Page 83 of An Irish Summer

“It was a bullshit job, anyway.” I shrugged, fighting a smile at the look on his face.

“The job you were so worried about yesterday? The one you’ve spent days preparing to interview for?” He rubbed his eyes, whether to rid them of sleep or to make sense of what I was saying I wasn’t sure.

“I mean, the job isn’t bullshit, but it was bullshit forme. It was in hospitality, sure, but it was on the corporate side, which I never even pictured myself doing. It’s not like it’s that event planning one I’ve been dying to interview for. It’s just another random job in a series of random jobs.”

“So why did you apply?”

“Haven’t you been listening all summer?” I laughed. “To get my plan back on track.”

“But I thought that plan was to get a job youwanted,” he said. “Unless I’m wrong? Have I misunderstood something?”

“No, no. I thinkImisunderstood something,” I said. “Or rather lost sight of something. I almost missed out on an incredible night because I’ve been so strung out over a job that I’m not even interested in just because it’s in Boston.”

“But youdidn’tmiss out on the night,” he said. “Chelsea of a month ago wouldn’t have even considered it. You haven’t lost sight of anything, you’ve just gained perspective.”

“You don’t think I’ve made the wrong decision?” I bit my lip. The decision came easily, but the aftermath had more wavesthan I’d anticipated. “Like I’ve changed too much and now I’m doing things that are out of character?”

“Of course you haven’t failed, Chels. Traveling issupposedto change how we see things. That’s why we do it. What good would seeing the world be if it didn’t alter our perspectives? And besides, making a difficult decision in your best interest is the opposite of failing yourself.”

“How do you always know the exact right thing to say?”

“Helps that you’re letting me get to know you.” His voice softened to match the morning light, and it took everything in me not to collapse back into his arms and spend the rest of the day in bed.

“They’re going to think I’m such an idiot.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t want the job, anyway.” He smiled, pushing my hair out of my face. “Your perfect job is out there somewhere, Chelsea. And you’re way too good to settle. It’ll come.”

Somewhere in the unseen depths of my brain, I wondered if it might already be here.

“Let’s take your mind off it,” he said suddenly, getting out of bed and running his hands through his hair. He was the embodiment of the energy coursing through me, and his suggestion made me eager to channel it into anything other than overthinking my decision.

“I like the sound of that. What do you have in mind?”

“How d’you feel about a roast?”

“A what?”

“God, Chels, could you even pretend you know anything about this country?” He shook his head. “A Sunday roast. Big bit of meat, roasted potatoes, some veg, that kind of thing.Whole families get together, have some drinks. It’s tradition. And I do think you could use something immersive today.”

“And where do we do this roast?” I could feel the energy practically buzzing off his body. Whether it was from waking up next to each other or the adrenaline from canceling the interview, there was an undeniable energy to the morning neither of us could resist.

He sat back down next to me, leveling his eyes with mine. “I was thinking we could go to my family’s house. Back out west, just past Limerick there, out in the countryside.”

“Like... with your family?” Was this what I thought it was?

“I mean, yeah, it is their house and everything. And it’s the best way to do a traditional roast. But it doesn’t have to be a formal ‘meet the family’ kind of thing. It can just be a casual Irish education kind of thing. Though I do think it would be nice to introduce ya, while you’re still here. Unless it’s too much and you’d rather do it down the pub?”

“I’d love to,” I said, surprising us both. “To do it at your family’s house, I mean. Not the pub. If I’m going to have the experience, I want it to be authentic. And I think meeting them sounds nice.”

“You don’t think it’d be too much?”

“We’ve already shared a bed, haven’t we? What’s a little family time?” I shrugged to emphasize how not-a-big-deal this was, arguably more for my sake than Collin’s.

“You know, Chels, you’re being surprisingly casual about this.”

“I’m a casual woman.” He laughed a bit too hard for comfort. “Or at least I’m trying to be,” I added.

“Since when? Five minutes ago?”

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