call? Was she wearing a wire?

“It’s, uh...” I stalled. This should have been a layup. My whole life was constructed around my idea of success. Surely, I could verbalize what that was. “Balance,” I said eventually, simply. “And the kind of confidence that comes with security,” I added.

At the very moment she was thanking me, I realized I hadn’t said a word about happiness. It was only her soft, sad smilethat made me realize my answer was lacking. I’d answered in a way that would have made me proud five years ago. But right now, I felt embarrassed.

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