12. Aisling
TWELVE
Aisling
PAST
I am in love.
Okay, let me clarify and perhaps rewind a little bit.
I am in love with a city.
Today, we left Dublin (so fucking early) and set out for the lush green countryside of Ireland. I don’t think I truly understood how beautiful this country was until we escaped the hustle and bustle of the city and made our way to our first stop of the day.
A pub, naturally.
When I first looked at the itinerary passed around the day before, I was a little confused as to why we were visiting a pub at the ass crack of dawn, but we’re in Ireland, so I let it go. When we do finally reach the small village of Athlone, however, a pub is the furthest thing from my mind.
Because there is a fucking castle in this town.
I know I have a degree in history, and this stuff shouldn’t come as a surprise to me, but oh my god, it’s an actual goddamn castle.
Sean’s Bar is cool, too, and literally spitting distance from my castle.
I mean, the castle.
We have the entire pub to ourselves—the advantage of arriving at ten in the morning, I guess. The owner, who proudly boasts Sean’s Bar is the oldest pub in Ireland, provides us with a detailed history of the place and then promptly serves us all pints of beer and cider.
I’m not gonna lie, it feels weird drinking hard cider at eleven in the morning, but I’m trying to remind myself I’m on vacation. Also, apples are a fruit, so technically, it counts as a breakfast food.
Afterward, we’re given a little free time, so naturally, I run off to take at least three hundred pictures of the castle before my mom drags me to a different pub for lunch.
“I saw Finn looking at you when we were at Sean’s Bar,” she says as we wait for our food. The pub is beginning to fill up, a blend of tourists and locals. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to live in a charming little village like this in the heart of Ireland.
Is it peaceful? Are people friendly?
“He was looking at everyone,” I finally say, messing with the straw in my water glass. “It’s his job.”
As soon as I got home last night from having dessert with Finn, my mom had hounded me for details. Did you talk? Was he nice? Isn’t he cute?
I mean, yes. He is nice, and to my utter shock, I did actually enjoy talking with him. Cute, however, is not the word I’d use to describe that man.
Sexy? Fine as fuck? Edible? All good words to describe Finn Larkin.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m on vacation. I’m here for a handful of days, and then it’s back to my real life, depressing as it may be. Even though my mom seems to think a frivolous fling will do me some good, it’s not for me.
So, while I’m glad Finn and I seemed to have worked past whatever initial awkwardness still lingered between us, I think my mom is going to have to settle for the fact that the only thing in my future with Finn is friendship.
No matter how much she tries to meddle.
After our quick lunch, we are back on the bus and on the road again. The farther we get from Dublin, the narrower the roads become, and I have to hand it to our driver, Collin; he is an expert at navigating our giant beast of a bus.
Seating arrangements have Mom and me sitting about halfway back on the bus today. It’s far enough back that I can’t actually see Finn, but I can hear him.
Every time he gets on that microphone and shares little facts about the town we’re passing through or a story about a past tour, I find myself closing my eyes and just listening to him. Today, he gave us a little Irish language lesson.
You know that episode of Outlander when Jamie recites his wedding vows in Gaelic, and it’s so hot that you’d willingly yeet yourself back to the seventeen hundreds to find a man like that?
No? Just me?
Well, hearing Finn speak Gaeilge is better. I think I could listen to him talk forever, and I am coming to realize it’s not just the Irish lilt or the deep cadence that draws me in.
It’s him.
No. We are not falling for the tour guide, remember?
I try to tune Finn’s voice out, post a pic of my castle to Instagram, and that’s when I see it.
Galway.
When we drive into the city, I’m glued to the bus window. My eyes crane upward to see the steeples of the churches and around corners to catch glimpses of cobblestone walls and water shimmering in the distance.
The entire city is breathtaking.
Collin stops at our hotel, but we’re only there long enough for a quick bathroom break before a guide arrives to take us on a walking tour.
“Are you going to be okay?” my mom asks as all forty of us head off in a large group down the road.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, adjusting my small purse across my chest. I put on my jacket for the first time today because the sun has vanished, and Ireland has chosen to reveal its true colors, intermittently spitting rain on and off.
“We haven’t done much walking until now, and I wanted to ensure you’re pacing yourself.”
It’s truly humbling when your sixty-something-year-old mother has to check in on you when it comes to physically exerting yourself.
“I’ve been fine so far, Mom. No aches. No pain,” I tell her. “I haven’t had a flare in a few months. I’ll let you know if I need to rest.”
I consider myself lucky. My diagnosis is moderate at best, but I am still young, and I know she worries about all the years that lie ahead of me.
We both know exactly when my last flare was, but neither of us mentions it. My meds usually manage the worst of the symptoms, but overwhelming stress can override even the best medication. When that happens, I just have to ride it out and wait for things to settle down.
She doesn’t push the issue any further, and when our guide—a tall, fit guy in his fifties—starts to introduce himself, I take a quick glance through the crowd, hoping to spot our other guide. I find him near the back, his large hands shoved in the pockets of his black jacket. Finn is leaning against a brick wall. With his broad frame and impressive height, he practically towers over everyone else.
He must feel my eyes on him because he turns and catches my gaze. His smile is so subtle. I almost miss the tiny curve of his lip, but it’s enough to make my stomach flutter and my knees go weak.
Geez, Ash, get yourself together. Yesterday, you hated the guy.
I miss the last of what the guide, Todd, is saying just as Clint walks up to me.
Great.
“Hey, Ash!” he says brightly.
“Hi.” I flash him a hesitant smile.
I look for my mom, hoping for an out—any reason I can escape his attention because I know if I stay too long, I won’t be able to escape it. I’m the kind of person who will sit and suffer through a boring-ass date or eat a cold steak at a restaurant just to avoid any awkward confrontations.
As much as it irked me that Finn was right, sitting on the bus with Clint yesterday had been a bad idea. I’m sure I gave him false hope by laughing at his jokes, but what was I supposed to do?
Being single is more complicated than I anticipated.
My mom is up ahead, having been engulfed by the group, either intentionally or otherwise. Regardless, she’s joyfully strolling with a couple from Ontario while listening to the guide discuss the Gothic church on our right.
“Your mom seems better,” Clint says.
“What?”
He points to her as she laughs at something the woman next to her says. “She wasn’t feeling well last night,” he reminds me.
“Oh, right.” Shit, I forgot about that. “Yeah, she just needed to rest up a little bit, and now she’s good as new.”
“Great!” He seemed to like that bit of information, and suddenly, I realized why. “So, maybe?—
“Hey, Clint.” Finn’s familiar voice cuts in, and I think I let out a sigh of relief as he casually approaches us. “I remembered the name of that player I mentioned yesterday.”
“Oh yeah.” Clint’s eyes light up. “Finn used to be a rugby player,” he tells me as if the guy isn’t even here. “Although I suppose that’s not hard to imagine given his size. And I thought soccer players were tall.”
My throat goes dry.
That’s when I notice Finn giving me a look. It’s subtle, just a slight raise of his brow, but it’s enough, and suddenly I understand.
The interruption. The sports talk.
He’s giving me an out, and I am so taking it.
“I’m going to go see if I can find my mom,” I say, trying to hide the grin tugging at my lips. “I’ll see you two later.”
I don’t wait for Clint to respond; I simply disappear into the crowd. However, when I sneak a glance back a moment later, I find green eyes staring back at me.
Thank you , I silently say.
He simply nods.