Page 8 of An Irish Summer

leather string bracelets and, for a second, I wondered where they came from. “Go on,” he said, glancing from my eyes to the

glass and back again. “Give it a go.”

“I know what a Guinness tastes like,” I said, not fully ready to admit I was out of my depth here.

“You’ve had one in Ireland, then?” he said.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then you’ve no idea what a Guinness tastes like.”

I narrowed my eyes, and he did the same. It was a standoff, and I was fighting uphill. I tried not to notice his gaze travel

to my lips as I sipped the beer, but the way his eyes lingered made it impossible to ignore. Ada would have loved this.

“It’s fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Of all the things I thought you’d be,” he said, running his tongue over his teeth, “I didn’t have you pegged for a liar.”

I hated the way my stomach buzzed at the thought of him having thoughts about me. And he was right. I was a liar.

“Do you always go around making these accusations about your coworkers?”

“Well, it’s not every day they come into my bar and lie to my face, now, is it, Lars?” Collin looked to Lars for support,

who repeated his earlier hand gesture.

“Leave me out of this one, mate,” Lars said. “I’ve been here long enough to know not to mess with anyone disparaging the black

stuff.”

“Clever bloke,” Collin said, nodding in his direction. “You might learn a thing from him too while you’re at it.”

“More than I’ll learn from you, I suppose,” I said.

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” Lars said, going back on his word.

“Fine,” I said, reaching the end of my rope. “It was surprising.” Collin crossed his arms over his chest, raising his brows

in a way that urged me to continue. “It was lighter than I thought it would be. And less bitter.” That was all I would give

him. I would never tell him I actually liked it.

“I think a lot of things are going to surprise you about Ireland, Chelsea,” he said, going back to cleaning glasses, apparently

satisfied with the ending of our Guinness debacle.

“Don’t you have other customers to bother?” I asked, sharply. I’d heard that line enough from everyone in Boston, so I definitely

didn’t need to hear it from him. We both looked over his shoulder to see a small group forming at the other end of the bar,

undoubtedly waiting for his attention.

“I got ’em,” Lars said, sliding off his stool and heading behind the bar. He really wasn’t kidding when he said they picked

up each other’s slack. How did he still have the energy for work?

“We’re done here, anyway,” I said.

“We...” Collin started, replacing Lars on the stool beside me, “are just getting started.”

My breath caught in my throat. Had Lars and I been sitting this close? Collin was thin and angular, but his presence so close

to me was overbearing. I risked spinning my stool to face him, not quite sure what I was getting myself into but unwilling

to back down.

“You like telling people what to do, huh?” I asked, sizing him up.

He wore a plain white T-shirt with surprisingly few wrinkles and a pair of tan jeans, cuffed at the ankles.

When he rested one of those ankles across his knee I caught a glimpse of more faded black ink, and for a torturous second I allowed myself to imagine the rest of his tattoos.

The rest of his body. What it might look like under all the earth tones.

What was I doing? I came here for a job and a place to live, not to flirt with some arrogant tour-guide-bartender-farmer-handyman

who seemed determined to make decisions for me.

“Only with their best interest in mind,” he said, answering the question I’d forgotten I’d asked. “Part of the territory as

the resident tour guide. Though usually when I give advice, people accept it. Especially out-of-towners. You might look Irish

with that red hair of yours, but that Boston accent isn’t fooling anybody.” He smiled at my surprise, leaning back on the

stool, and sipping a beer of his own.

“How’d you recognize the accent?”

“Been around it quite a bit. I spent a summer there myself, years ago. Lori’s sister, Helen, has a bed-and-breakfast with

her husband. Did some seasonal work for them in 2017, the first summer they opened.”

Guinness nearly shot from my nose.

“That’s where I used to work!” I said, clearing my throat before my enthusiasm got the better of me. “I started there that

fall. I can’t believe you know Helen and Jack.”

“I can’t believe we missed each other,” he said, eyes glinting. “To think we could have met years ago.”

“Ah, yes. My summer after college was really missing a nosy tour guide intent on disrupting strangers trying to have a peaceful

drink after a long day.”

“Ouch,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest for effect. With his fingers splayed wide, his hands looked twice the size they did when he was pulling the pints. “Besides, we’re hardly strangers.”

“We don’t know anything about each other.”

“So, tell me something about yourself.” He smiled, and I knew I walked right into that.

“Hmm.” I pretended to think. “Oh, I have something good,” I said. “A fun fact: I’m exhausted. And I would very much like to

pay for this pint, go back to the hostel, take a long shower, and go directly to sleep.”

Collin laughed, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a slow sip, wholly undeterred by my attitude. “Tell me something

real and I won’t even charge ya for the pint.”

“Fine,” I conceded, figuring it might get me out of there quicker than arguing. “What is it you so desperately need to know?”

Apparently, the single pint was getting to my head.

“Why don’t you like it here?” he asked, any trace of jest gone from his tone.

“What?” I asked, though I heard him loud and clear. “I do like it here. What makes you think I don’t? I mean, it’s new to

me, obviously, but I don’t dislike it.” My rambling betrayed me. I didn’t want to offend anyone, but I was a terrible liar.

“Aye, Chelsea, I’ve seen you around today. You’ve been looking ready to leg it since you got out of bed.”

I didn’t need a translation here. He sounded surprisingly hurt by this, as if my not liking Ireland was a personal attack.

“It’s only been one day,” I said by way of excuses. “And it was long and I’m jet-lagged and trying to catch up, that’s all.”

“It’s just usually most people show up in Galway for the summer bright-eyed and ready to jump right into the craic, you know? See what Ireland has to offer. And you seem intent on avoiding the craic at all costs, if I’m honest.”

“Have you yet to figure out I’m not most people?”

“Oh, lass. That much I’ve known since you walked in the door.”

A flush spread over my chest, and I hoped he didn’t notice. “Really?” I raised an eyebrow, secretly nervous about where he

might be going but trying not to show it.

“Course,” he said, taking a long swig. “You’ve got an edge to ya. And that’s not to say I don’t like it.” Another sip. “And

don’t even get me started on how you look.” He dragged his eyes over the length of my body, making no attempt to hide the

desire behind his gaze.

On cue, Lars wandered over and refilled both pints. My mouth was a desert, and I was desperate for a little liquid courage.

The one was no longer going to cut it, and I needed something to do with my mouth that wasn’t opening and closing it while

searching for something to say.

“Make a deal with me,” he said suddenly when I failed to respond, no longer concerned about his initial question.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you aren’t totally thick, and you might want to actually enjoy yourself this summer.”

I took another swig, staring him down. “Tell me what it is before I agree.”

“Let me show you the country,” he said. “Properly. I know you don’t seem to think Ireland is much of anything. But, if you’re

willing to see it, I mean really see it, it’ll continue to surprise you. In all the best ways. Hell, it still surprises me,

and I’ve lived on the west coast my entire life.” His voice changed when he talked about the country and I couldn’t pinpoint

exactly why, but it made me nostalgic.

“So, what?” I asked. “Like a day trip, see the sights, hit all the highlights, come back here?”

His laugh was low, and it rumbled through me like distant thunder. “One day is hardly going to cut it, and the highlights

aren’t what you think they are. We’ll take our time. See it little by little. We have the whole summer, after all. And by

the end, I guarantee you won’t want to leave.”

The daunting length of the season stretched out before me. Whereas I’d previously been hoping it would pass in the blink of

an eye, I was beginning to realize it would do the opposite. That’s how time seemed to work here.

“I’m not so sure about that last part,” I said, confident in at least that much. There was no chance I didn’t go right back

to Boston as soon as I had the opportunity.

“I’m just asking you to trust me,” he said. “That’s all. And to give Ireland a chance. I promise, she’ll be good to you.”

I was stuck here anyway, until I could find a way to get myself out. Trying to enjoy it might not be the worst thing. It didn’t

mean I’d stop actively trying to leave, but it might lower my cortisol levels a little, which definitely wouldn’t hurt. Besides,

even I wasn’t stubborn enough to deny a proposal like that, from a man who looked like this.

“And you’re sure this isn’t just a chance to get more business as a tour guide? Boost your reviews, make a few tips? Surely,

there’s something in it for you.” I couldn’t resist one last opportunity to rib him and I was missing the levity that had

disappeared from this conversation.

“It’s on the house.” He smiled. “Staff get to use all the amenities the Wanderer has to offer, for free. The only thing in

it for me is the joy of sharing my love for this country. And the fact that I’ll get to prove you wrong, of course.”

“We’ll see about that.” By this point in the conversation, we were wearing matching smirks, and I hoped Lars wasn’t listening.

“Whatever you’re worried about, Chelsea, let it go. I’ve got you.” To him, it may have been a throwaway comment, but to me,

it was a rock at the base of my throat. A warm current just under my skin. Three words so unexpectedly intimate all I could

do was nod.

“So, do we have ourselves a deal?” He extended his hand, and I narrowed my eyes before I shook it. “Say yes, Chelsea,” he

said, dropping his volume so only I could hear. The depth of his voice vibrated in the space between us, and even if I hadn’t

planned on agreeing before, those words might have been able to change my mind.

“We do.”

He beamed, and it was almost impossible not to do the same. Whatever it was about him that got under my skin the way it did

should have been a warning sign. A waving red flag, a blaring alarm, something that sent me running in the opposite direction.

Instead, it was pulling me in headfirst.

Our handshake lingered just long enough for the heat of his hand to make its way through my body, and I hadn’t the slightest

clue what I’d just gotten myself into.