Page 93 of An Irish Summer

For the one job I’d been dreaming of since I’d seen the posting at the start of the summer.

“Friday sounds great,” I assured her. “I’ll be back by then, and I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“As am I,” she said. “I’ll reach out via email this afternoon to confirm the timing. Between now and then, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Thank you.”

“Thankyoufor your understanding and flexibility. I’ll see you Friday. Safe travels home.”

Home.

I wasn’t sure how exactly we ended the call, because I nearly blacked out as reality set in. If I was going to fly home in time for the interview, that meant today was my last day working at the Wanderer.

I walked back inside on autopilot, returning to my body only when I registered Flo calling my name.

“Chelsea, hey.” She put her hand to my elbow like she was approaching a wild animal. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you,” I whispered, looking around the lobby to see if anyone was listening.

“What do you mean you can’t tell me? We keep secrets now?”

“I just can’t,” I said.

“Can you tell me why you can’t?”

“Because I will cry at this desk and I’m so not prepared to cry at this desk today,” I said, voice already wobbly. Her expression softened, which didn’t help my case.

“Put the answering machine on,” she said, abruptly grabbing my hand and pulling me around from the back of the desk. “We need pastries for this.”

I did as I was told, letting her drag me down the hallway and into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, she shooed a prep cook out the side door, handed me a pain au chocolat, and hopped up on the steel workbench. “Okay,” she said. “Talk to me,cara. What’s going on?”

“I got an interview for that job,” I whispered. “The one I thought I was underqualified for.”

“The dream job?”

“That’s the one,” I said. She blew air through her full lips, trying as hard as I was to process what this meant. I figured the least I could do was help her along. “And I have to fly home on Thursday to interview on Friday.”

“Merda.”

“Merdais right.” I dropped my head onto my folded arms. “If this was what I wanted the whole time, Flo, why does it hurt so bad to leave?”

“Oh, Chelsea. Look around. Whether you can admit it or not, you’ve built quite a life here in the past few months. Goodbyes are never easy.”

“I can’t believe I thought it would be,” I said. “I feel so stupid.” I thought back to that day in Boston when Helen and Jack told me they were closing O’Shea’s. When I’d woken up thinking it was going to be such a good day. I should have learned then there was no use in trying to predict the future.

“No sense in any of that,” Flo said, waving her hand. “When you first got here from Boston, you were only thinking about getting yourself back to America. How could you have known all you’d do for this place? How could you have known you’d fall in love?”

“Flo!” I sat up straight.

She laughed. “You’ve fallen in love withIreland, at least.But it’s obvious you’ve fallen for Collin too, Chelsea. I’ve seen you two together. And I’ve heard you talk about each other.AndI saw you sneaking out of his room the other morning, which I will forgive you for not telling me. But it doesn’t look like just a summer fling.”

“He talks about me?” I asked.

“If you could see your face right now.” She smiled, shaking her head.

“What does he say?”

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