I’m kicking myself because I didn’t ask for her number or ask to see her again. All I can do is pray that she will call me for a ride. Most likely she won’t, though, and that will be that.
When my shift ends, I head away from City Centre toward the south side of town.
I pull up to my parents’ house, pop out of the car, trot up to the door, and leave the keys under the mat. I’m halfway back to the street when I hear my name.
It’s my mother, and she’s standing at the door, already dressed for bed. “Not even going to say hello?”
“I’ve got to get back. It’s Thursday night, Mam.”
“Right, I forgot.”
“I wish I could stay, but Dylan is expecting me.”
“It’s fine,” she says, but her frown says otherwise.
“Night, then,” I tell her.
“Eoghan,” she says, and I wind my way back up to the door.
“Any word?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. My dad hasn’t been in touch in three days.
She answers with a slight shake of her head and I kiss her on the cheek.
“Call me if he comes back tonight…and even if he doesn’t.”
“See you Sunday?”
“Of course. Although I’ll be back for the car if he doesn’t show.”
“He probably won’t. Pray it’s a peaceful night, will ya?”
“I always do, Mam.”
“God be with ya,” she calls in the distance, but I’m already halfway down the road, heading back toward City Centre.
The walk gives me a chance to think about the California lass that I’ll probably never see again.
Julie
After a quick shower and a cup of black tea I power chug for energy, I rush downstairs to meet up with Aiden, who’s been waiting for me. I find him at the hotel bar chatting with a beautiful bartender. She takes his glass and fills it again with some type of hard liquor and they exchange smiles when she returns it. He’s a charmer, that one. We’ve only been out to restaurants for work a couple of times since I met him earlier this year, but each time I’ve seen him flirt with the waitstaff or the hostess.
“Hi,” I say, and climb up on the chair next to him.
“Hi. You look well.”
“Thanks, I feel better. That’s a tough flight.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he says, and his words imply a lot. The higher you climb the company ladder, the more you travel. Aiden travels a lot.
The bartender stands in front of me. “Can I get you something?” She doesn’t seem quite as pleased to serve me as she did Aiden.
“Whatever he’s having,” I answer, deciding that would be easier than picking out the right type of drink.
“Jameson,” she says, and pats the bar before turning and going to work on it.
“Whiskey?” I ask Aiden, a little unsure.
“That’s right. The Jameson distillery isn’t far from here. You should take the tour. For the price of admission, you get to try quite a bit of it.”
“That’s cool, I’ll have to remember that.”
The bartender hands me my glass and I take a cautious sip. It’s my first time drinking something like that, but my undergrad years of doing tequila shots and whiskey sours come in handy. It’s smooth, but there’s a definite burn. Ouf.
“Shall we have dinner here?” he asks. “I need to get home for a conference call with the Americans later.”
“I’m one of the Americans,” I note with a smile.
“Not anymore. You’re on Team Ireland now.”
“I’m happy to be on Team Ireland,” I say, and raise my glass to him.
He clinks his glass to mine. “We’re happy to have you.”
We move to a nearby table that’s dimly lit with a floating candle centerpiece. The same bartender serves as our waitress and takes our order. I take a chance on the seafood chowder with soda bread, because nothing is more Irish than that, along with a glass of wine, and he gets a steak.
“Did HR send over a lists of rentals?” he asks.
“Yes, they did, thank you. I’ve got a few appointments set up to go check them out.”
“That’s good to hear. Anything sticking out to you yet?”
“Well, it kind of concerned me. They are all on the outskirts of town, or in Ballycoom. I was hoping for something a little bit closer to City Centre.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I assume they based it on the budget you provided them.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply, dismayed. I really want to be in the city near restaurants and shops.
“Perhaps a flatmate?”
“Perhaps.” My best friend Cara comes to mind and the thought of not living with her anymore is painful. I miss that girl so much. She was pretty much the best roommate ever. No one could compare. Maybe I should consider it, though. It’s not like Cara and I are ever going to be roommates again, since her boyfriend Reid moved to San Diego to be with her.
I sigh at their happy ending, and wonder if I’ll ever get my own someday. I glance over at Aiden as he carefully cuts into his steak. He’s the type of guy I should go for. He has a nice smile that could sell anybody anything. He’s also decently tall and lean, and wears the nicest clothes. He’s sharp and quite a catch, but alas, he is not for me. I’m only interested in a professional relationship with him.
The bartender is back with the sparkling water Aiden requested, along with her phone number on a cocktail napkin. She’s trying to be sly about it, but it’s completely obvious. Same goes for him. He glances up at her and smiles, before folding it and discreetly putting it in his jacket pocket. I find it a little funny that he’s trying to hide this from me, since it’s none of my business.
The moment passes and we pick up where we left off, talking about the next steps of building our support team and how the next week or so will play out. I’m excited to get started.
“What’s the Cork office like?” I ask.
“It’s much smaller than the San Diego office, which is a blessing and a curse.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s a blessing because it means we’re tight knit and comfortable with each other. It’s a curse because there can be a lot of gossip. So watch out for that.”
“Okay, good to know,” I reply, and take his warning seriously. Who wants to be the subject of office gossip? Definitely not me. I’ll have to watch my back. “How’s morale?”
“Not bad, actually. The lads in tier one used to have a problem with everyone, but some new leadership really helped pull them out of that. Many of them now play on CloudSoft’s soccer team in the city league. Although the team is absolute shite.”
“Soccer? Don’t you call it football?”
“Not in Ireland. Football here is Gaelic Football, sort of like rugby to you.”
“But I didn’t think anything was Gaelic here? At least that’s what Eoghan implied.”
“Who’s Eoghan?” he asks with a curious face, as if he has just a shadow of a memory of the man he just met.
“My taxi driver.”
“Right. You got on with him quite well.”
“Truthfully, we barely talked, but he did tell me that the language is called Irish, not Gaelic.”
“Either works,” Aiden says, and leaves it at that.
“So, should I come in to the office tomorrow?” It’s a Thursday night and I’m not sure if he expects me there tomorrow or Monday.
He chews and swallows his food while he thinks about it. “It depends on how you’re feeling. The jet lag is coming for you one way or another, probably.”
I take some of my soda bread and soak up the remaining soup in my bowl. Gosh, that’s delicious. “Okay, I’ll play it by ear.”
“You don’t have to work, but you could come by to look around. It might make Monday easier.”
“Good idea,” I reply, and his face goes a little blurry. The whiskey and the wine have gone to my head and I’m even more tired. I really need to get to
bed.
“Dessert?” Aiden asks.
I shake my head no and yawn. “I don’t think I can make it much longer.”
He gazes at me with a serious expression. In slow motion, he reaches out and sweeps some of my hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek. “Yes, you look exhausted. Let me pay the bill.”
Whoa.
That was quite personal.
My only response is a small nod. I don’t know what to think about his gesture. Maybe it’s cultural and not uncommon for people to touch each other like that. For some reason, Eoghan pops into my head and the way he held my hand when we introduced ourselves to each other. It had been a kind, non-threatening gesture. It felt safe. Is this the same? As I contemplate all of that, Aiden is over at the bar, chatting with the bartender while he pays. I stand up and have a little bit of trouble keeping my balance. Oh lord, I’m buzzed. Maybe the alcohol has altered my perception of Aiden’s touch. Maybe it was more friendly than flirty. There are a lot of maybes floating around in my booze-addled brain.
He leaves her behind and walks back my way. In a completely confident manner, he places his hand on my lower back and guides me out of the bar. All I can feel and all I can think about is his hand there. It’s a miracle I don’t trip over my own feet.
We walk directly to the elevators and he presses the up button on my behalf. At least I hope he’s pressing it just for me. I try to figure out what I will do if he wants to come upstairs with me. I know I should definitely turn him down, but I don’t want to offend him by making an assumption that he has ulterior motives. It’s all so confusing thanks to the drinks and the transatlantic flight.
I search his eyes for some sort of signal of what’s about to happen, but they don’t reveal much. He’s got an exceptional poker face. The elevator arrives and those on board start to exit.
“Thanks for dinner, Aiden, and for all of this,” I tell him.
He waves off my gratitude. “See you tomorrow.”
I exhale a heavy breath of relief, because there won’t be an awkward moment tonight.
Or so I thought. He leans over and pecks my cheek with what I expect to be a quick kiss, but ends up lingering a bit. I swallow hard and he squeezes my shoulder before walking off.
I get into the elevator so totally flustered I can’t remember what floor number I need to press. Feeling hot and dizzy, I lean back against the railing and twist my hair up and off my neck. I take a big breath and try to focus. Finally, I remember that I’m staying on the top floor at the beginning of the hall.
When I get into my room, I flop on the bed and kick off my flats.
“What was that?” I ask out loud.
My mind reels from what happened with Aiden. The hair tuck, the cheek kiss, the shoulder squeeze. Add on the fact that he’s my boss and he got another woman’s phone number while we enjoyed a candlelit meal together, and I am totally baffled.
I convince myself that it has to be a European thing, especially the cheek kiss. And if it’s more than that, I need to shut it down. He warned me that the office has a gossip problem and this is the exact thing I need to avoid. I would be humiliated if people thought I moved to Ireland because of him, or worse yet, that I was promoted because of an affair and not my own merit.
I throw my arm over my eyes in frustration.
Aiden Fucking Kelly.
It Tastes Nutritious
Julie
My cell phone vibrates harshly against the nightstand. It’s my alarm.
What the efffff?
The room’s completely dark. It’s got to be only two in the morning. Clearly, I set it wrong, somehow. Just before dropping my head back down to my pillow, my eye catches the actual clock next to my bed. In electric blue, it reads 9:01.
I rub my eyes and remember I’m in Ireland, but it certainly doesn’t feel like morning.
Somehow, I manage to get myself out of bed and shuffle over to the window. Daylight stings my eyes as I peek through the curtains. Youch. There are people out on the streets and lots of cars. The city is awake. It’s not the middle of the night, by any stretch.
As tempting as it is to fall back asleep, I really want to get used to my new time zone. Plus, I’ve got things to do, like visit CloudSoft.
After a long hot shower, I sadly set aside the sweats I’d love to slip on and put on some dark denim skinny jeans. For a top, I go with a white blouse, with a lightweight burgundy sweater over it. I finish the outfit off with some black open-toe flats and a chunky white and cream necklace. Even though I’m not technically working, I want to dress to impress when I go into the office.
My most immediate goal is to get some coffee in me, so I grab my purse, my camera bag, and head downstairs for breakfast. I attack my food like it’s been days since my last meal. Once I’m completely stuffed and caffeinated, I hit the streets of Cork to walk off breakfast and snap some photos.
The hotel I’m staying at is on the western side of town, along the River Lee. The Maps app on my phone says that City Centre, or an lár—as it says in Irish—is to my east, so that’s exactly where I head. There are tons of tourists, shoppers, teenagers, and old folks. I’m in the real heart of the city.
There are taxis everywhere I turn and I can’t help but keep an eye out for Eoghan. I don’t know what I would do if I actually saw him, but it’s nice to imagine bumping into him again.
The smaller side streets are charming. They’re narrow and packed with old and new boutiques, hipster coffee spots, snazzy restaurants, and the pubs you always imagine in Ireland. All the little details inspire me and I try my best to capture it with my camera. Like the brass door knockers, and the green and orange flags strung across the road from shop to shop. The clock in front of Keane’s on Oliver Plunkett Street is especially eye catching, and I snap about ten photos of it.
Through the lens of my camera, I see a pub that sticks out to me. It’s called Murrough’s. I lower my camera and take a closer look. I wonder if Eoghan’s family owns it or if Murrough is just as common as Kelly around here. Probably, but I’m drawn to it anyway. I walk across the street to the front of the pub. It has a nice location with two doors facing the corner. There’s a food menu on one side of the doors and a music lineup on the other.
Live music. Cool.
It doesn’t take any more for me to take a chance on Murrough’s and enter through the double doors. It’s the quintessential Irish pub, just as I’d hoped. Dark wooden tables and chairs, velvet benches along the walls, scuffed-up floors, and a big bar with a brass foot rail. It smells like whiskey and wood polish. There’s a small stage off in one corner where the live acts probably perform. The one thing it doesn’t have, but I expected it to, is music over a speaker system. I suppose they just rely on the real thing, which is cool with me.
There’s a lunch service happening and quite a few people are partaking. Some are tourists, others are locals on their lunch break. My favorites are the few older men that I assume are regulars, gabbing away over a pint.
I take a seat at a high table and pack my camera away in its bag.
A slight blonde woman approaches me. She’s about my age and wearing an apron around her waist.
“Lunch is in the back,” she says, and points with her thumb over her shoulder. “Can I get you a drink?”
Feeling in the spirit of things, I answer, “How about a pint of Guinness?”
She flashes me a quick smile and walks off to the bar to tell a good-looking guy my order. He fills a pint glass about five-eighths of the way with Guinness and then sets it on the bar. I expect her to bring it right over, but she doesn’t. Instead they talk to each other for a couple of minutes before he puts it back under the tap and finishes filling it. She finally picks it up and brings it my way.
“One pint of Guinness,” she says, and places it on a coaster.
“Thanks. What’s for lunch?”
“Fish and chips, lasagna and chips, cottage pie. Go for the lasagna.”
“Lasagna? In an Iris
h pub?”
“It’s good,” she assures me, and goes right back to the bartender. They’ve got a good rapport and he has a twinkle in his eye for her. Good for them. They’d make quite a pair. He’s blond too, although his is darker, and he’s got fantastic arms, probably from rolling kegs and serving drinks for a living.
I take my first sip of Guinness and it is by far, without a doubt, one of the best beers I have ever tried. Granted, I’m not a huge beer drinker, but something about how smooth it is and the subtle flavor floors me. It’s full of goodness. It tastes nutritious, which baffles me. I take a longer drink until I’ve put quite a dent in it.
Sure enough, the waitress was right about the lasagna. It’s really good. Like surprisingly so. It comes with a big side of fries…err chips, as they call them. Lasagna and fries. Seriously?
My work email keeps me occupied as I eat. All the while, the pub doors swing open and closed as customers came and go. Since my back is to the door, I barely notice. That is, until the bartender says, “What’s the story, Eoghan?” in the direction of the double doors.
No. It can’t be. It couldn’t possibly be. I pause, mid-bite, and sneak a peek over my shoulder at the man that walks across the pub. It totally is.
Eoghan stops dead in his tracks when he sees me and I put my fork down. He tilts his head and the corners of his lips turn up. As he walks my way, I say a quick little prayer that he doesn’t think I’m a crazy stalker. He looks smoking hot, wearing a black t-shirt that says Keep Calm, It’ll Be Grand, dark jeans, and boots.
“Juliana?” he asks, as his eyes lock on to mine.
Eoghan
“Julie,” she tries to correct me, but I like Juliana better. She looks away and then back at me. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you again.”
“What are you doing here? Did you lose my number?” A whole slew of scenarios cross my mind about how she ended up here. The furthest thing from my mind is that it’s a coincidence. My greatest hope is that she wanted to see me again as much I wanted to see her. And it must be said that seeing her again is exhilarating. I didn’t think she could be prettier than the first time I saw her, but she cleans up quite well. White is a lovely color on her.
Pull At My Heart Page 2