Page 90 of An Irish Summer

“And they say ye have to see twelve wild horses first to fall in love with an Irishman, don’t they, then?” Cormac said. “Have ye seen any horses, Chelsea?”

“She’ll not be seeing any horses, and she’ll not be worried about falling in love, either,” Collin said, forcing a laugh and peeling a Yorkshire pudding apart with his long fingers. “I’m begging you lot to talk about something normal.”

I could have kissed him right at the table for saving me. The last thing I needed was to be roped into a conversation about love with Collin’s family when all this was supposed to be was a summer fling. As a notoriously terrible liar, there was no way to hide that I might be worried about falling in love after all.

Fortunately, Aileen was right about the meal. Once everyone started eating, the food did a better job taking the edge off than the booze. I savored the silence while we chewed, andI listened while the Finegans told stories of past roasts and reminisced on cooking experiments gone wrong.

“Remember when Niamh didn’t rinse any of the veg from the garden and there was a layer of dirt on the bottom of the roasting pan?” Collin chortled, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, fuck off, would ya? It wasn’t as bad as the time you were too cheap to go to the good butcher, so you bought that hunk of beef from the market by the train station.”

Even Cormac laughed at this one, and I felt the tension from earlier easing with every bite shared and story told. It reminded me of my own family back in Boston. Meals were as essential to Jewish culture as they seemed to be for the Irish, and the moment of connection made me feel at once homesick and at home.

It was a complicated afternoon.

As we finished piling the last of the dishes on the counter, before Aileen shooed us from the kitchen so she could clean in peace, she grabbed my shoulders with damp hands and stared right at me. “It was grand having you here today, Chelsea,” she said.

“It was great to be here. Thank you for having me. And for everything.” We exchanged knowing smiles.

“You won’t forget the recipe for the custard, will you?”

“Would it matter?” Collin added, joining us at the counter. “It’s right on the side of the carton there.”

“I won’t,” I said, ignoring his comment but leaning into his hand on my back.

“Right, then,” Aileen smiled. “Off you go. Don’t want to miss the train back to the big city.”

“Do come back soon, will you?” Niamh asked. “Both of you.”

“Aye,” Cormac said from his chair.

We promised we would, but we both knew it wasn’t the truth. I’d be back to Boston in a few short weeks, and all this would be behind me. Behind both of us.

The journey back to Galway was slow and quiet, and my heart was as heavy as my head on the train window.

That heaviness, I realized eventually, wasn’t because of my uncertain future. It was because spending the day with Collin’s family, piecing together the parts of his past that made him the way he is, only made me like him more.

Anyone who had a summer fling and came out unscathed couldn’t have felt a fraction of how I was feeling. If I thought moving to Ireland alone was getting in over my head, it was only because I had no idea what falling for Collin Finegan would feel like.

By the time we returned to the Wanderer, my food hangover had subsided and newfound energy coursed through me. I’d spent too much of the day, too much of the summer, frankly, feeling pensive and confused and sorry for myself, and it was time I listened to Aileen and got out of my own way.

“Feel like another drink before we go up?” I asked Collin once we got into the lobby. If I’d learned anything so far, it was that if I was already in too deep, the least I could do was enjoy the ride. “I’d offer to buy you one as a thank-you, but you tend the bar, so.”

“You know I’ll never say no to that.” He smiled. I’d hoped he hadn’t wanted the night to end either. “And you don’t have to thank me. If anything, I should thank you for putting up with them. I know they were a bit much today.”

“I liked them,” I said, turning toward the door that led to the bar. “Come on. We can thank each other.”

“I like the sound of that.” He pulled open the heavy door and ushered me inside.

Sunday nights were often quiet in the bar as most of our guests turned over Monday morning, and this Sunday was no different. A new hire was behind the bar, and a few tired guests occupied the stools.

“What d’you think about taking these drinks to go?” Collin asked, looking around. It wasn’t crowded, but I didn’t think that was why he asked.

“Sound,” I said, precisely because I knew the effect the Irish slang would have on him.

“If you’re talking like that, it’s a right good thing we’re getting out of here.”

I swallowed the lump of anticipation in my throat, watching him order the drinks without making small talk with the bartender. He meant business.

---