Page 30 of An Irish Summer

projected across town even without the microphone, so it didn’t take long for everyone to make their way into the clearing

and quiet down for her instructions.

All at once she named a dance and described a formation, and before I could decipher another word through her thick accent, Collin’s arms slipped around my waist and whisked me into the commotion.

I tried my best to listen to the steps, but Collin didn’t give me much room to think.

He pulled me around the dance floor like I weighed nothing at all.

Catching my breath felt like a pipe dream.

“You two make a great couple,” Flo said when I was flung into her arms as we changed partners. We swung around in a do-si-do,

and I tried not to get dizzy, but I didn’t think it was the dancing that was making my head spin.

“Then it’s a shame we keep changing partners,” I teased, trying to embrace the fun of having a friend on a date with me, without

overthinking every minute. My new partner was a man, whom I might have noticed was vaguely handsome had I not been on a date.

He twirled me with the same confidence Collin had, and for a moment I envied him.

All of them, really, who knew how to do this. Who had been doing this for generations. It was a past, present, and future

cornerstone of their identities.

As I settled into a rhythm, I let my thoughts wander home to Boston. I tried to think of any traditions that had been passed

down from generations of Bostonians before us, but I came up empty. Maybe it was because my parents had only moved to Boston

after I was born. Or maybe we weren’t as connected to the city as I thought we were.

Either way, we didn’t have a melting pot of travelers coming together to dance in an old barn. We didn’t grow up learning

the same step. We didn’t have a unified tradition just to celebrate being alive and together.

If someone visited Boston, would I bend over backward trying to make them fall in love with it? Was I even in love with it?

Before I could think of an answer, I was pulled back into Collin’s arms to finish the dance the way we started.

“You have a good time with Declan, there?” he asked as we made our way to the sidelines to reset for the next dance. God, they didn’t waste any time.

“Declan?” I asked, trying not to pant.

“That tall bloke over there,” he leaned and pointed to the man I’d been dancing with a minute ago. “Looked quite chuffed to

be dancing with ya.”

“Then maybe you should be asking Declan if he had a good time with me.”

“I won’t be asking him anything,” he said.

“Collin Finegan, are you jealous?”

“Ach, me?” I raised my eyebrows. “Terribly,” he whispered, brushing his lips against my ear. His voice was so soft I could

hardly hear it above the noise in the bar, which only made me lean in closer. “I really don’t fancy the thought of you with

someone else.”

“Makes you wish you hadn’t delayed that gratification, huh?”

He faked a dagger to the heart. “Chelsea Gold, you are a cruel, cruel woman.”

“Ready for another round?” I flashed my biggest smile, putting another few inches of distance between us. I was beginning

to understand why he liked teasing me so much, and I was suddenly finding it hard to resist. Especially when it made him look

at me the way he was looking at me: like he wanted to drag me off the dance floor and back to the privacy of one of our bedrooms.

The caller started up another dance to a new tune blaring from the band, full of lively fiddles, lilting tin whistles, rollicking accordions, and thumping drums, and once again we crowded the dance floor.

The rest of the songs blurred into one another, and I was finding comfort in the pace.

When I focused on the dances, I had little time or energy to focus on anything else.

Like how impossibly good this was for a first date—or any date—and how I was beginning to fear this fling wasn’t as casual as I thought.

So I channeled all my energy into the ceilidh. I studied the steps, how the words sounded with the Irish lilt, the way our

bodies collided and pulled apart like magnets. I tried to memorize the faces of my various partners. I wondered if anyone,

even briefly, thought I might belong here.

We’d traded partners with every song, so quite a few had passed without Collin and I finding each other on the dance floor.

When we did, however, we crashed back into each other and found ourselves holding on just a bit too tight and for a second

too long. His hands rested on my back inches lower than anyone else’s had, and we managed to keep our eyes locked on each

other despite the endless twisting and turning.

When we took a break for another round of drinks, I was thankful for the time to recover. My voice was getting hoarse from

laughing and shouting over the music, and my initial buzz was wearing off.

“Looked like you were getting the hang of it pretty quick,” Flo said, sidling up to me at the bar.

“She’s a natural,” Collin agreed before I could argue. “Looking more Irish by the day.”

“Don’t be fooled,” I said, trying to conceal my blush at the compliment. “It’s just the hair.” I shook my crimson waves for

effect, and Collin ruffled them with his hand.

“Of course,” Collin said. “My mistake. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with all you’re learning from your lovely

tour guide.”

“Didn’t you just say I was a natural?”

“What I should have said was you’re driving me crazy,” he said, shaking his head and sinking his teeth into his lower lip.

“We’re all still standing here, you know,” Flo interrupted, gesturing around to the collection of guests and hostel staff

crowding the bar.

“Make yourself useful and go get us a table, then,” Collin said.

“Fine, but I’m taking this one with me.” Flo grabbed my hand and I had no choice but to follow, though I did sneak a glance

over my shoulder just in time to catch Collin doing the same.

“I’m not sure if I ever properly introduced everyone,” Flo said as some of the others joined us at a high-top, “but I suppose

you can do that yourselves.” When we didn’t move right away, she gestured to the lot of us as if to say go on . We obeyed, shaking hands and sharing names we wouldn’t remember two minutes later. The mixture of accents made me instantly

relieved I wasn’t the only out-of-towner, and the flush on everyone’s faces told me I wasn’t the only one winded by the exertion

of learning the steps either.

“You’re the event planner, right?” a woman asked as I introduced myself. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer, especially since

I wasn’t in the mood to think about work, but her shining brown eyes were too hopeful to ignore.

“I suppose I am,” I said, waiting anxiously for her request and wondering how she knew. One look at Flo and her smug grin,

however, answered my question.

“I’m Fayola, by the way,” she said, and we exchanged polite smiles. “My friends and I are here to celebrate the end of our

MBAs, and I was hoping you’d help us plan something special. We know those two do the outdoor and touristy stuff”—she tilted

her head toward Collin and Lars—“but we’ve been told you’re the person we want.”

I glared at Flo, and she only winked in return.

“I’m sorry to ambush you at a ceilidh, and I know it’s short notice,” Fayola continued, “but we’d be so grateful if you could

even point us in the right direction.”

With her hands clasped together and her friends looking on with the same hopeful gaze, how could I have said no?

“It would be my pleasure,” I said. “What sort of things do you like?”

“Getting dressed up.”

“Cocktails.”

“Being in bed early.”

“Outdoors.”

I looked at all four women, wondering desperately how I’d pull together anything that would please all four of them. “We’re

different, I know,” Fayola said, something apologetic creeping into her tone. “If it’s too much without enough time, I understand.

I just figured we’d ask.”

“No, no,” I said before I could stop myself. I hated disappointing people, especially where a job was concerned, so I had

to think of something. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ll put something together.”

Fayola threw her lean arms around me in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. We made plans to meet over coffee

in the morning before she and her friends took to the dance floor for another round.

“What are you doing to me?” I asked Flo as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What?” she said, playing dumb. “I’m just trying to build your résumé, of course. I’m helping you get out of here.”

“I think you’re trying to do the exact opposite,” I said, “and I won’t fall for it.”

“Would it be better if I told you I was just trying to get good reviews for the Wanderer?”

“Much.”

“Then it’s settled. Just in time too,” she said, nodding behind me at Collin approaching with our drinks.

“What’s settled?” he asked, setting the pints down on the table.

“That Chelsea is ready for another dance,” Flo said.

“Can you ever just let me be?”

“Did you want to stand around here talking about work instead?”

“You started it,” I argued.

“And I’m going to finish it.” Collin said, pulling me back to the dance floor. “It’s date night, Chels. Live a little.”

One more glance at Collin in that kilt, his hungry, attentive gaze sweeping over my body, and I’d already forgotten about

work altogether.

By the time we returned to the dance floor the caller had taken a break, so we were spared from the energy of the line dances.

Instead, the band played a slower tune, a song both hopeful and melancholy. I dropped my head to Collin’s shoulder as he swayed

us back and forth in time to the music, letting myself get lost in his scent and the rhythm of his breathing.

“This is a really nice first date,” I said against his chest, relishing the way his chuckle rumbled against my cheek. I’d

spent so much of the summer lying to myself, it felt good to say something simple and honest.

“Reckon you might want to go on another?”