2. Finn
TWO
Finn
PAST
Rian
Gotta cancel tonight. Last-minute work trip, and I have an early flight. Enjoy your tour. Give all the grannies a kiss for me.
I stare down at the text and let out a sigh. The sound is deafening in my empty apartment as I try to think of something witty and upbeat to text back to my best friend.
Finn
Everyone knows grannies give the best tips.
Rian
Swindling old biddies out of their pocket change. How do you sleep at night?
Finn
With a grin on my face and a couple tenners in my pocket.
Rian
Like you need a couple extra tenners.
I roll my eyes.
Finn
You seem to have forgotten a few things while you’ve been abroad. I’m poor now, remember?
Rian
Not poor. Just temporarily lacking in funds. You’ll be living the high life again in no time.
Yeah, no thanks.
That’s what got me into this mess.
After nearly two years working a job I never thought I’d ever have, living in an apartment I never imagined I’d occupy, and seeing my friends jet set around the world as they live their dreams, I kind of just want to throw in the towel and say fuck it.
Fuck it all.
Would it be so bad if I just boarded a plane one day, jetted off to a foreign country, and never came back?
Yes. Yes, it would.
I let out another withered sigh and send a goodbye text to Rian, wishing him a safe flight…to wherever it is he is headed.
Despite the fact that this is not where I thought I’d be at twenty-five—or ever—it’s my reality, and I have no one to blame but myself. Growing up, there was never a question as to what I’d do with my life. My family owned a large company, and it was always assumed I would take over one day.
Eventually.
My father dedicated his life to that place, rarely coming home. I had no intention of rushing that bleak future into existence.
I admit I may have taken things a bit too far.
After numerous incidents where he paid off newspapers, a few clubs, and one very unsanctioned office party, he had had enough.
Until I learned some humility and could prove to him that I was worthy of the role I was meant to play, I was cut off. From him. From the money. All of it.
It’s been nearly two years. Two years in this crappy apartment, working a job I never thought I’d do. Two years of my life being broken down into one-week segments. It’s not the worst job a person could have, but it sure is a grueling one.
Six days and seven nights on a bus.
It’s called the Heritage Tour, and it takes forty or so tourists, mainly from America and Canada, around Ireland to visit some of our most popular destinations.
And you guessed it, I’m their tour guide.
I stare at the luggage I’ve already packed and shoved next to the door in anticipation of the late night I was planning with Rian. Now, it just looks sad, a pathetic reminder of how predictable my life has become.
Even my best friend—whom I haven’t seen in weeks—knows my mundane schedule. Meanwhile, Rian flies all over the world for his job.
Lucky fucking arsehole.
I stare at the luggage a second longer and then look down at my watch. It’s still early, and I don’t have to leave until tomorrow morning.
“Fuck it,” I say to the empty apartment.
I didn’t need Rian to have a good time, and God knows, this may be the last opportunity I will have to talk to someone my own age in a while.
Best enjoy it.
* * *
In Dublin, there are pubs for tourists and pubs for locals.
And then there are the pubs that fall somewhere in the middle.
The old Finn didn’t care about any of that and would, of course, only be seen at the trendiest, most exclusive places in the city.
Yeah, old Finn was kind of an arse.
Tonight, Rian and I had planned on going to a pub near Trinity, but it’s always a popular spot for alumni and students.
I don’t want to be around anything or anyone familiar tonight.
There isn’t a street or corner of Dublin that doesn’t feel familiar anymore, not after living here for so long. But it is large enough that I can still pretend to have some anonymity.
Or try to.
Walking past the college, tourists take photos of the limestone buildings, now only accessible to students. The gates will reopen in the morning, and the lines will queue so visitors can shuffle in to get a peek at a single page of the twelve-hundred-year-old book.
A single page, and you never know which one it will be.
The Book of Kells is Dublin’s version of the Mona Lisa .
Overhyped and underwhelming.
In a city this large and ancient, there are far more interesting things to discover with fewer crowds and an even cheaper price tag.
Christ, I really do sound like a tour guide.
I inwardly groan as I cross the street. A Canadian couple stops me at the corner and asks for directions to Temple Bar.
I don’t bother pointing out there are better pubs.
They’ll just ignore me and go there anyway.
When I first started working as a guide for O’Connell Tours, I had a mentor. His name was Seamus, and he was a retired history teacher from Kerry. He liked working for O’Connell because it allowed him to travel and share his love of history. This is a fairly common trait among most tour guides. I am the youngest by a few decades.
After a few days shadowing Seamus and seeing how he interacted with his guests, it didn’t take long for my youth and stubbornness to rear its ugly head. I was convinced I could not only do the job in my sleep, but I could do a far better job than Seamus.
It didn’t take long to realize just how wrong I was.
On my first solo trip, we were driving down the streets of Dublin, and a few people asked what they should visit during their free time. I promptly got on the microphone and told them what they shouldn’t visit—basically all the major spots—Dublin Castle, Book of Kells, and Temple Bar. Even the Guinness tour. I watched as all their faces fell one by one. I then gave them a list of some of my favorite spots—the Chester Beatty Library, St. Audoen’s Church, and my favorite parks throughout the city.
I called Seamus up that first night and explained what I’d done, and he just laughed, his old, rough voice filling my ear. “For some of these people, this is their one and only visit to Ireland. It may just be another day in the city for you, Dub, but for them, it’s a dream come true.”
Dub. He loved calling me that. Did he think, after living here my whole life, that he was the first one?
“So I’m crushing their dreams?” I scoffed as I sat alone in the cramped hotel room.
“A bit, lad, yeah. It’s their holiday.”
“All right, I understand. Leave them be.”
“Hold on to your suggestions, though. You’re always gonna have the adventurous ones or the repeat travelers, and those—those are the ones you want to wow with yer fancy opinions.”
I’ve been using his advice ever since. I am the supportive host who will happily drop off an entire coach of people at Blarney Castle, but if anyone wanted my honest opinion on kissing that stone, I’d tell them they were better off spending their time walking the ancient gardens.
All that hard work seems to be paying off. In less than a year, I have not only been the highest-rated host but also the most requested by repeat visitors. Seamus swears if it weren’t for my pretty face and all the flirting he insists I do, I’d be a lot worse off.
Arsehole.
Lost in thought, I barely remember what direction I was headed. I briefly glance up, go around the corner, and run headfirst into?—
“Shit!” Small hands reach out to steady me as I find myself staring down into two of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry,” she says, taking a step back. Her hands go with her, and I immediately feel the loss. The heat from my fingers feels like a brand on my shoulder. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m…lost.” The last word comes with a flush of the cheeks as I finally get a good look at her.
High cheekbones, pert, little nose, and a pouty pair of lips that would look great wrapped around my— shit . I can’t help it. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. She’s fucking stunning . Her hair is blond, but even in the darkness, I can see hints of ginger.
And her body?
I glance down and immediately wish I hadn’t because now it’s not just her lips I’m thinking indecent thoughts about. It’s the whole damn package. Perfect round tits and a killer arse that I’m sure will make an appearance in my dreams later.
“I, uh—” My voice sputters and dies like a car stalling in the middle of a country road. Talk, you eejit. “I’m local. Could I help you find something?”
She smiles, biting down on that plump bottom lip, and just like that, I’m mesmerized. “Maybe. If I knew what I was looking for.”
“You know, there is an Irish saying that you’re never truly lost—just searching for something.”
“I think you made that up.” She laughs, her eyes crinkling as she glances up at me.
Now it’s my turn to smile, and as I do, I watch her take me in. Her gaze sweeps over every inch of my large frame. She must like what she sees because when her eyes meet mine, her tongue flicks out, and she slowly licks her bottom lip.
Jesus.
Traveling in and out of town every other week has done a number on my sex life, and I refuse to mix business with pleasure when I’m on the road, so to say it’s been a while is an understatement.
That’s got to be what this is, then.
Just my body reacting to a pretty girl.
Nothing more.
“Might have,” I concede with a nonchalant shrug. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Aren’t being lost and searching for something the same thing?” Her brow raises in a flirtatious challenge.
“Are they?”
She opens her mouth to respond but then holds back. She seems to think it over for a moment before finally answering, “I guess not.” Her lips press together briefly before a shy smile spreads across her face. “Thanks for the wise words.”
She begins to walk away, and I feel my heartbeat quicken with each step she takes in the opposite direction.
“Wait,” I call out. “Don’t you need directions?” I sound almost desperate to keep her here.
She turns back to me, and I let out an audible breath.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Nope,” she answers with a triumphant smile. “Why would I need directions if I’m not lost?”
Fuck. I did tell her that, didn’t I?
“Okay, but still—” I backpedal. This part of Dublin is relatively safe, up until a certain time of night, but even so…
She must sense my anxiety because she lets out a laugh. “I’m a modern traveler,” she assures me, holding out her phone and waving it in front of me. “I have Google Maps.”
“Right, yeah. Good.”
Still feeling panicked but knowing I have no reason to keep her, I say, “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“You too,” she answers before disappearing around the corner.
“I’m not searching for anything—” I call after her. But she’s already gone, and I’m alone.
Again.