Page 59 of An Irish Summer

“Everyone please make a little noise for Marta, who will be opening our evening with some original slam poetry.”

Marta, a petite blonde wearing a pair of corduroy overalls, took to the stage and began her set. She spoke in varying volumes about love, loss, and sex. We snapped after each poem, sipped room-temperature beer, and resisted the urge to whisper to each other as she continued.

Eventually, Flo gave in. “Collin seems engaged,” she said, nodding in the direction of where he was sitting near the edge of the stage. As soon as I turned my head and caught his eye, I realized he was staring shamelessly in our direction. I tried to look away without seeming too obvious, but my cheeks flushed anyway.

“Oh my god,” she said eventually, almost in disbelief.

“What?”

“Tell me everything right now.”

I considered lying, or playing dumb, but I knew Flo wouldn’t fall for either. I had no choice. “We kissed last night,” I whispered.

“You what?”

Someone shushed us from the front row, and Flo waved them off as I tried to apologize.

“Don’t make it a big thing,” I said. “It was just one little kissin the kitchen, then off to our separate beds like it never happened.”

“You kissed in my kitchen?”

“Please,” I said. “Keep your voice down.”

“I cook in there, you know. For everyone. You included.”

“Don’t be gross,” I said. “It was just a kiss.”

“Now what?”

“Now nothing.”

“Why nothing?”

“Because I’m only here for another month, so it doesn’t make sense to start something.”

“Isn’t that how a fling works?”

“Have you been talking to Ada?”

“Who’s Ada?”

Our whispered responses increased in speed and volume. I dropped my head into my hands, flustered and confused.

“It doesn’t matter,” she continued when I didn’t respond. “What matters is it doesn’t look like nothing.” We both looked at Collin, who was successfully watching Marta. He was absentmindedly running his thumb over his bottom lip, forearm flexed beneath a rolled sleeve. “I bet he’s thinking of the kiss right now.”

“Florence.”

“What? It was hot, wasn’t it?”

I lowered my eyebrows as if to sayI won’t dignify that with a response, but the wicked gleam in her eye made me think maybe I should have responded after all.

On cue, Marta finished her set and the crowd applauded as Lars resumed his spot on the stage.

“And now, if you’ll all lean in close for the storytelling styles of a Mr. Collin Finegan,” he said, reigniting the applause.

“Oh, I’ll pay attention, all right,” Flo said, settling deeper into her chair. I glanced at her quickly before crossing my arms protectively over my chest.

Collin took to the stage with his banjo, fully attentive now in a way he wasn’t a few minutes ago. He was focused and charming as ever, and I feared I might dissolve before his set was over.

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