Page 68 of An Irish Summer

I looked at all four women, wondering desperately how I’d pull together anything that would please all four of them. “We’re different, I know,” Fayola said, something apologetic creeping into her tone. “If it’s too much without enough time, I understand. I just figured we’d ask.”

“No, no,” I said before I could stop myself. I hated disappointing people, especially where a job was concerned, so I had to think of something. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ll put something together.”

Fayola threw her lean arms around me in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. We made plans to meet over coffee in the morning before she and her friends took to the dance floor for another round.

“What are you doing to me?” I asked Flo as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What?” she said, playing dumb. “I’m just trying to build your résumé, of course. I’m helping you get out of here.”

“I think you’re trying to do the exact opposite,” I said, “and I won’t fall for it.”

“Would it be better if I told you I was just trying to get good reviews for the Wanderer?”

“Much.”

“Then it’s settled. Just in time too,” she said, nodding behind me at Collin approaching with our drinks.

“What’s settled?” he asked, setting the pints down on the table.

“That Chelsea is ready for another dance,” Flo said.

“Can you ever just let me be?”

“Did you want to stand around here talking about work instead?”

“You started it,” I argued.

“And I’m going to finish it.” Collin said, pulling me back to the dance floor. “It’s date night, Chels. Live a little.”

One more glance at Collin in that kilt, his hungry, attentive gaze sweeping over my body, and I’d already forgotten about work altogether.

By the time we returned to the dance floor the caller had taken a break, so we were spared from the energy of the line dances. Instead, the band played a slower tune, a song both hopeful and melancholy. I dropped my head to Collin’s shoulder as he swayed us back and forth in time to the music, letting myself get lost in his scent and the rhythm of his breathing.

“This is a really nice first date,” I said against his chest, relishing the way his chuckle rumbled against my cheek. I’d spent so much of the summer lying to myself, it felt good to say something simple and honest.

“Reckon you might want to go on another?”

“If I can squeeze you into my schedule.” I sighed. “I’ve been so busy seeing the country and appreciating the culture that I’m not sure when I can find time to date, and I just—”

He pinched my waist hard enough to make me squeal, then immediately softened his grip and ran his fingers over the spot that stung.

I risked another glance up at him, but the heat in his gaze was so intense I had to look away before I melted on the dance floor.

With my head against his chest and his strong hands tracing patterns over my back, everything outside that moment was forgotten. For a few blissful minutes there was no Boston, no job applications, no résumés or studio apartments I couldn’t afford. There was only the ceilidh, the security of Collin’s arms around me, and the rest of the summer stretching its languid arms out before us. And for the first time, it didn’t feel so terrifying.

It feltgood.

By the time the caller returned to her platform we’d been too deep in the bubble of our slow dance to recover that level of energy, and I was relieved to be ushered off the dance floor before the band restarted the upbeat trad music.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Collin whispered as we made our way back to the table where I’d left my bag.

“Are you propositioning me?” I teased.

“If the proposition is to get some fresh air and a moment alone, then yes. Very much so.”

“Lead the way.”

He pulled me by my hand through the crowd and out of the barn, looking around for spectators before dragging me around the side of the building and pushing me up against the wall.

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