Chapter 6
POV: Maeve:?
I didn’t talk to Liam after I finished eating, he didn’t even bother coming back. The other bartender, an old woman who I learned was named Beatrice, poured me another Guinness and gave me restaurant and sight-seeing recommendations.
But I couldn’t help myself from searching for him.
After about ten minutes of looking at him, and having him not even glance at me even once, I decided that I was beginning to look like a stage five clinger again, so I paid my check and then took a long walk home.
The thing about Ireland, especially a small town in Irelands, is it’s really, really safe here so walking back to my small cottage right before the sun sinks from the sky wasn’t frightening at all. In fact, it was completely and utterly beautiful.
The sky was fading to colors of deep orange and yellow hues as green covered everything in sight. During my walk I went by the recommendations Beatrice had given me. I noticed there were two small market stores, a few souvenir shops, The Matchmaker Bar, home to the famous matchmaker, Willie Daly, a few restaurants, a few more pubs, then an open roadway, with one gas station and an impeccable view.
When I made it back to the cottage, I nearly threw myself down onto the couch and let out a heavy sigh.
Everything in this town would make for a perfect book, including my own real-life main character, owner of the Crow’s Nest pub, the mysterious town heartthrob—Liam.
I had a good feeling about this—about all of this.
The next bestseller here I come.
But just as I began plotting out my newest storyline, the sound of the phone buzzing brought me from my thoughts.
“Hi gran,” I answered, pressing the phone closely to my ear.
“Hello sweetheart, how are you settling into the country?”
I smiled. “Fine, gran. I went to a local pub, had a Guinness and some fish and chips. Some of the locals gave me some recommendations for dinners and sight seeing.”
“Lovely, dear. I’m glad to hear things are going well. Have you met any lads who you find interesting yet?”
I groaned. “Gran, it’s been not even a day.”
But all I could think about was him.
Liam. Liam the pub owner. The man who I was told ‘good luck’ about.
But I’d be a fool to tell gran that.
“I’m just hopeful, dear,” she replied. “But I do have some good news for you.”
Oh god, good news.
Her good news had to be about this stupid matchmaker, I just knew it.
“Yes?” I tried to sound hopeful but I was really dreading it.
“I think I found you a potential suitor,” she paused. “And this one sounds perfect. I was recommended to him by the matchmaker.”
“Gran, you talked to the matchmaker? About me? Already?” I groaned. “Then what was the point in me even visiting if you’re going to meddle around, still?”
“Oh nonsense, I’m not meddling. I’m merely just making sure that you find a good match. You may need a little bit of a push. It’s all dear, I’m just trying to be helpful.”
I let out a sigh.
I knew she was just trying to help, but she was inserting herself more and more into this whole matchmaker thing, when I really wasn’t planning on even meeting a man, let alone date one. She had this grandiose illusion that I intended to move to Ireland and live on a homestead or something.
“I know gran, thank you but I just wish you’d let me do what you sent me here to do—mingle on my own.”
“Fine, I’ll be done meddling after this, just promise me dear you’ll give this one a chance,” she pleaded, her accent heavy and thick.
I changed my tone, for her sake. “Fine gran, give me the details.”
“Lovely! Thank you, dear!” the sound of her scrambling for paperwork echoed through the phone. A moment later she was back, huffing out breaths, happy as can be, “His name is Declan. Declan O’Malley. He’s a schoolteacher in town. He’s 33, handsome, smart, and kind. He makes a sustainable income and has a cottage nearby.”
Great, he sounded like a walking hallmark movie. Literally.
A schoolteacher. Kind. Smart. Handsome. A cottage in Ireland.
There was just something about it that didn’t have an edge. It sounded boring.
But still, for gran’s sake, I’ll give him a chance.
“So did you also set up the details of our date?” I joked.
“No, but I did give Willie Daly, the matchmaker your number, and I believe he’s going to text you, Declan, that is, that’s what you kids like to do after all,” she replied.
I wanted to roll my eyes.
I did not want to be part of a love story that went, well kids, I met your dad through a matchmaker set up and not to mention by the hand of your great-grandmother, and then your father texted me to set up a date.
That sounded….lame, like really fucking lame.
I’m more of a meet in person kind of girl, and if you didn’t get the vibe already. I’m shy, until I get comfortable, so I need a man who is the opposite, who’s strong and takes initiative, and texting someone because your grandmother set you up through a matchmaker did not sound like the kind of man I was interested in being with.
Still, I tried to put my inclinations aside.
“Well goodnight gran, I’ll let you know how things go with Declan.”
“Wonderful dear, goodnight.”
Not even five minutes later I received a message.
I hoped it was something witty, that would spark playful banter, but I was unhappily surprised to read the most vanilla message ever.
Declan: Hi Maeve, it’s Declan.
Don’t be a bitch, Maeve.
It’s your first message, give him a chance to redeem himself, maybe this is just a classic introduction and things will spark eventually. But I kind of sort of already made up my mind.
Maeve: Hi, Declan.
5 more minutes went by then:
Declan: How are you doing?
Please, make it stop.
Maeve: Fine just settling in, enjoying this warm weather. How about you?
Declan: Far from warm out here but I’m doing okay.
God, he didn’t get the joke.
Be nice, Maeve, be nice.
Not every man you meet is an overconfident sarcastic–sort of jerk, but truth be told, I liked that vibe.
Maeve: Sorry, I was joking. So, my grandmother is hopeful we’ll hit it off. Are you going to the festival tomorrow?
Declan: Yes, I’m planning on it.
I didn’t respond because frankly, I’m not asking a guy out. Like I said, I like assertiveness.
10 minutes later the second message came.
Declan: Would you like to meet there for a ceilidh dance?
Maeve: You’ll have to give me some pointers.
Declan: I’d be happy, too.
Maeve: What time does the dance start?
Declan: We could meet at the festival entrance in the town square at 11 am if that’s alright with you?
Maeve: Perfect. I’ll see you then.
Declan: It was nice talking to you, then.
Maeve: Same here. See you tomorrow!
I tossed my phone to the carpet and let out another heavy sigh.
Why was I regretting this? Why did I already know I wouldn’t like him?
I wasn’t experienced in dating by any means but I guess I knew what type of man I liked and didn’t like, and damn grandma for intervening and meddling. And I had the feeling Declan wasn’t going to be like the men I wrote about—on the brink of controlling—sarcastic but with a soft side they hid deep down—assertive—and a bad boy to his core. Not like Liam, and damn that I couldn’t help myself from thinking about him, even though nothing happened, and he was not the one I was going on a date with tomorrow.