21. Finn
TWENTY-ONE
Finn
PAST
Something they tend not to mention when visiting the Cliffs of Moher is that they are magical.
Okay, not really magic, per se.
However, they do have a tendency to disappear from time to time. As the bus starts to draw closer and we wind through those misty hills, I know it’s going to be one of those days.
The cliffs are not going to be making an appearance today.
I’ve been doing this job long enough to know. Honestly, any Irishman with their head could look out those windows and reach the same conclusion.
I turn on the microphone. “Looks like we have a bit of fog this morning, folks,” I tell them. I’m stating the obvious, as most of them have already noticed the thick gray mist that covers the ground like a wet blanket. “Unfortunately, this fog will also be at the cliffs and will significantly reduce visibility.”
An audible groan follows.
“Now.” I hold out my hands in an attempt to placate them. It’s really a lost cause at this point. Fog this thick will take hours to clear, and we don’t have that kind of time in our schedule. But I hate coming off as a half-empty kind of guy. “It’s possible it could dissipate.” It’s not. “And we’ll have clear skies soon.” We won’t. “So, if you want to wander around the museum or grab a bite to eat, then head out.” I give a hopeful shrug. “Who knows.”
We finally arrive at the parking lot, and everyone starts to get out. I’m grabbing my things, and when I look up, I see Ash smirking at me.
“That was a whole lot of bullshit you just tried to sell us back there.”
I open my mouth and then close it, caught off guard by her. And hasn’t that been the theme of the week? Getting constantly knocked on my arse by this woman? “Didn’t buy it?” I grin, feeling something warm settle in my chest when I look at her. Something foreign and new.
“Maybe the rest of them did, but I think I’m starting to learn your tells.”
“Oh yeah?” I throw the backpack I like to take with me on excursions like this over my shoulder. It contains basic medical supplies, a copy of our schedule, and water. Everything else is locked up on the bus.
“Yeah, you get little frown lines between your brows,” she says, reaching up to touch my forehead. My breath catches at the light brush of her fingers. God, I’ve got it bad. “Right here. It’s like you have to concentrate a little harder to lie.”
“See, all this tells me is that you spend a great deal of time staring at my face.”
“Mmm, that’s probably true. It is distracting.”
Collin is doing a decent job of ignoring our blatant flirting, but I can tell by the way he lingers that he’s waiting for us to leave so he can take the bus and park it in the back until it’s time to go.
“Where’s your mam?” I ask, giving Collin a nod as I walk toward the visitor center.
“She told me, and I quote, ‘That boy is crazy if he thinks this fog is lifting anytime soon. I’ve been here long enough to know we’re not seeing shit today.’” I chuckle under my breath because not only did she make little air quotes, but she also perfectly mimicked her mam’s voice. “She went to get coffee. She promised to at least meet me a little later for a photo—even if it’s in the fog.”
“I always hate days like this,” I confess, noticing a bus of school kids unloading to our left. They’re all in uniforms, and judging by how everyone is stretching and yawning, they’re probably here on a day trip from Dublin or somewhere out east. “My mentor always emphasized that while some of these places would get dull for us over time, they were often lifelong dreams for many of our clients. For the most part, I can deliver on all of those dreams regardless of where we go—even in bad weather or large crowds. But when it looks like this?” I shake my head as we finally pass through the gates of the welcome center toward the cliffs. “There isn’t much I can do.”
We walk for a while down the wide path until it forks into two directions. In front of us is a stone wall that runs along the cliff edge. Beyond it, the fog is so thick that it’s hard to believe an ocean lies beneath.
“That’s just life, isn’t it?” She rests her arms on the cool stone, gazing out into the vast emptiness. “Expecting one thing and getting handed something else. So, we got shit weather? We’re still on vacation—in Ireland! It’s all about perspective.”
“So, you’re saying that the next time one of my guests complains about the fog, I should just tell them to suck it up?” I grin.
“Yep.” She laughs and nods. “But I think ‘suck it up, buttercup’ sounds better—especially with the accent.”
“That’s sound advice you have there. Any more pearls of wisdom for the day?”
Her brows furrow as if she’s deep in thought, and for a second, I worry that I’ve upset her. Is she thinking about those flowers? About the note? The wedding that will never occur? But then her brows shoot up, and she grins. “Never pass on the shoulder. Even if your mom tells you it’s legal—it’s not. The officer who pulls you over will not accept that as an excuse.” I burst out laughing, trying to picture that scenario. “Oh, and never trust a man who doesn’t like chocolate.”
“I love chocolate,” I tell her, as my man brain goes right to sex—because it’s pretty much halfway there whenever she’s around anyway. I would give anything to see her covered in it. Drizzled over her naked breasts, her nipples, her— shit , my cock starts to press against the zipper of my jeans. “But not the shitty kind you Americans consider chocolate.”
She grimaces as I attempt to redirect the images in my mind. It’s extremely difficult. “Oh, I’m with you there. I brought an extra backpack just so I can stuff it with those giant chocolate bars from the duty-free shops.”
“You did not.”
She grins. “Oh, yes, I did. I am very serious when it comes to chocolate.”
As am I, apparently.
“I’m learning so much about you today: dog lover, chocolate connoisseur, and I noticed you have a new ring.” I glance down at the gold Claddagh ring on her right hand, recalling how I saw her fidgeting with it earlier on the bus.
A small grin pulls at the corner of her lips. God, I want to bite that lip. “Someone told me I didn’t need to wait around for someone else—that choosing myself was just as important.”
“Not sure those were my exact words, but—” Her elbow jabs my side, making me laugh. “It looks good on you.”
Her breath catches as our eyes meet, and I swear everything around us just disappears. What is it about this woman? I’ve been with more women than I can count, and not one of them has ever made me feel the way she does with just a single glance.
“Looks like you might be right, Mr. Larkin.”
I blink once, then twice, turning my head to see Aisling’s mom approaching us with a knowing smile. “What?”
“The fog,” she remarks with a satisfied smile. “It appears to be lifting.”
As I look out over the cliffs, Ash and I let out a little gasp of surprise. Although we can’t see the sun, the mist is indeed beginning to pull away from the shore, revealing the rugged cliffside and brilliant view beyond.
How did we not notice?
We were right here, yet all I could see was…her.
“Life is just full of surprises, isn’t it?” Deidre says as Ash glances over at me.
“Yes.” I swallow hard. “It is.”
* * *
I can’t count how many times I found myself smiling today.
This particular day on the Heritage Tour is often exhausting for me. There is a ton of traveling, numerous stops and people to keep track of, and when we finally make it to the new hotel, there’s an evening excursion we have to rush off to.
The pub dinner, along with the sheepdog demonstration, is one of the highest-rated excursions offered by O’Connell Tours. We take the whole group to a pub for supper, complete with traditional Irish music and dancing. The musicians performing are both entertaining and exceptionally talented. The dancers are captivating and graceful. It’s a great night all around.
We take a ferry to Dunloe—Aisling’s first time, apparently. I guess living in the middle of the US doesn’t offer many opportunities for such things. She takes in the whole experience with wide eyes and an excitement that has me grinning like a damn fool.
When she cracks a joke and tells me how “ferry excited” she is, I swear I see her mother misty-eyed, watching her daughter so happy. Over the past few days, Ash has truly come alive. Although we’ve only just met, I can clearly see the stark contrast from her bleak disposition just days earlier.
When we get to the hotel, Aisling is chatting with the couple from Minnesota about snow or winter—or something. I take a minute to pull her mam aside to tell her of an idea that’s been stirring in the back of my mind all day.
Her eyes go all mushy and soft when I finally get it all out. “Do it,” she nods adamantly.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin her day. Or her night.” Or for her to be mad at me.
“No.” She shakes her head, looking at me in a way that makes me feel exposed. “It’s going to be great. She needs this, I promise.”
That was a couple of hours ago, and I’ve been stressing over it ever since. But since I already called in the favor, it’s too late to worry about it now.
I see Ash smiling at me from the long table across the pub. She and her mam are seated next to fucking Clint and his group of friends. No doubt they’re trying to load her up with bad jokes and football stats. It’s unfortunate, really, since everyone is seated randomly as they come in. I usually don’t join the group at this specific event. Because the pub is also open for regular business, there are a lot of other people here, and I don’t want to lose anyone. So, I usually plant my arse against the back wall and watch.
Tonight, though, depending on how things go, I might have to make a quick dash for the exit if Ash tries to take me out.
Not that I don’t necessarily deserve it. But I do have her mother’s blessing, so…
The musicians begin to arrive and set up, and I feel my stomach drop. Deidre catches my attention and gives me a wink.
Fucking hell, this was a bad idea.
Waiters squeeze past me, carrying steaming entrées and cold, frothy drinks. The crowd is noisy. Laughter fills the air.
When the guitarist, Tadhg, taps the mic, people start to quiet down and turn their heads toward the small stage. He quickly introduces himself, the two others beside him, and the dancers. The two girls wave, both locals in their late teens. As the music begins, a loud, lively tune, I notice how Aisling’s eyes focus on the dancers. She wears a wistful expression as she takes in their simple black dresses and curled hair. She observes as they put on their shoes and whisper in each other’s ears.
Everyone claps as the first song finishes, and Tadhg begins what he does best—entertaining. He captivates the audience by sharing the history of the instruments and the richness of Irish music. The crowd laughs, and as they prepare to start their second song, he introduces the dancers.
I can almost see Ash holding her breath.
One of the dancers is wearing ghillies, which look like black ballet shoes. The other dancer has on heavies, which—thanks to Riverdance—most people picture when they picture Irish dancers. They are heavy-soled and meant to make noise.
The girls dance in tandem, almost as if they’re competing, but it’s all in good fun. The crowd is captivated as the music follows each volley, back and forth, until they finally unite in one synchronized crescendo that leaves the audience on their feet.
When I turn to see Ash, I see nothing but reverence in her expression. There’s no sadness, no regret.
The ache in my chest lessens a bit at the sight.
It comes roaring back about five songs later when Tadhg leans into the mic and says, “We’ve got a surprise for you tonight.” His eyes find mine, and I nod. Here goes nothing. “O’Connell Tours is here tonight, and a little birdie told me someone in their group is a fantastic dancer.”
Everyone hoots and hollers, looking around to find the person in question—including Ash—until her eyes land on me. They widen, and she turns to the stage and then back to me.
“Aisling, are you in the audience?”
“ No ,” she mouths. Her table erupts in cheers.
I raise an eyebrow and mouth back, “Come on, are you scared?”
The look she gives back says I’m going to die. Painfully . But then slowly, she rises from her chair, her gaze still fixed on me, and I think I do die a little right then.
Because fuck me, she’s doing it.
She’s wearing a dress and tights tonight, which is fitting and sexy as hell. Knowing what she’ll be doing tonight, I would be surprised if her mam helped with that.
If I had any doubt, she would be scared that it all washes away the second she steps up to the small stage and greets the younger girls. They seem nothing short of thrilled by Aisling’s addition, and as the three of them huddle together, I know Deidre was right.
This is exactly what she needs.
After a few nods and giggles, one of the girls approaches Tadhg and whispers in his ear. He nods and turns to the other musicians, and then all three dancers take their places.
When I suggested this to Deidre, I wasn’t sure if it would work. Aisling doesn’t have the proper shoes, and she hasn’t met either of the girls or the musicians. I could literally be setting her up for failure.
But, as soon as the music starts, I know I have nothing to worry about.
Much like the first song, the girls perform in a sort of round, each dancing a brief solo and feeding off the energy from one another. Aisling goes last, and as soon as she begins, the crowd goes wild.
She uses the thick soles of her boots to stomp out the beats and rhythms. She has a bright smile on her face, and when her eyes find mine in the crowd, it widens, and I’m a fucking goner.
Is it possible to fall in love in a matter of days? Hours? Minutes even? Because I think I fell for Aisling Farrell the moment we collided on that street corner in Dublin.
And I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.