Page 29 of An Irish Summer

“Tell me again what this is,” I said as Flo played with my hair, trying to decide whether I should wear it up or down. She

twirled individual curls around her fingers, holding them back from my face then dropping them again and pursing her lips.

“A ceilidh,” she said. “Like, er, a dance. You’re American. You’ve been to a dance?”

“In middle school.” I laughed. “I doubt it’s the same.”

“Nothing compares to a ceilidh, anyway,” she said, deciding to leave my hair down after all. “It’s traditional Irish music,

lots of dancing, even more drinking. It’s a ton of fun. You’ll love it.”

I wasn’t so sure about that last part, as I was notoriously a terrible dancer. Which meant there was absolutely no way I could

have mentioned any of this to Ada. She’d remind me of the videos from our senior prom, where I looked like the inflatable

men outside car dealerships. I’d back out of the ceilidh entirely.

“Trust me,” Flo added, undoubtedly sensing my apprehension.

“I don’t know any of the dances.”

“You don’t have to. There’s a caller who’s going to tell you what to do.”

“I’m a lost cause.”

“I’m sure someone will make sure you’re just fine,” she said, raising her brows and glancing down the hall from my room. “What

kind of first date would it be if he didn’t?”

“Remind me why I told you it was a date?”

“Because you were so excited you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Not quite how I remember it.” I laughed, recalling how Flo had begged me to tell her every little thing that happened as

soon as we left the variety show.

“I’m too happy you’ve both decided to give it a shot to care,” she said. “You make a hot couple.”

“I’m not sure we’re a couple. Does a summer fling qualify as a relationship?”

“Stop overthinking it, cara . You’ll enjoy it less. And the whole purpose is to enjoy, no?”

“You’re right,” I groaned. “I just happen to be great at overthinking. And terrible at casual flings. You guys are all much

better at this than I am.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’re all so used to everyone coming and going, aren’t you? You leave home, you meet new people, they leave, and everyone

moves on. Everybody here seems to have a much more casual view of relationships in general.”

“Look around,” she said, gesturing vaguely at my room. “This looks a lot like coming and going and meeting and leaving and

moving on to me. You might be more like us than you think, tesoro .”

I did look around, struggling to come to grips with the fact she might be right. “Even if I am like you guys, I’m not nearly

as good at it.”

“Suddenly going back to Boston isn’t so easy?”

“I didn’t say that.” Out loud, anyway.

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“So stop looking at me.”

She rolled her eyes, and we both laughed despite ourselves.

“All I’m saying, Chels, is that it’s okay if part of you changes while you’re out here. Hell, it’s okay if all of you changes

while you’re out here. Ireland has a way of doing that to people. And it’s more than okay to indulge a little. Pleasure doesn’t

have to be logical, you know.”

I opened my mouth, but she raised her hands in surrender, saving me from having to think of a response. “That’s all I’m saying,”

she said again, and I nodded. Duly noted. I had a feeling I’d be pondering these words until my time at the Wanderer came

to an end. And maybe even after that.

“Now,” she said, grabbing my hands and looking from my head to my toes. “Are we ready?”

“You’re the ceilidh expert,” I said. “You tell me.”

“Me? The Italian? Please. Let’s get the real ceilidh expert in here.”

“Flo, plea—”

“Collin!” she yelled down the hall. “Coll? Come in here!”

“Florence,” I said.

“What? You were going to see him as soon as we went downstairs to leave, anyway.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t going to approve of my appearance first.”

“You rang?” Collin appeared in the doorway, and Flo and I were both stunned into silence.

The edges of the tattoos lining his collarbones peeked out from an open white collar, and a deep-red plaid kilt hit the middle of his thighs, exposing knots of muscle in his legs.

He leaned his forearm against the doorjamb, knowing full well we were staring.

“So this is why you invited Chelsea to a ceilidh,” Flo said, gesturing to me. “You wanted to show off those legs, didn’t you?”

“Flo, please,” he said, lifting the kilt an inch higher. “If I wanted to show off my legs, I wouldn’t need a ceilidh to do

it.”

“You’re bad,” she said.

“You started it.”

“Good luck with this one, Chelsea,” she said, patting his chest on her way out of my room. I wanted to kill her.

“Classic Flo,” Collin said. “Calls me in here and leaves immediately. You two needed something?”

“Just to make sure Chelsea was ready!” Flo called from down the hall.

We jumped at the sound of her voice. Collin looked me up and down the way Flo had a minute earlier, undoubtedly assessing

the black velvet shirtdress I borrowed from Flo and my platform Docs.

“Flo said to wear comfortable shoes,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as self-conscious as I felt under his gaze.

“Flo could have said to wear a potato sack and you’d still look brilliant,” he said, motioning for me to spin around. I obeyed.

“That dress is class, Chelsea.” He ran his thumb over his bottom lip as he looked at me.

“So, you’d say we’re ready to go then?”

“Depends,” he said. “Are you ready for everyone in the place to be having a look at ya?”

“Oh stop.” I laughed. “It’s going to be you they’re looking at.”

“We’ll make one hell of a couple, then,” he said. I stiffened at the word, thinking Flo might have been right. “Loosen up, Chels. A ceilidh is fun. And you can’t dance if you’re so stiff.”

“I can’t dance at all.”

“Bollocks,” he said. “Follow my lead. I’ll take care of ya.”

I did love the sound of that.

“Lead the way, then,” I said, gesturing out of my room. If we stood in there staring at each other for another minute, I feared

we’d never make it to the ceilidh at all.

Once we rallied the rest of the staff who had the night off and a small handful of guests to whom Flo extended the invite,

we caught a bus across town to the venue. From the outside, it looked like little more than an old barn, but the inside transformed

into a scene from Footloose .

High-top tables lined the perimeter of a massive dance floor, giving way to a bar on either end. The string lights wrapped

around the rafters had bulbs the size of golf balls, which bathed the barn in a warm, golden glow. Between the tartan tablecloths

and burlap centerpieces, the whole thing felt a bit like stepping into another time.

“Grand, isn’t it?” Collin said over my shoulder, watching me as I took in the scene.

“So grand, in fact, that I think I’m going to just observe the whole night. Really watch from the sidelines, take it all in.

I don’t want to miss anything, of course.”

His laugh was so loud it got the bartender’s attention. “Nice try,” he said. “I appreciate the attempt, really. But no one

comes to a ceilidh to sit on the sidelines. Especially not someone on a journey to embrace Irish culture.”

“Perhaps we could start tonight’s embracing with a drink?” I suggested, nodding toward the bar closest to us.

“Spoken like a true Irishman,” he said. “That’s a great start. Come on, then.”

The rest of the group trickled in, meandering toward the bar and friends they recognized across the room. Their dispersal

meant Collin and I were left alone, and the heat between us wasn’t coming from the dance floor.

I approached the bar, looking around at the collection of bottles and taps, trying to decide what kind of buzz I needed. What

drink would lower my inhibitions just enough to dance but not enough to make a fool of myself.

“What’re you thinking?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the bar and bringing our faces close. I held back the urge to count

his freckles.

I touched my fingertips to my lips while I considered my options, running them back and forth as I realized Collin’s eyes

were following their movements.

“Keep teasing me like that and we might not even make it to the dance floor,” he mumbled with his lips pressed against my

ear.

“How do you know that’s not my plan?”

“Too soon.” He pulled back from me, shaking his head. “Judging by our last kiss, you like a little delayed gratification.”

“Collin!” I gasped, swatting his arm, which only made him chuckle.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll believe you.”

I opened and closed my mouth, searching for something to say that wasn’t a lie and coming up empty.

“That’s what I thought.” He smiled, redirecting his attention to the bar. I had a feeling this would be a long night. “Fancy

a Guinness?” he asked. “In honor of culture and all that.”

“Can’t say no to a Guinness, can I?”

“She’s learning.” He beamed at me, then signaled the bartender. When our drinks came and I reached for my wallet, Collin put

a warm hand on my wrist. “I’ve got ya.”

“At least let me get one round by the end of the night,” I protested. “As an apology for the dancing.”

“I’m sure you can find another way to repay me,” he said, flicking his eyes almost imperceptibly to my mouth. “Besides, I

feel like the dancing might be a proper gift in itself.”

At that, I took a few solid gulps of my beer, prompting Collin to do the same. After which he licked his lips, and I was a

goner.

I followed him through the crowd and back to some of our friends, who had found their own drinks and a high-top table on the

side of the dance floor.

“Chels, there you are,” Flo said as we approached. “Was beginning to think we’d already lost you two.”

“Hardly,” I said. “We were just at the bar.”

“Good. I’m not ready for you to disappear quite yet. We’ve dancing to do.”

Right on cue, the caller introduced herself and invited everyone to the dance floor. She was a tall woman clad in a pattern

similar to Collin’s kilt, her graying hair falling loose from its bun on the top of her head. She had the kind of voice that