Page 35 of An Irish Summer

“Reckon that’s the last we’ll be seeing of her tonight?” Collin asked as we both watched her leave. We’d been alone less than

a minute, and I could already feel him closing the space between us where Flo had stood.

“I reckon it isn’t the last we’ll be seeing of him tonight,” I said. “Flo never stays out all night. I’m sure they’ll both be back at the hostel some time before the morning.”

“Hopefully not back in the dorm with the rest of us,” he said, and I shook my head in agreement.

“Fancy another?” Collin asked, nodding to my empty glass. I was grateful for the change in topic but undecided about another

drink. I tilted my head back and forth, debating. Another would make me comfortably drunk, but not too drunk that I’d be hungover.

Yet, anyway.

“One more,” I finally decided, holding up one finger in the air for effect. “Then I’m switching to club soda.”

“It’s a shame Flo isn’t here to keep you honest,” he said, snatching my empty glass from my hand and heading toward the bar

before I could protest.

By the time he made his way back to where I stood a new band had started their set, and the energy in the bar shot back up

to a ten. I turned my back to Collin and pretended to focus on the band, which turned out to be a mistake. His breath warmed

the back of my neck, and I found myself leaning back into him the way I had the night he braided my hair.

After another song or two, we finally bridged the gap, and it was even more intoxicating than another drink. The night was

slipping into dangerous territory, and I was an inch of contact away from losing my footing.

As the band played a slower song, Collin’s fingertips trailed my hip, slipping in and out of my belt loops. With every inhale his back pressed against mine, and I could feel the pattern of his breathing. Like mine, it was fast and erratic.

I leaned my head back against his shoulder, closing my eyes to heighten my other senses. I basked in the sound of the band

playing an Irish folk song and the crowd singing along, the lingering taste of gin on my tongue, the feeling of Collin’s fingers

now against my bare skin where my top met my jeans. My head spun, but in a way I wanted to savor.

“Chelsea,” Collin said in the quiet between songs, with his lips right against my ear. I sucked in a breath, equal parts excited

and terrified for what was coming next. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” I couldn’t manage anything beyond that sound.

“Are you hungry? Because I would kill for a cheeky bite right now.”

My breath rushed out of me like a gust of wind.

“Relieved, are ya?”

“Only because I’m starving,” I said.

“Not because you thought I might say something else?”

“Like what?” I challenged, turning to face him.

He shrugged by way of response and slung his arm over my shoulders, pointing us in the direction of the door. “I guess we’ll

have to see,” he said. “Come on. There’s a chippy around the corner that should still be open. We can get a takeaway and eat

it by the water.”

“What about Flo? We can’t just leave her.”

He wiggled his phone in the air. “She texted us in a group chat twenty minutes ago. Said she’ll meet us back at the hostel

later but not to wait up.”

“She did?” I said, fumbling in my bag for my phone. When I took it out, it flashed the dead battery icon instead of the home screen. Shit.

“I’ll keep my phone volume on high in case she needs us,” he said, sensing my apprehension about leaving a friend at the bar

with no way to contact her. “I’ve got her too. Not to worry.” He was becoming more attractive by the minute, and I needed

to get out into the fresh air before I caught fire.

Collin stepped ahead of me, taking my hand in his and leading me out of the bar. His hand was warm but not clammy, and I held

on tightly as we wove through the crowds.

The Temple Bar spit us outside into a much smaller throng of people crowded around barrels, smoking while they polished off

the last of their pints. Collin extended his arm to me and I slipped my hand under his elbow, letting him guide us through

the streets.

The chippy was just around the corner, and if he hadn’t pointed it out I never would have noticed it. It was nothing more

than a window with a red-and-white-striped awning, and the lights inside were so dim it looked closed. This did not stop Collin,

however, from greeting the single employee like an old friend.

While he ordered, I studied the block on either side of us. Young people dragged their drunken feet over the cobblestone;

fluorescent signs blinked over pubs and minimarts. Buses turned tight corners with tired passengers leaning their heads against

the windows. If I didn’t look in the direction of the river, I probably could have been convinced I was at home.

I used to be so certain I was only a city girl.

Even a few days ago, I’d probably say I would always be more comfortable in the city.

And eventually, in a suburb just a few minutes outside a city, where I would settle down for the rest of life.

But surprisingly, I preferred Galway to Dublin.

It was hard to hear myself think here, even after having left the bar, and I wondered if Boston would feel the same when I got home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Collin asked, passing me a cardboard boat of fish and chips. The scent of malt vinegar wafted into

my nose, making it impossible to resist popping a burning chip into my mouth.

While I chewed and contemplated what thoughts I was willing to share, I followed him to a spot on the ledge near the river

Liffey.

The midnight water churned below our feet, carrying reflections of light on its journey through Dublin. For a second, I longed

to be carried with them. To wind effortlessly on a dark path between the city and the country without having to decide which

direction I should be going.

“It’s not that different from Boston,” I said eventually. “Dublin, I mean. This bit of the city kind of looks like home.”

“I thought the same when I first arrived in Boston,” he said. We both let out a laugh that was more of an exhale. “But does

it feel like home?” he asked.

“Of course it doesn’t,” I said. “I still can’t figure out how to cross the street because of the traffic patterns, I miss

Whole Foods almost as much as I miss my bed, and my family isn’t here.”

“Well, your blood relatives aren’t here,” he said. “There’s an important distinction.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just that family doesn’t only have to be people who share your DNA, that’s all. There can be all kinds of families, really.”

“And let me guess, the Wanderer is one?”

“You don’t have to guess,” he said. “You already know.”

We both took a bite and stared back at the water, watching the ripples form and disappear beneath our feet.

“It’s easy for you to say,” I said. “Of course the Wanderer is your family. You’ve been there since, when? You were a teenager?”

“Time spent does not measure family, Chels.”

For a reason unbeknownst to me, tears welled behind my eyes. I tried to place the feeling, but it was slipping through my

fingers. It wasn’t quite homesickness. Nor was it anxiety about the future. I wasn’t sure they were sad tears at all.

“It’s just a different way of thinking,” Collin said in the silence, possibly in an attempt to assuage my emotional uprising.

“It’s not as serious as it is in the States. We’re guided more by feeling here than by logic. So it doesn’t matter if someone

is technically your family. It just matters if someone feels like your family. We let the heart lead the way.”

“Doesn’t that make things harder?”

“Nah, not in the slightest,” he said. I loved how his accent sounded any time he said a word with the letter h in it. “Much easier to trust your instincts. A bit of logic never did anyone any good, did it?”

“A bit of logic definitely does people some good.” I gave him a pointed look, refusing to believe he was suggesting we throw it entirely

to the wind.

“That’s what got ya here then, is it?” He smiled. “Logic?”

I nudged him with my shoulder, and we lapsed back into silence. Conversations of passersby floated over our heads. A young

couple kissed on the bridge nearby, and I averted my gaze for their privacy.

“Besides,” Collin continued eventually, “we don’t all have the luxury of having a home we want to go back to.

” I turned to face him and immediately wished it was lighter outside.

His expression was unreadable in the dull glow of dying streetlights.

“For some of us, the Wanderer is more stable than home ever was.”

“Are you one of those people?” I asked, though I knew the answer. Since he offered the information in the first place, I hoped

he wouldn’t mind if I asked about it.

“Aye,” he said. “I am. The Wanderer and its people have been there for me in ways my family hasn’t always been. My family’s

grand, I don’t mean to disparage them. Things just aren’t always the easiest with the blood relatives, you know? There aren’t

so many expectations with chosen family. More support, less disappointment, that kind of thing.”

“I can’t imagine you not living up to anyone’s expectations,” I said before the thought fully cleared my brain. He smiled

but kept his gaze out on the river.

“Because you’ve not met my family,” he said. “But enough about them. It’s just to say that the people you’re related to aren’t

necessarily where your home has to be. If you have enough love for each other, it shouldn’t matter where you are, so long

as you’re happy.”

He sounded like Ada, and it made my heart clench. I’d been so attached to the idea that to be happy I had to have the job,

apartment, and ten-year plan. I hadn’t even realized it was possible for my happiness to come first , not as a result.

“Come on,” Collin said before I could respond, wiping his hands on his pants and getting to his feet. “This night was supposed