Chapter Twelve

Norah

I've spent all of Friday in the Theatre Department working on costumes. I had a meeting scheduled with my team at ten this morning, where I relayed the information Dr. Andrews gave me about possibly pulling actors from the ballroom scene. No one loves that idea, but they all understand the budget. Each person is brilliant on their own, but as a team, we run like a well-oiled machine. Just as I'm about to move on, Dr. Andrews walks through the door, smiling broadly.

"Good news, everyone!" he calls out, clapping his hands together. "I just spoke with the Dean about our budget, and he's agreed to give us an allowance!"

Cheers ring out and I heave a sigh of relief. Having a higher budget makes the creative process more enjoyable.

"However," Dr. Andrews continues, "We have to pull that amount from the spring show's costume budget."

I share a look with a few of my team members. Other than rumors of a drag show, we haven't even been told what the spring program is yet. If we're doing something grand, like Beauty and the Beast, how would we make it work?

"Maybe you could tell us what production we're doing this spring and how much our budget is now. That way we can get a head start on researching less expensive materials?" I prompt him.

"I had really hoped to hold off until after Beauty and the Beast was finished, but you make a good point, Miss Grady," he says, nodding at me. "I know you received the email this week about my idea for a drag show. With today's culture, I thought it might be a good idea to expand our views and embrace something new. That being said, I haven't mapped out the details yet, but I welcome your suggestions."

"Are you wanting it to be an all-male cast, Dr. Andrews?" asks Michelle from the makeup team.

"That's a great question, Michelle. No, it wouldn't be fair to exclude the actresses in the department. I was considering making auditions campus-wide so that anyone who regularly performs in drag shows can try out." he answers her.

A thought pops into my head, and I have to take a deep breath to suppress the sudden giggles bubbling up my throat. I flip to a blank page in my sketchbook and begin drawing a male form, starting with strong, muscular legs that lead to a tapered waist. Next is a broad chest and shoulders followed by powerful arms. I draw the neck and a stubbled jawline, adding smirking lips, mischievous eyes, and dark hair that drapes across his forehead. I cover the figure in a black leather bodysuit complete with a long black tail and cat ears. Finally, I add some black platform boots, and I'm looking at Eamon Kennedy as the sexiest black cat ever.

* * *

I walk into O'Nelly's with my friends at seven-thirty that night, and it's already getting crowded. Surprisingly, we're able to grab our favorite corner booth. Myra and Amelia are talking excitedly about their plans for the weekend while Charlie, Layla, and I listen halfheartedly. The late nights washing dishes for Pat have taken a toll on me this week. I'm more than ready to go to bed, but I promised I'd stay for one drink, and that's what I'm going to do. And if I happen to see Eamon here tonight, then it's an added bonus.

One of the newer waitresses saunters up to our table to get our orders and I decide to skip Guinness tonight, requesting a glass of the house red wine instead. Pat always carries some great local wines, so I'm not picky about which one I get. My phone chimes in my purse alerting me to a text message.

Eamon: Fancy seeing you here.

My head snaps up, and I quickly look around the pub, searching. Finally, I spot him sitting at the end of the bar, nursing what looks like a glass of whiskey. Our eyes lock, and a grin spreads across my face. Eamon gives me a crooked smile in return before sipping from his glass. I quickly text him back.

Norah: They made me do it.

Eamon: I'm wounded, lass. I thought you wanted to see us perform again.

I snort and look up at him with a raised eyebrow. He's still looking at his phone.

Norah: Hardly. I'm still trying to block out the sound of Mac's voice. ;)

Eamon: I can't argue with you there.

Norah: How'd the game go?

Eamon: Grand. We won.

Norah: Congrats! How will you be celebrating?

His response takes longer. The little bubble pops up, then disappears a few times before he finally replies.

Eamon: Hopefully by having a drink with you tonight.

I look up at him again with wide eyes. He's taking a drink, peering at me over the glass .

"Norah! Are you sexting?" Amelia suddenly asks, her voice much too loud.

I turn, glaring at her and simultaneously flipping her off. This, naturally, has all of the other girls looking at me, demanding that I answer the question.

"You wouldn't be talking to tall, dark, and handsome at the end of the bar, would you?" Myra asks, batting her fake lashes at me.

I think about lying, but honestly, I'm too tired to try to come up with a ruse that they'll inevitably see through, so I inhale deeply before saying, "Actually…I am."

This spurs a round of gasps, squeals, and mock outrage. They all want details, but I'm not about to spill them here, especially with the subject of such details sitting just across the way.

My phone chimes again.

Eamon: Did you need to consult your friends before answering?

My face heats in embarrassment, but I reply to his text quickly.

Norah: No. I can make my own decisions, thank you very much.

Eamon: So what decision have you made?

Norah: Hmm. I'll make up my mind after the team's performance.

Eamon: That's not fair, lass!

I reply with a winky face then pointedly drop my phone into my purse. My friends are relentless though eventually weasel the short version out of me.

"Yes, we've been talking. Yes, we have plans to hang out on Monday. No, nothing is official. No, nothing has happened ."

Myra and Amelia groan their disappointment, while Layla grins from ear to ear and Charlie sits there silently.

Amelia notices her lack of response and narrows her eyes. "Why aren't you more excited?"

Charlie, coming to the rescue, shrugs and says, "It was inevitable. You honestly thought that nothing would come out of their drinking contest? Norie doesn't even talk to guys, let alone drink with them."

"I talk to guys!" I exclaim indignantly. "The Theatre Department is full of them. "

"Those don't count. They all wear more makeup than you." Charlie laughs.

"That's not fair. They still count as men—if that's how they identify," I tell her. "Actually, on that note, I have to tell you about this idea I had for the spring play."

I lean forward to share my idea with the girls when Pat steps onto the stage to start open mic night. Tonight, he's wearing a tweed flat cap and a brown cable knit Aran sweater. If his accent didn't give him away, his attire definitely would.

"Good evenin', lads and lassies! Welcome to open mic night at O'Nelly's! We have a very special surprise for you tonight! Not only are our beloved Seahawks back to start us out with a rollicking rendition of ‘Come In,' but our very own Irish trio will be performing ‘Ringsend Rose'! Now, let's give our boys a warm welcome!"

Everyone cheers wildly, clearly forgetting how horrible the Seahawks performed last time, musicians withstanding. Pat walks off the stage and heads behind the bar.

Suddenly finding myself in need of another drink, I excuse myself from the table, weaving through the crowds of people until I reach the bar. Pat grins broadly when he sees me.

"Hello, lass! Good to see you!" he greets me.

"Hi, Pat! How'd your appointment go?"

"Ach. It was grand. Nothing but a checkup is all. I'm extremely grateful to you and Eamon for helping an old man out. Your drinks are on the house tonight. As long as we don't have a repeat of last week!" he says with a wink.

"It was my pleasure, really. I'm just glad you're okay. And there will not be a repeat of last week. I promised you that already," I remind him.

"Aye, that you did. Now, what can I get for you?"

"How about a whiskey to get me through the opening song?" I scrunch my face up.

Pat laughs as he pours me two fingers' worth of his best whiskey and slides it over to me. I thank him and begin to make my way back to the table. The Seahawks have arranged themselves in front of the platform, but my eyes are on the guitarist standing center stage, tuning his guitar. He's wearing an army green polo, stretched tight over his chest, and slightly distressed jeans. He gives Teagan and Ro a nod, and they begin playing a lively song that the crowd immediately starts clapping along to. Again, the singing is atrocious with Mac being the loudest of them all. Myra lets out a shrill whistle that only encourages him. I thought for sure that flame had already died out, but I guess I was wrong.

When the song finally ends and the cheers die down, I'm suddenly feeling nervous. The team heads back to their seats, leaving the Irish trio on stage. Eamon walks to the microphone, clears his throat, looks directly at me, and says, "This one goes out to a wee fire sprite who knows how to hold her Guinness."

Laughter floats through the crowd, and my cheeks begin to burn as I slide down in my seat, attempting to hide from the faces looking in my direction. The girls don't help matters by whipping their heads my way and gasping loudly. Oh god, please let the floor open up and swallow me whole. I breathe a sigh of relief when the song begins with Ro drawing a long note on the violin and everyone looks to the stage. Eamon begins strumming on the guitar, and Teagan, who abandoned the harmonica for a banjo, begins plucking the chords. The introduction is short, and then Eamon closes his eyes and he begins singing in a warm, clear voice.

"In Dublin Town there lived a girl,

Fairer than the flower I'm wearin'

Rose Donoghue - all fresh and new

And I love her past all carin'"

The rest of the pub and the people in it fade into the background as I focus on the lyrics. It's not the first time I've heard him sing but knowing that he chose this song with me in mind has a lump forming in my throat. With his comment about holding my Guinness, I was expecting a drinking song, not a love song.

"Sweet seventeen, my seamstress queen

She's no bigger than a thimbl e

Soft satin skin, street Arab's grin

Sure she makes the work looks simple"

I feel Charlie reach over and gently squeeze my arm, but I don't dare take my eyes off him. I couldn't even if I wanted to. Apart from the fact that he's singing a love song about a seamstress to a seamstress, he's just so beautiful.

"And there she goes my Ringsend Rose

In God's Garden there's none rarer

And there she goes my Ringsend Rose

Dublin Town has seen none fairer."

Eamon

I sing with my eyes closed, looking calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, I'm a nervous wreck. I have no problem singing with a group or leading a pub song, but to get on stage and serenade a lass that I've only just met? I've lost my mind. At least Teagan and Ro agreed to play along. No one else would know "Ringsend Rose" except for Paddy.

When the song ends, I open my eyes, immediately seeking out Norah, but she's no longer sitting at her table. I start to panic, thinking maybe it was too much and I scared her away. My eyes dart frantically over the crowd until I finally spot her leaning against the bar, holding two pints and smiling softly at me. It feels as if my heart has grown wings and is trying to fly out of my chest. Grinning, I mutter a thank you to the crowd, place my guitar on its stand, and jump off the stage. Every eye in the room follows me as I make my way to Norah. When I'm a foot away from her, I stop and she hands me a glass.

Christ, she's gorgeous with her flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes looking up at me. Then she takes a step forward and asks, "How about that celebratory drink?"