Page 63 of An Irish Summer

“Even if it’s dangerous?”

“Especially if it’s dangerous.” He smiled, and I wanted to trace the lines of his lips with my fingers.

“And the kiss?” I knew I was asking too many questions, but his certainty was soothing.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” he said, holding his palms up in surrender, “but I have a feeling you might, so I think we should make it mean something.”

I swallowed. He watched. “What do you think it should mean?”

“A lot of questions tonight, huh?”

“You are the tour guide, aren’t you?” He chuckled at that and I relaxed further, my shoulders dropping an inch.

“Fair play,” he said. “I’m not proposing anything crazy here, Chels. I know you’re planning to leave, but all summer flings end eventually, don’t they? Doesn’t make them any less worth it while they’re happening.”

The way he’d saidplanning to leaveinstead ofleavingwasn’t lost on me, but I didn’t correct him.

“So you think we should just... have a fling?”

“Why are you saying it like I’m suggesting something insane?” He laughed. “Yes, Chels, I think we should have fun. I think we should stop fighting what’s going on here and enjoy the next few weeks together. Feel however we feel, and let this run whatever course it’s meant to run.”

I mulled it over, trying to keep my face arranged in a waythat seemed totally cool and casual and not at all like I was freaking out.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is so easy.”

Silence stretched between us, long and charged, though Collin didn’t look like he wanted to be anywhere else. No rush, no pressure, just patience.

“Where do we begin?” I asked eventually.

“Is that a yes?”

“Honestly, Collin, I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to,” I confessed. “But this is your territory, so you have to lead the way.”

“Music to my ears,” he said. “And we’ve already begun, don’t you think?” He pulled me into him, resting a warm hand on the side of my neck.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“You’re always serious.” Okay, rude. True, but rude. “So... We begin with a date. A real one.”

“I can handle a date.”

“But can you handle a ceilidh?”

Chapter 15

“Tell me again what this is,” I said as Flo played with my hair, trying to decide whether I should wear it up or down. She twirled individual curls around her fingers, holding them back from my face then dropping them again and pursing her lips.

“A ceilidh,” she said. “Like, er, a dance. You’re American. You’ve been to a dance?”

“In middle school.” I laughed. “I doubt it’s the same.”

“Nothing compares to a ceilidh, anyway,” she said, deciding to leave my hair down after all. “It’s traditional Irish music, lots of dancing, even more drinking. It’s a ton of fun. You’ll love it.”

I wasn’t so sure about that last part, as I was notoriously a terrible dancer. Which meant there was absolutely no way I could have mentioned any of this to Ada. She’d remind me of the videos from our senior prom, where I looked like the inflatable men outside car dealerships. I’d back out of the ceilidh entirely.

“Trust me,” Flo added, undoubtedly sensing my apprehension.

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