Page 72 of An Irish Summer

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“It couldn’t,” she said. “No ego here. Another thing that’s much bigger in America.”

“All right, all right, I get it. You think America is the worst.”

“I think Americanidealsare the worst,” she clarified.

“Cheers,” I said, clinking my coffee against hers and hoping vague agreement would put an end to this conversation.

“How are the applications going, anyway?” she asked, tanking my attempt at moving on.

I chewed my fingernail, trying to find a way to tell her I’d been deeply slacking on applying anywhere for lack of time and opportunity and fear of rejection.

“They’re going,” I said, though I knew it was lame. “I should carve out some time today to send a few more, actually.”

“What does your friend think?”

“Ada?”

“Sì.”

“I should carve out some time today to call her too.” Only then did I realize how caught up I’d been lately and how I’d been neglecting my usual priorities. I hadn’t even looked at job sites or spoken to Ada before that interview, and that was nearly a week ago.

“The Wanderer sucks you in, doesn’t it?” she said, reading my mind. “Tell you what. I’ll leave you to it, and we can catch up later, yeah?”

I glanced across the coffee shop at the string of old-school computers, having no choice but to resign myself to a morning of trying to get my life back on track. Which I supposed was still the whole reason I was here, so perhaps I should have been taking it a bit more seriously.

Flo and I air-kissed goodbye, agreeing to find each other later for a few drinks. After she left, I ordered another iced Americano and dialed Ada.

“Chels?” Ada said after two rings. “Can you hear me?”

“Hardly. Why are you whispering?”

“I’m at Ben’s sister’s yoga thing.”

I had no idea what that meant.

“Why don’t you call me later, then?”

“No, no, I can chat. It’s in the park, and I’m way in the back. And it’s boring me to death. How’s it going? I feel like I haven’t heard from you in ages.” For us, a week really was ages.

“I know, I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s been weirdly busy here. I’ve learned to Irish dance. Sort of. And I sent some women to a castle for a champagne tea in old dresses and then people saw it on Instagram and it’s been a whole thing.”

“Sounds like you’re making quite the impression over there,” she said. “And Collin?”

“If I tell you something, can you promise not to freak out?”

“No,” she said instantly, which made me laugh. I missed her. “But I can promise I’ll freak out quietly, so I don’t disrupt the rest of the class.”

“I’ll take it,” I said, then launched in. The date, the kissing, the irresistible pull and tightening knot in my chest every time I remembered it was going to end. By the time I was done, I could practically hear her smug grin through the phone.

“It’s even better than I hoped it would be,” she said, and I was pretty sure I heard her clap her hands.

“Yeah, well, it still has an expiration date, so...” I tried to laugh, but it was hollow. “But it is nice for now. Really nice.”

“Do youwantit to end?”

“Of course not,” I said before I could catch myself. “But I want to come home, which means it has to end, so in a way I guess I do? You know what I mean.”

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