by Eliza Watson
“I can’t believe a soda costs three times what it does in a store,” I said.
“And that doesn’t include the service charge, which is generally ten percent here, much higher in the States. I did a meeting in Miami once.”
“It says we get a discount on prices.”
“Everything is negotiable when you contract a hotel.”
I popped the last Tayto into my mouth, peering down the one-way street. Coast clear, I stepped off the curb. Declan grabbed my arm and pulled me back against him as a double-decker bus zoomed past, a blur of yellow. Several onlookers let out startled gasps. I stood paralyzed, pressed against Declan’s chest, his heart thumping wildly against my back, in rhythm with mine.
“Jaysus,” he finally muttered, his lips warm against my ear. He curled his fingers into my arms, not letting go. “Look left, not right. Or look down, to be sure.” He gestured to the white writing on the road that read Look Left with an arrow reinforcing the direction.
I nodded faintly, swallowing the lump of panic in my throat. Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the woodsy, spicy scent of Declan’s cologne, a more calming scent than the hotel spa. He’d smelled like freshly fallen rain the other day. I took another deep breath, my shoulders relaxing, my heart rate slowing. My life had flashed before my eyes, the highlight Malahide Castle. How sad was that? I wasn’t ready to die. I had a ton more castles to visit.
“It’s okay to cross now.” Declan slowly released his grip on my arms.
My gaze darted left, right, left, right as I crossed the street. I shoved the BEOs into my purse, not wanting to be distracted and collide with a bus or a tourist wandering aimlessly.
Declan snapped my picture with a street performer dressed in an oversized leprechaun costume.
I tossed a euro in the coin-filled, green velvet top hat on the ground. “You should have kept that leprechaun outfit. There’s good money in it.”
Dressing like a leprechaun appeared much more lucrative than dressing like an elf.
Declan dropped a coin in an empty coffee cup on the ground next to an artist painting a sprawling historical building with large stone pillars and statues in front. A crush of people carrying backpacks and totes were coming and going through the building’s arched doorway, leading to a courtyard.
The guy gave Declan a surprised look. “Ah, thanks, mate.”
As we walked away, I said, “I don’t think he’s looking for money.”
“He needs it if he’s attending Trinity College. I was once a starving artist.”
“Did you go to school there?”
He shook his head. “Was never much into school.”
“Do you sell your artwork? Have a website I can check out?”
“Don’t draw anymore.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged, raking a hand through his hair, gazing off into space.
Why didn’t he want to discuss his art? If I had a natural talent for anything, I’d blab it to the world. I couldn’t imagine giving up a passion like art.
We passed by a shop window displaying cozy wool sweaters and scarves. “Can we pop in here? I need a scarf.” I’d left my ex while he was at work, and I’d packed my belongings in a mad frenzy, leaving behind my favorite scarf.
I turned back and entered the small shop with wool sweaters and ponchos stacked on tables and hanging on wall racks. I strolled down an aisle of scarves, Declan walking in front of me. Rather than checking out the scarves, I was checking out Declan’s butt. This was the first time I’d seen him out of black slacks and in a pair of jeans that showed off his butt. He had a great butt. I was also wearing jeans. Had he been checking out my butt? He stopped to look at a sweater, and my gaze darted to a table of fashion scarves, a bright blue one catching my eye. I massaged the soft mohair fabric between my fingers.
“Try it on,” Declan said.
It would make a serious dent in my souvenir budget. “I better stick with one of those fifteen-euro wool scarves.”
He draped the lightweight mohair scarf around my neck. Staring deep into my eyes, he held the ends of the scarf, his hands brushing against my breasts, causing all my senses to go on red alert. “The color is brilliant on you. You should buy it.”
“Kind of out of my budget,” I muttered.
Yet I didn’t take it off. I wasn’t sure if it was because I didn’t want Declan to remove his hands or because I desperately wanted the scarf.
He turned me toward a mirror, standing behind me, peering at us. “Buy it.” He strolled off.
Declan was a total charmer and likely just trying to make me feel good, but I agreed the scarf was flattering, bringing out the blue in my eyes. I hadn’t worn bright blue in a long time. My ex insisted it was a horrible color on me. More like it was my best color, but it’d been one more way for him to make me feel incompetent. That I didn’t even have the ability to properly dress myself.
I marched over to the salesclerk and handed her cash, using most of Dad’s fun money. My big splurge this trip.
A few blocks later, we encountered a two-story, glass-front store with an explosion of green souvenirs inside.
“Thought you might fancy another pair of leprechaun socks.” Declan wore a teasing grin.
“Ha-ha.”
We entered, and a guy handed me a green shopping basket. I thanked him, gazing around at sweatshirts, T-shirts, candy, jewelry, trinkets, and an entire wall dedicated to celebrating St. Paddy’s Day with boas, garters, flashing ties, you name it.
The song “Galway Girl” played through the store.
“I love this song,” I said. “I wonder if they have it on a CD.”
“Since P.S. I Love You came out, it’s on a lot of CDs.”
“My friend Ashley and I watched that movie a dozen times. I’ve never read the book.”
“Filming locations will be on our County Wicklow tour, no doubt.”
“Do you think we’ll get to go on the tour?”
“Of course—we’ll have to escort it to make sure nobody is attacked by a mad sheep.”
“Please tell me that’s never happened.”
He shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Declan offered to run and buy the office supplies and snacks. I didn’t argue, since it would take me hours to browse through the store. I debated a red-haired doll in a colorful step-dancing dress, but decided it wasn’t practical.
Rachel had once brought me back a set of stack dolls from Russia. They still sat in a row on my dresser. For weeks, I’d drifted off to sleep staring at them, imagining the rural village where she’d bought them. A quaint shop on a narrow, cobblestoned street, where a little old lady sat on a stool hand painting the dolls, a craft that had been passed down through generations of her family. I now realized that Rachel had likely bought them at a hotel gift shop or the airport. She traveled the world, but how much of it did she actually see, working eighteen-hour days?
A rack displayed pins with Irish surnames, including Coffey. I decided on one for myself, Mom, and Rachel. I checked my phone, but still no e-mail from Mom. I tossed a Coffey coaster, keychain, and magnet in my basket. All the items bore the Coffey family crest—a green shield with three gold goblets, and a suit-of-armor helmet, bordered with a green-and-gold swirly design. How cool, and very medieval, that my family had a coat of arms. I suddenly felt a common bond to everyone with the Coffey surname, living and dead.
Finding a CD with “Galway Girl” was no problem, except for the money. Outside of the few cheap surname trinkets, I needed to stick with necessities, like an umbrella with sheep on it and a green sweater on clearance for a steal. After carefully examining the sweater for flaws, I tossed it in my basket. I didn’t own one green piece of clothing. Being Irish, I needed some green in my wardrobe.
I was debating between a pair of undies with sheep and one with lips that read Póg Mo Thóin, when Declan walked up and said, “Kiss my arse.”
I gave him a baffled look, wondering where that comment had co
me from.
“That’s what Póg Mo Thóin means.”
“You know Gaelic?”
“We call it Irish, and I know a few choice words and phrases.” He gave me a sly grin.
“How did you shop so fast?”
“It’s been an hour.” He held up several plastic bags bursting with office supplies and snacks. A card dropped from his hand.
I picked it up and read it. As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction.
I smiled, handing him the card. “Profound.”
“It’s my sister Zoe’s birthday next week. It’s an inside joke. She once slid down a wooden banister at our grandparents’ and got a long sliver stuck in her arse. She almost had to go to the hospital to have it removed. She never lived that one down.”
“How old will she be?”
“Twenty-five. Four years younger than me.” He stared at the card, his smile fading. “If we hadn’t been talking about her last night, I’d probably have forgotten her birthday. Guess I’m an even worse feckin’ brother lately than I thought.” He gestured to the Póg Mo Thóin undies. “Those are brilliant.” He headed toward the checkout counter.
If Declan had guilt over being a bad brother and a bad grandson, having been gone when his grandma died, then why didn’t he go home more often?
I grabbed the sheep undies. I walked away, then turned around and snagged the Póg Mo Thóin pair. Not because they were Declan’s favorite, but I needed another pair. I left the store with under two hundred bucks left on my credit card, hoping that would last me until I got home.
“Fancy a pint?” Declan asked.
I could kill for a drink, but after my reaction to the way he’d stared into my eyes over the scarf, I was afraid to be alone with Declan, drinking on an empty stomach. Besides, I’d heard Gretchen ask him to meet for a drink. I was already on her shit list.
“That’s okay. Go meet Gretchen. I’m going to take a walk.”
“I’m not meeting Gretchen. She’d asked if I wanted to grab a pint later, but I didn’t agree to.”
“She already hates me. I don’t need her thinking you ditched her to have a drink with me. I don’t want to come between you two.”
Declan’s eyes widened. “You think I’m seeing Gretchen?” He looked seriously offended. “We had a one-night stand on a program last year, and it was a mistake. Too much Guinness.”
Okay, so he’d merely slept with her once. At least he thought it was a mistake. Yet I couldn’t help but think Declan likely had women in every city from Dublin to Dubai. Wait, was Dubai a city or a small country? I made a mental note to Google Dubai. Regardless, he undoubtedly had a lot of one-night stands on programs, which showed a serious lack of respect for women.
A guy would never disrespect me again.
“It was kind of a rough day. I’d just like to take a walk by myself.” I was directionally challenged, but I had a map, and someone could likely point me toward the hotel if needed.
“It’s dark out and—”
“I’m allowed out after dark. I can take care of myself.”
Declan snapped his mouth shut, holding his hands up in surrender.
Realizing my tone was sharper than I’d intended, I smiled. “I have a map. I’ll be fine. The streets are busy. Why don’t you meet up with your buddy from the pub the other night?” I was being nosey, fishing for the reason why he was avoiding that guy.
He shrugged off an uneasy look. “Maybe I will. Stick to the main streets, then. You’ve got my mobile number.” He strolled down the sidewalk, and I averted my gaze from his butt.
At the end of the block, I peered down a side street, recognizing the Temple Bar area. I headed down the cobblestoned street lined with colorful restaurants and pubs, bustling with people. I stopped in front of Daly’s pub, the location of our welcome dinner, a fiddle tune enticing me to go inside. I had never been in a bar by myself. When meeting friends, I always made sure I arrived a few minutes late so I wasn’t stuck waiting by myself.
A group of laughing girls headed inside, and loneliness consumed me. It’d been over a year since I’d had a girls’ night out. Ashley and I used to do Martini Mondays at a trendy downtown bar. We’d met weekly until I started dating my ex. Then it became once a month, once every other month…then never.
Grandma had sailed alone from Ireland to a strange land, her future unknown, and I couldn’t even go into a pub by myself?
I marched inside before I could chicken out. People were clapping and singing along to a lively tune about saying good-bye to Muirsheen Durkin. I wasn’t sure if that was a person or a place. Nobody noticed another tourist walking in, unlike a locals’ bar, where I’d have stood out. I was relieved not to recognize the bartenders, who wouldn’t know me as the Kildare Sausage. I slid up on a barstool, debating a Guinness or red wine. It had taken me a while to develop a taste for red wine. Maybe there was hope for Guinness.
I ordered a half-pint since I was down to twenty-three euros in cash.
Only a matter of minutes and a guy swooped in next to me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Despite being broke, I wasn’t in the mood to be hit on.
“Je ne parle pas anglais.” I smiled apologetically, pulling three college French semesters out of my butt. He gave me a confused and defeated look and headed on to his next victim.
I didn’t know anybody there, and they didn’t know me. I could be Monique Dubois, French socialite whose family owned a chain of poodle groomers. Or Sophie Bardot, notorious art forger whose forgeries hung in the unsuspecting, most stately homes in France. What better place to reinvent myself than a place where nobody knew me. I could be whoever I wanted to be.
I just had to figure out who that person was.
Chapter Thirteen
I only allowed myself one Guinness, not wanting to oversleep again and needing to find my way back to the hotel. Also, expensing alcohol wasn’t allowed unless it was with a meal, and I didn’t want to spend any of the remaining credit on my card for food. Thankfully, Declan had offered to expense our meals at the pub the other night.
Despite being a weeknight, the Temple Bar area was still packed with people coming and going and congregating outside pubs, smoking. I turned down a side street lit by streetlamps, with several couples on it. Partway down, the two couples ahead of me entered a building, and the couple across the street turned a corner. It suddenly didn’t seem as well lit, with only me and one other person a half block behind me. I stopped, debating heading back to the busier street, and the person behind me stopped.
What the hell?
Too afraid to turn around, I continued on, quickening my pace. Martha’s warning about my ex, and the crazed look in his eyes, flashed through my mind. He could easily have discovered I’d gone to Dublin. He probably had connections with Homeland Security and could track my passport. Or he’d merely followed me to the airport. Heart thumping frantically against my chest, I held my purse in front of me, blindly rifling through it for my pepper spray. Luckily, Mom had insisted I pack it, thanks to Aunt Dottie’s mugging.
At the corner, I made a sharp turn onto another dimly lit street, praying the person was a mugger and not my ex. How crazy was that? My breathing quickened, and I flattened myself against the side of the building, pepper spray raised, hoping he continued straight down the street. The steps drew nearer. He reached the corner and turned my way. I blasted him with pepper spray, then fled.
“Bloody hell! Feckin’ A, Caity!”
Instead of my ex screaming out my name, it was Declan.
I stopped and spun around. “Omigod! What the hell are you doing?” I marched back to him and dropped my souvenir-filled bags at my feet.
He was coughing and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Good thing your”—he sucked in some serious air, then coughed—“aim is shite and”—another cough—“hit more of my hair than my face.”
“I’m sorry, but I was scared shitless! I thought
you were a mugger or my ex!” The uncontrollable shaking in my body had found its way to my voice, and my heart was ready to explode.
“Jaysus. I’ve pissed off some women, but never have they sprayed me with that shite.” He attempted to clear the raspy sound from his throat. “What the hell did the wanker do to you?” He coughed. “And why would he be here?”
A warm tear slipped down my cheek, and I wiped away the moisture. I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip, stifling a sob.
Declan inhaled a ragged, calming breath, reining in his anger, obviously realizing how upset I was. He reached out to touch me, then snapped his hand back to catch a cough. “It’s okay. I’m grand, see?” He struggled to keep his eyes open and choked back a cough.
I wanted Declan to console me. To wrap me in a warm embrace and assure me everything would be okay. Not just about my ex but my job, my finances, my relationship with Rachel, my life. However, the pepper spray fumes were making my eyes water even from a distance. I pulled a bottled water from my purse and handed it to him.
“Mightn’t you have something stronger in there, like whiskey?”
I tried desperately to smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. He took a drink, then dropped his head back and poured water over his face, flushing out his eyes, blinking rapidly. He let out another cough.
“What if”—I choked down the lump in my throat—“you’re blind?”
“I’m not blind. Can see you as plain as ever, I can.”
“Why were you following me?”
He took the last sip of water and cleared his throat. “Rachel went mad that you didn’t return with me and told me to find you.”
I was furious Rachel had sent Declan out searching for me because she didn’t think I should be out alone after dark or was capable of finding my way back to the hotel.
Yet look at what had just happened!
“I was going pub to pub when you walked out of Daly’s a block ahead of me.” He coughed and swiped his hand under his nose. I didn’t have any tissues to give him. “You’ve made it very clear you can take care of yourself, so I was going to follow you to make sure you got back okay. When you started walking faster, I was about to call out to you, until you sprayed me with that shite.”