Page 33 of An Irish Summer

it was because there weren’t outlets in the bathroom here and the straightener cord didn’t reach from the outlet in my room

to the tiny mirror in the wardrobe. But now, dare I say it was because my natural hair might have suited me after all?

Fortunately, before I had time to answer that, the screen blinked to life. No more excuses. I was caffeinated, I had a boost from my best friend, and I desperately needed to get my life back on track before I was out of time.

I returned to the Google search bar and typed the phrase “event planning + hospitality + manager + director,” then let my

finger hover over the “B” for longer than necessary. I knew the next word in the search was Boston. It was a familiar search,

bookmarked on my own computer, even, and there was no reason I should have hesitated before completing the phrase.

But I did.

I sat there for an extra second, weighing Ada’s words, letting my gaze wander around the café. I scanned the families, first

dates, tourists. But it was the solo woman in the corner behind a laptop who caught my eye.

Most of her dark hair was pulled off her face with a plastic clip, and beside her laptop sat an empty mug, a notebook, and

two different colored pens. Large headphones covered her ears, and she rested her chin in her hand, visibly lost in whatever

she was reading on the screen. She was undoubtedly working, or maybe studying, and the longer I stared at her, the more I

realized what I was doing; I was imagining myself in her shoes. I was imagining myself in Galway, coming to the café in town

to get some work done, maybe running some errands, meeting a friend for dinner, doing the kinds of things I did in Boston.

Then I thought again about Ada’s words, and while she was right that maybe I could be happy in two places, I couldn’t be in two places. I typed “Boston” at the end of the search bar and scrolled through the results.

A “guest services” position at a Four Seasons caught my eye, but only for long enough to force me back into a contemplative spiral.

I didn’t even want to go into corporate hospitality, did I?

I’d loved O’Shea’s because I was flexible in my work, and I knew I wouldn’t have the same at a big corporation.

But I would have significantly more money, which would probably mean a nicer apartment and maybe even a chip at my student loans.

I wrote and rewrote my cover letters, customizing each for the job descriptions and poring over every word. Sure, event planning

and hospitality might have been my “passion,” and I was definitely keen on “improving communities,” but did I really care

about “exposing the magic of the greater Boston area”?

Beyond the first sentence, was my entire cover letter a lie? Was everything I’d been telling myself about what I wanted in

a job a lie?

This morning had really gotten away from me.

In my last cover letter of the day, I tried to be more truthful. I tried to get to the root of what I was looking for in a

job. How it felt to provide people with an experience that would change them in some way. Something that would bond them,

challenge them, inspire them. How it felt to bring an idea to life, to know people are enjoying an experience I created for

them.

And to tap into the root of those feelings, I was surprised to find myself thinking about my time at the Wanderer.

In the following days, I kept an eye on my email for responses to my applications. Two eventually rolled in: one informing

me the position had been filled internally, the other requesting an interview. I replied, requesting a virtual interview and

praying it would go better than the last one. When they accepted and I began my preparations, I vowed to spin my move to Ireland

in a more positive direction.

It was a calculated career choice made to diversify my résumé and gain global hospitality experience.

It was a way to broaden my skill set and apply to a wider range of positions and clientele.

A privilege that allowed me an opportunity to be creative, innovative, and thoughtful in my work.

That sounded good. Professional, reasonable.

True.

I was reviewing my notes the evening before our scheduled interview when Collin appeared in my doorway. We left our doors

propped open sometimes, but this custom always seemed to come back to bite me. Especially when I was trying to be productive.

“Fancy a drink?”

I spun my tiny desk chair to face him, trying to keep my composure at the sight of his damp hair pushed behind his ears.

“I have to—”

“You can’t say no,” he said, stepping into my room. “It’s part of your Irish education.”

“I forgot that only happens on your schedule,” I said.

“I’m going to ignore your sarcasm for once, but only for the sake of a lesson in spontaneity. And the Temple Bar.”

My laugh was involuntary. “Sorry, you’re saying this casual drink is in Dublin ?”

“Would I lie?”

I narrowed my eyes, realizing I had no idea how to answer that question.

“Besides, I never said it was casual. And Flo already said yes,” he added as leverage.

“Of course Flo said yes,” I said. “Flo says yes to everything.”

“Might not hurt you to do the same.” His grin alone was almost enough to make me change my mind, which was exactly why I had

to stand my ground.

“You haven’t given me much of a choice thus far, have you?”

“Nope, and I don’t intend on giving you one tonight, either.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, you don’t actually make all the rules. I’m sorry, but I can’t go.” I found myself genuinely

disappointed. “I need to stay in and prepare for my interview.”

“Interview?”

“Tomorrow at two with a high-end tourism organization in Boston. I’d actually like this one to go well, so I need to make

sure I’m on my game.”

“Still cracking on with that, are ya?” Collin walked over and sat on the edge of my desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“With getting back to my life? Yeah, I am still cracking on with that.” I chuckled, though as soon as the words left my lips

I realized nothing about them was funny. Nothing about the interview was making me smile at all, if I was honest.

“Temple Bar will change your mind,” he said, nudging my leg with his foot.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not going to Temple Bar.”

“Chels,” Collin said, getting off my desk and kneeling in front of me, taking my hands in his. It took everything in me not

to pull away and hide from his gaze. I needed to stand my ground, and he was making it nearly impossible. “When else are you

going to have the chance to drive across Ireland and drink in one of the most iconic bars in the world? With a proper Irishman

to show you the way, no less.” His lips curled into a smile on one side when he said this last part, and I was reminded how

they felt against my own.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other time for us to do exactly that,” I said in a last-ditch effort to stand my ground, though

my resolve was slipping through my fingers at warp speed.

“Nope,” he said, getting back to his feet. “It’s now or never. One of our guests has an uncle who owns a hostel near the bar, and they’re holding a few beds for us for the night. They’re fully booked for the rest of the summer.”

Shit.

“How am I supposed to interview after a night out?” I groaned, grasping at straws.

“I’ve seen you after a night out, Chelsea. You can interview in that state. Frankly, you could interview in any state, and

they would be crazy not to offer you the job.” He softened his voice, making a decent pitch at sincerity.

“You think flattery is going to convince me?”

“Is it working?” He reached out to push a piece of hair behind my ear, but I swatted his hand before he had the chance. “Ah,

come on, Chels!” he pleaded. “You gotta come. It’ll be minus craic without ya. We’ll make sure you’re all set for the interview.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “You’d be the first to sabotage the interview.”

He made an X over his heart with his pointer finger: a wordless promise. “Listen, do I think it’s ridiculous that anyone would

leave this for American city life? Absolutely. But you really think I’d ruin something you care about?”

“You’re really turning on the charm here, aren’t you?” I crossed my arms if only to resist the urge to reach for him and bridge

the gap between us.

“I’ll turn it off if you agree.”

“Bullshit.”

“Guilty.”

We exchanged smiles in the fading sunlight of my bedroom: his, suggestive; mine, reluctant.

I weighed the circumstances. A good night’s sleep was out of the question, but he was right about my ability to rally after a night out.

I would have to finish my preparations from the car, which wasn’t impossible, and I was now a pro at getting ready in a hostel bathroom.

It was ridiculous, but he was also right about it being my only chance.

Which was something that mattered to me now, apparently.

“One condition,” I said.

“Anything.”

“I’m riding with Flo.”

By the time we arrived in Dublin, I needed a drink. I’d spent the ride doing last-minute preparations, and I was feeling more

unsure about the interview by the minute. And if I was still trying to convince myself it was a good idea, I had a feeling

a night out in Dublin was going to do the opposite.

I contemplated asking Flo for advice, but I already knew what she would say. And I wasn’t sure I was willing to put a point

on the Ireland side of the board right before an interview. Maybe I should call my mom. She wouldn’t entertain the idea of staying in Ireland

for a second. It would be all Boston, and all business, and I could use that energy before the interview. I made a mental

note to call her later, which would also hold me accountable not to drink too much.

Flo found parking in a dingy garage not far from the hostel with Collin and the rest of the gang pulling in behind us. Lars

had to work tonight, and I didn’t recognize the others who climbed from the back of Collin’s truck, so I’d have to rely on