Page 41 of An Irish Summer

the direction of his door, and I nodded in return.

I’d never seen the inside of his room, and it left me mildly surprised. It was immaculate, and the walls bore only a few faded

postcards from faraway places and a framed print of the first page of a book I didn’t recognize. The layout of our rooms was

almost the same, except his had a window seat that overlooked the courtyard.

I made my way to the window and leaned out, using the fresh air to steady my nerves. “It’s nice in here,” I said. “You keep it so neat.” I sat in the sill, bringing my knees up to my chest and leaning my head on the wall.

“After seeing my childhood home, I’m sure you can imagine why,” he said. “Too much clutter growing up. Niamh had more stuff

than the rest of us combined, so it was a proper treat to move away and have my own space.”

“You didn’t have a lot of that growing up?” I asked. “Space, I mean?”

“Unfortunately not,” he said, shaking his head. “How about yourself?”

“I had too much space when I think about it. No siblings, just me and my parents. Well, Ada, who is basically like a sister,

but no one else in the house. It was quiet.”

“Ah, that explains why it was so difficult for you to adjust to hostel life,” he said. I hadn’t thought about it like that

before, but he was right.

“And your upbringing explains why you like it so much, doesn’t it?” I was working through the realization aloud, but he didn’t

seem to mind. “You grew up in a house that was noisy and dynamic, and even though you wanted to get away from them, you didn’t

want to escape that lifestyle entirely?”

“Bang on,” he said. “Took me a while to admit that myself, if I’m honest.”

“Things like that are always easier to see from the outside.”

“By this point, Chels, I reckon you’re on the inside.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to take in exactly how it felt to be let in by Collin Finegan. He seemed so open

on the surface, but I was beginning to see layers beneath I knew weren’t on display for everyone.

“I’ve been dreaming of this since the first night you got here,” he said, pushing a curl behind my ear.

“You have not.” I smiled, wanting him to tell me it was true.

“I swear,” he said, crossing his heart. “I couldn’t take my eyes off ya, Chels. Really. And it only got worse the more I got

to know you.”

“And where do you stand now?” I asked, holding my breath while I waited for a response. There was no going back. I’d gotten

out of my own way, cleared a path, and now I had to see where it led.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he said. He put his drink on the desk and joined me at the window. I sat up straighter,

and he closed the gap between us. “But in case you don’t, I stand at a crossroads.” He ran his thumb over my jaw, letting

his hand linger on the back of my neck. “On one side of the road, I want to pull you into me and hold you close, and on the

other, I want to keep you at arm’s length because I know you’re going to take a part of me with you when you leave.” I wrapped

my fingers around his wrist, trying to memorize the feel of it in my hand, the feel of his hand on my neck, the feel of my

heart in my chest. “And on both sides,” he continued, “you’re the only thing I’ve thought about since the day you walked in

here. I’ve been falling in love with you since that moment in the hallway, and I know whether I pull you close or push you

away, nothing is going to change that.”

Time stopped. All summer we’d either been moving at a glacial pace or hurtling toward the end. But in this moment, I felt

the peace and chaos usually found in the eye of a storm. It was time I danced in the rain.

With words stuck in my throat, I answered in the next best way I knew how.

I put my hand in the same spot on the back of his neck and pulled his lips to mine, standing up to reach him.

In an instant he had me out of the windowsill and pinned against the wall, hungry kisses tracing a path from my jaw to my throat.

When I raked my hands through his hair, scratching his scalp with my nails, he turned me around and laid me on the bed beneath him.

If there was anything that mattered beyond these four walls, I had zero interest in it. For the first time all summer, it

was just me and Collin. And I was prepared to savor it.

I studied the weight of his body, the way he felt with our hips in line, the feel of his kisses as they dropped from my sternum

to my stomach and lower still. I studied the sounds that came from deep in his chest, the needy grasp of his hands, and the

map of ink across his skin. The more I studied, the more I knew he wouldn’t be the only one losing a piece of himself when

I left.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this,” he mumbled against my skin, his voice hoarse in the silence. “You feel

even better than I imagined.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the resident storyteller,” I teased, sucking in a sharp breath when he sat up and grabbed

his shirt between his shoulder blades, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. “Isn’t imagination your thing?” I let

my fingertips wander over his firm stomach, tracing their path with my gaze.

“Even I couldn’t dream of something that feels this good.” He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, stopping my hand in its

path. “Look at me,” he whispered, and I snapped my eyes to his before he could say anything else that would undo me, even

though looking at him did just that. Hair a mess, pupils blown, wet lips parted, inhaling ragged breaths. “You don’t know

how badly I want you, Chelsea.”

“So, show me,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

After another second of smoldering eye contact, his lips were back on mine, and every inch of me sought his touch.

I wanted to know his body better than I knew my own, starting with the rippling muscles in his back, down his toned arms and his ribs and the flexed muscles of his stomach, until I got to where he was pressed against me, both of us already breathless at the contact.

We moved together as if we had done this a thousand times before. There was no learning curve or awkward fumbling. We filled

the dark silence of the room with whispers of each other’s names, and we didn’t stop our wandering hands from wherever they

wanted to go. Every touch was more electric than the last, and the entire summer crumbled around us. And we crumbled with

it.

When he sat up and pulled me onto his lap, my legs wrapped around his back and our foreheads pressed against each other, I

was certain I’d never been so close to someone in my life. Any barriers between us, any walls I’d been focused on building,

were long gone. Even I couldn’t deny that I should have torn them down a long time ago. Despite our closeness, we pulled each

other tighter still, desperate to erase any semblance of separation. I ground my hips into his, matching his rhythm, threading

my fingers through the tangles of his hair. His moans were muffled against my collarbone, and I knew it would take my body

a lifetime to forget how that felt.

He leaned back, pulling me on top of him without missing a beat.

I pressed my lips to the sharp hinge of his jaw, relishing the way he pushed into me, harder from this angle.

I felt each thrust all the way through to my chest, and when I sat up and let my head fall back, I saw stars.

He raked his hands up my stomach, settling them firmly on my rib cage before pulling me back to him.

The pressure inside me continued to build with each low groan, until I was on the edge of losing all control.

His breath quickened as my legs started to shake, his fingers pressed hard enough into my hips to leave a bruise, and I wanted

us to finish just as badly as I didn’t. The night was passing in slow motion, and it still didn’t feel long enough.

“God, Chelsea,” he groaned at the exact moment a cry escaped my lips. I tried to keep my eyes open if only to watch the way

his rolled back, but it wasn’t long before I followed him into the dark.

I wasn’t sure how long it was before our breathing slowed and we returned to Earth.

Eventually I pulled his shirt on and settled against him. With my head on his chest, I traced the eucalyptus leaves I’d been

staring at all summer. I finally had answers. I knew how Collin’s skin felt under my fingers, how he looked without clothes,

what he sounded like in bed. And I knew I couldn’t forget any of it if I wanted to. But at that moment, I couldn’t imagine

ever wanting to.

“What’s this one?” I asked, running my fingers over a harp just below his ribs.

“That the harp there, is it?” His eyes were closed, and I was grateful I could stare undisturbed. I nodded against his chest,

and he continued. “Another fairy story,” he said, and I could hear his smile. “About the Harp of Dagda.”

“Go on,” I said.

“Dagda was one of the gods,” he began. “Protected his tribe, like. And he had a harp that played only for him. The music made people feel things, you know? Transformed them. Until there was a proper battle with another tribe, and they got a hold of the harp. But eventually Dadga did what he had to do, got it back, and played them to sleep, returning to his tribe having won the battle and guaranteed their freedom.”

“And the meaning of the tattoo?” I asked.

“Aye, telling the story is the easy part,” he said. “The tattoo is just, ah, like a reminder to be more like Dadga. To protect

people. To transform them, if I can.”

I sat up on my elbows to look at him. “You don’t sound as confident when you talk about yourself as you do when you tell the

stories.”

“Of course not,” he said, finally opening his eyes. “The stories are easy. Nothing personal, just a bit of Irish folklore.

Everyone can interpret them however they wish. Telling my own stories isn’t quite the same.”

“Do all the tattoos have a meaning like that?”

“Most,” he said. “The Irish are symbolic people.”

“So I’m learning.”

“And I’m chuffed, Chels. I really am. I’d have hated if you’d spent this entire summer here and not embraced the country at

all. It really is a beautiful place.”

“It is,” I agreed, dropping my head back to his chest and nestling back in the crook of his arm, “but I think I love the people

more.”

I could feel his smile against the top of my head. “Maybe you Americans aren’t so bad either.”

We drifted to sleep around sunrise, unable to hold off any longer. No matter how hard we tried to fight it, the morning was

bound to come eventually.