8. Aisling
EIGHT
Aisling
PAST
“There is not enough coffee in the world for this,” I grumble as my mother laughs. It’s barely eight in the morning, and she is the walking, talking epitome of sunshine. It’s disgusting and, frankly, just downright rude. Where does she get the energy from? Aren’t you supposed to slow down with age?
“Still not a morning person, I see.”
I shoot her a dirty look as we step out of the hotel. The smell of the ocean helps alleviate the sourness of my mood for a millisecond, but then I’m struck by the sight of him.
Finn, the fucking tour guide.
Of course, Finn is a morning person. He looks rested and refreshed, as if he just had the best damn night’s sleep of his life. Meanwhile, I probably resemble something closer to a trash panda, with dark circles framing my face and bloodshot eyes. I tossed and turned for hours last night because my overactive brain decided that two in the morning was a perfect time to keep me awake while I figured out what I was supposed to do with the stack of wedding presents sitting on my kitchen island that had arrived before I left.
Send them to Theo. Let him deal with them.
Joke’s on me for being an organized bride and deciding to send the save-the-date cards so early.
Apparently, not everyone had gotten the news.
“We’re on vacation,” I explain to her as we head toward the bus, wishing I had opted for that second cup of coffee with breakfast. “I don’t see why we can’t start our days a tad bit later.”
“We have lots to do.” She smiles, placing a reassuring hand on my back. “You didn’t come all the way to Ireland to sleep.”
I didn’t come to Ireland not to sleep, I want to say, but I decide to let it go. We step into the small queue that has gathered to board the bus, and I immediately hear that Irish accent that I loathe. Want to loathe? Should loathe? Dammit. Does his voice have to sound so damn hot?
Fucking Finn.
Yesterday, he spent the entire information session ignoring me, and then… and then when we all gathered in the hotel restaurant for our first official group dinner, he waltzed, scanned the room, and when he saw me, he chose a seat on the opposite side of the room.
Like I had the fucking plague.
I get that it’s a bit of an awkward situation, but it’s not like we slept together. We flirted for like a nanosecond. Does he have to be such an ass about it?
As we approach the front of the line, I notice Finn helping an older woman on the bus.
“Need help, Larkin,” a voice calls out from inside.
“I think we’ve got it handled, Collin. Don’t we, Ms. Carroll?” His eyes sparkle as he gazes down at the silver-haired lady.
“Yes, dear. Thank you.” She pats his hand as she clears the last step, and he jogs back down, his agile body making it look effortless.
“Good morning to you, Paul and Tina. Sleep well, did you?” He greets the couple in front of us.
Does he know everyone’s name? It’s been barely twelve hours. I can’t decide if that’s impressive or unsettling. I’m leaning toward the latter because I’m mad at him, and he doesn’t deserve any more accolades this morning.
“Ms. Farrell.” My eyes jerk up only to realize he’s addressing my mother. Of course, he is.
“Call me Deidre, please.” She grins from ear to ear.
“Can I give you a hand?” he offers, already holding out his large hand to her.
My mom is spry for her age. She walks several miles a day when she’s home and participates in charity walks during February for breast cancer awareness. She needs assistance on that bus about as much as I do.
“Absolutely!” She practically jumps at him.
I’m starting to wonder if that small crush I had on Finn has rubbed off on my mother. That, or she’s doing some serious meddling. He takes her hand and leads her to the couch as I fold my arms across my chest. When he returns, our eyes meet, and his steps falter.
“Aisling,” he simply says. Oh, so apparently, he can see me.
I roll my eyes and push past him, joining my mother, who’s already settled about four rows back. We have assigned seating that rotates daily to give each of us a chance to sit closer to the front. At first, I didn’t understand why—like, don’t all the cool kids hang out in the back of the bus? My mom explained that the front seat—or the hot seat, as she likes to call it—offers pretty incredible views, especially when we get out to the countryside.
As the last guest settles in and Finn boards, taking the seat directly behind the driver, all I notice is how close the hot seat is to our hot tour guide and how incredibly cramped the bus suddenly feels.
* * *
Today is our only day in Dublin.
We spend a decent portion of it on the bus, as Finn gives us our own private tour of the city.
Two solid hours of Finn’s lilting voice over the loudspeaker. It feels like my worst nightmare and my secret fantasy, all rolled into one. Add in the fact that he’s really damn good at his job, and I kind of just want to punch him right in his stupid, handsome face.
As we move through the city, he points out historical landmarks, major and minor. I can decipher the difference because my mom’s face lights up every time she learns of a new one. He tells fascinating stories to accompany each one and flawlessly weaves in tiny facets about himself in the process.
Things I learned about Finn, the tour guide, this morning: he’s a Dublin native who speaks three fucking languages—English, French, and Irish. All fluently. Of fucking course. He’s a graduate of Trinity, or “Trinny,” as the locals like to call it. He’s a rugby player and must be decent because he mentions playing in college.
“You a football fan?” one of the guys calls out from the back of the bus.
Finn grins and tilts his head back to the mic. “It depends on what kind of football you mean. In Ireland, there’s only one.”
My stomach clenches.
I look out the window, wishing I could unlock it and crawl right out.
“Any predictions on the World Cup?”
My mom’s hand wraps around mine, and I fight the urge to pull it away. I know she’s trying to be supportive, but it feels stifling.
I came here to escape my old life. I should have realized that traveling to Europe, the epicenter of soccer, would be a bad place to do it.
I tear my gaze from the window and meet Finn’s intense stare. Concern lingers in the creases of his brow before he shifts his focus back to the sports fan in the back.
“I, uh,” he stutters. “I don’t follow it enough to make those kinds of guesses—rugby is my first love. But I’m always hoping Ireland will see some action.”
He looks back at me briefly before pulling the mic back up to his mouth. “Have you ever heard of hurling in America?”
And just like that, we’ve moved off the subject of soccer, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
* * *
St. Patrick’s Cathedral is stunning.
The sunny weather that Ireland is offering today only adds to its beauty. As I sit on the grassy lawn, gazing up at it while enjoying an ice cream cone, I’m feeling pretty damn content.
My tiredness from the morning has faded, the anxiety I experienced on the bus has disappeared, and I’m currently focusing all my energy on living in the moment.
And this one happens to be a good one.
I lost Mom about half an hour ago after I walked up and down the cathedral and back again. Like most places on this tour, she’d been here before. It’s not to say she’s not thrilled to be back—because she most definitely is—but I doubt she approaches it with the same thoroughness as I do. But, then again, I majored in history, and I don’t think anyone could be as thorough as I am when touring an eight-hundred-year-old church filled with ancient artifacts. Don’t threaten me with a good time…
“Mind if we join you?”
I look up to see a group from my tour coming closer and nod. I recognize the four young men but haven’t had the opportunity to introduce myself. “Sure,” I say, shading my eyes from the sun with my free hand.
“You look like a sun goddess sitting out here,” one of them says as he takes the spot next to me. He’s good-looking. Fit. The kind of guy you’d expect to see on a hiking trail or mountain biking. Outdoorsy, with slightly overgrown, sun-kissed blond hair and tanned skin.
“I’m from the Midwest,” I tell him with a smile. God, what is his name? Clark? Kirk? “It’s been a long winter.”
“Chicago, right?”
“Yeah, you?” I ask before adding somewhat sheepishly, “Sorry, I have a shit memory.”
“It’s all good. That meeting was a lot to take in. I’m Clint, by the way. And that’s Rafael, Jessie, and Kyle.”
“Nice to meet all of you. I’m Aisling.”
“We remember,” they all say in unison.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” I laugh.
“In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t many people on this tour under the age of forty.” His eyes narrow on my mouth as I take a bite of my cone, and I instantly feel my cheeks heat. When I look up, I have to stifle a gasp as my eyes meet a familiar pair of green eyes in the distance. Finn is seated on a nearby stone bench, watching our interaction. When he sees me, his mouth flattens, and he turns away.
“We’re all from Kansas City, by the way.” Clint gestures to the other three guys, bringing me back into the conversation. I try to ignore the surly Irishman in the distance because, seriously, what is his deal?
“So, are you on a guys’ trip like the group of moms from Arizona? Did you leave a school bus of kids at home?” I try to gauge their ages, and if I had to guess, I’d say they’re all in their thirties.
“No,” Clint answers with a laugh. “Definitely a guys’ trip, but we’re all single. We do this a lot, actually.”
Finally, one of the other guys decides to join the conversation and chimes in. “Ever since college. We go about once a year.” His name was Jessie, right? God, I really am terrible with names. Didn’t have any trouble remembering Finn’s name. Shut up, brain.
“This is our first bus tour, though. For years, we did the hostel thing and just sort of winged it, but then, as we got older?—”
“And had more money,” Rafael added with a smug grin. I remember his name because…Ninja Turtles. Duh.
“Right, that too,” Clint agrees. “But up until now, we’ve sort of done our own thing. We’d plan it out, or we’d just show up somewhere or see where the week took us.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“No, it’s great. Best way to travel if you’re up for a little adventure.” His eyes are filled with mirth, and I can tell he’s the kind of guy who is always ready for anything. His social life is probably more active in his mid-thirties than mine is at twenty-four.
“So, what changed?”
“Nothing. We just decided to try something different.”
“That and Clint’s driving skills on the left side of the road are abysmal.”
Everyone laughs.
“At least I tried, assholes.” He shakes his head, amusement painting his face. “But, it does have its perks.”
His eyes meet mine and hold.
“It—”
“Time to head back to the bus.”
I jump as Finn strides past us, his voice so sharp, it feels more like a drill sergeant barking orders than a tour guide gathering guests.
“I guess it’s time to go.” Clint raises an eyebrow in Finn’s direction before turning back to me. He stands up and offers me his hand, which I take, placing my hand in his.
His grin is a mile wide as I stand, but it falters when I pull my hand back to walk beside him. We head back to the bus, right behind Finn, who appears to have delivered his message in a much more polite manner to everyone else. Go figure.
I spot my mom and wave, her face lighting up when she sees me next to Clint. As we approach the bus, Clint asks, “Hey, do you want to sit with us? We have an empty seat between us and the couple from Minnesota.”
Finn stiffens in front of me, coming to an abrupt halt as Collin, the bus driver, slides open the doors.
I should say no.
I shouldn’t give Clint false hope, but when I open my mouth, I say the exact opposite.
“Sure, I’d love that.”