Chapter 11

11

MADDIE

Boyfriend Disaster #4 : Franco the Poet

Job Location & Length : Starbucks, 6 months

My Age : 23

As a break from serving tables, I tried working as a barista. Franco was one as well. And a poet. He’d stare at me longingly from across the coffee shop. He asked me out by writing a haiku on a napkin.

We had an epic first date that started at a (different) coffee shop and ended up at the Jersey Shore, an hour and a half drive away. He had a blanket and a bottle of wine in his trunk, and we sat on the beach passing the bottle back and forth, listening to the ocean and staring out at the moon-kissed waves. He read me poetry. We slept together that night and couldn’t stay away from each other for the next two weeks.

Then I went to a poetry reading with him and a few other baristas. He took the microphone and read a piece he’d recently written. About me. And that night on the beach. In excruciating detail.

It was beyond humiliating.

I never showed my face at that Starbucks—or to him—again.

Breakup Reason : He was using me as a muse.

My Distress Level : 4

Lesson Learned : Stay away from artistic types.

T he wet start to the day progresses into a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon. By the time six o’clock rolls around, the pub is more crowded than I’ve seen it since I started. It feels good to pour pints and talk to customers.

Declan is working next to me, and I’m waiting for Ronan, the night manager, to show up and relieve me. I honestly think Patrick could streamline his pub workforce more. He could promote Declan and hire a few more part-time bartenders. I also had an idea I want to share with him later about how to bring in more tourists this summer.

I’ve been here just a week, but it feels like much longer. I’m glad I have three more weeks to avoid my life back in New Jersey. I’m sure I’ll be sick of the weather and this town and the walls of the pub by then. But somehow, Dingle already feels like home. A temporary home.

The door pushes open and a crowd of people arrives, including Ronan, who raises a hand to me then slips down the hallway to the pub office. Behind him, Saoirse and Ian walk in together. Patrick’s sister smiles broadly as she approaches the bar, tapping her finger on her wrist and making a drinking gesture.

“Three pints of Golden Amber.” Saoirse winks at me. “One’s for you. It’s time.”

I laugh and retrieve three pint glasses, tucking one under the tap and pulling the lever. “As soon as Ronan’s settled, I’ll be there.”

“Ronan’s settled.” The night manager takes the full pint from me, pushes it to Saoirse, then starts on the second. “I’m here, you’re done, get out.” The Irishman nods his head toward the crowd.

“Get out as in sit over there and drink?”

“Not a choice I would make, but whatever makes you happy.”

I grab one of the full pints and follow Saoirse to the table Ian’s claimed in the back corner.

“Is your brother joining us?” I slide into a seat across from Ian and Saoirse, noting a fourth empty chair next to me.

“I told him his presence is required. He was salty that the girls weren’t sleeping over tonight. I convinced Mam to come up with a whole plan for them. Patrick needs a good night out.”

“Aw, he was excited about painting wooden figurines with them.”

Saoirse raises her eyebrows. “They can do it next time.”

“My kids are with their mother,” Ian says. “So this is a big night out for all of us.” He rubs Saoirse’s back with one hand, an obvious us between them. Envy sparks inside me. Not jealousy—because seeing the two of them happy together is wonderful—but a wish that I could ever have a relationship like that. Not one born from secrets or misunderstandings or sneaking around.

“Cheers.” Saoirse lifts her pint glass to clink with mine. “Let’s get drunk! Pleasantly drunk, and only drunk enough that I can still get up and function as a parent tomorrow.”

“So maybe just buzzed?” Ian suggests.

“Stop trying to ruin my fun, baby.”

Ian laughs and we all drink. I’m enjoying the moment until my phone buzzes. I pick it up as Ian whispers into Saoirse’s ear.

Stella

Hey girl, haven’t seen any pretty Caribbean pics in the past few days. Why you holding out on us?

Reese

Everyone send a picture of what they’re doing right now

Images pop up from both of them. Stella’s at a pub with Ethan, her boyfriend, and Reese is at Target with her high school senior daughter, Chelsea.

Fuuuuck. Sometimes I forget that I’m not where I’m supposed to be. What if something happened and my family couldn’t find me? What if it were really important and they tried to reach me in Saint Lucia?

Shit. I’m the worst.

“Hello.” Patrick’s deep voice cuts through my negative spiral as he settles in the chair next to me. “What’s wrong?”

Saoirse and Ian are still whispering together, and she lifts a hand to her brother.

I lock my gaze with Patrick’s. Those intense hazel eyes drill into me like he can see every bit of what’s swirling around inside.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” My voice is slightly unsteady. The whole room fades away. He’s a force of nature, impossible for me to resist. I don’t understand why everyone around us isn’t staring. He’s like gravity, and I’m some dumb rock being sucked into his orbit. He’s sitting close. So close. Close enough that if I reached my hand out, I could slide it up over the stubble of his cheek and to the back of his neck, then into his thick, dark hair.

“Madison.”

I chug my pint and let the liquid warm my belly before taking a deep breath.

“You know, the usual. Just figuring out which lies to text to my sisters.”

One side of Patrick’s mouth turns up. “Just say you’re busy. Or don’t respond now, and later say you were napping. Or... cycling.”

“Very funny. They want a proof-of-life picture. I’ve been googling beach images of the Caribbean.”

“I’ve never been, but I can safely say that besides the ocean part, Dingle is about as far from the Caribbean as you can get.”

“I know. They think I’m going to this made-up internship at a resort and hanging out on the beach. Damn, but the beach sounds amazing right now.” I was still so frozen from this morning’s wet soccer game, I’d even worn pants to work this afternoon. But it’s always hot in here, just like it is in my flat, so I paired the leggings with a black tank top.

“Hmm.” Patrick rubs his thumb and pointer finger over his chin, the five o’clock shadow on his face creating a sound like sandpaper on wood. “There must be Irish pubs in Saint Lucia. Just snap a picture in here and say you’re out for drinks with the locals.”

“I mean, it’s not a terrible idea.” I quirk an eyebrow at him.

“You’re wearing a tank top, so you could be on a hot island.” His eyes flick down to my torso and linger for a second longer than necessary to make his point.

Heat rises from my neck under his gaze. “That’s because it’s hot as hell in here. Just like in the flat.”

Patrick chuckles. “Yes, sorry about that. The heating system is not well-controlled in this building.” He pulls out his phone and types. “Let’s take a look. Here.” He holds it up to me and makes a face. “O’Grady’s Irish Pub. They even sell margaritas, which means it’s one hundred percent authentic Irish.”

“It could work.”

“But you are very much not tanned.”

“Hey, look who’s talking. You’re the palest man I’ve ever met.”

Patrick laughs, head back and neck exposed, drawing my attention to the muscles in his shoulders. Visible, naturally, through his tight black t-shirt.

Saoirse looks up from her conversation with Ian, watching her brother with wide eyes.

“Wait—” Patrick grabs my arm as I lift my hand to take a selfie. “Make sure it’s a plain background.” He gestures to the side wall, which only has a simple Irish flag secured to the wall. “Oliver knows this pub, but that wall is not identifiable.”

“Good catch.” I carefully take the selfie, show it to Patrick for approval, and send it to my sisters.

“Glad you could join us, Pat,” Saoirse says.

“I didn’t think it was optional.” His voice is gruff, but he’s got a smile hiding underneath.

“Right. It wasn’t.” Saoirse winks at me.

“Cheers to a night out,” Ian says.

Saoirse and Ian clink pints, then turn to us, expecting the same.

After touching my glass, Patrick keeps his eyes on me.

“You’ve made quite the impression here.”

“Have I?”

He shrugs. “On other people. Like Saoirse and Ian. And Ronan, and Declan. Not me.”

I bite my lip. “Well, I’m glad I haven’t totally fucked your pub up.”

“You’ve slid into this job smoother than anyone I’ve hired in years. I have a hard time getting people to even show up. You flew into Ireland one day and grabbed yourself a job the next instead of hopping on a tour bus or lying around. I’m quite impressed.”

“Thanks.” A warm, cozy feeling fills my insides. It’s probably the beer, but compliments don’t hurt. “I had an idea, actually.”

“What now?” Patrick sighs.

“Hear me out. Why don’t you get together with some of the other businesses in town and create a Dingle Tourist Passport of sorts? Visitors can get a stamp or sticker or something for stopping by Dingle Brew, Ian’s tattoo shop, the bike rental place, here, obviously... and then they get a free t-shirt, or sticker, or print of Dingle. Something like that.”

As I talk, Patrick’s words bounce around in my head. Quite impressed? I don’t think I’ve ever been especially impressive at work. I do a good job managing restaurants. I’m a strong enough manager. But I’m super replaceable, as are most people in the restaurant industry. He’s probably just buttering me up so I don’t walk out on him like the last manager.

Ian slides two fresh pints in front of us. I didn’t even realize he’d gone for more.

“I actually like that idea.” Patrick raises his eyebrows thoughtfully.

“Yeah?” I grin at him. “Can you tell me more about how good I am at my job?” I stare into his eyes and drain my pint.

“I gave you enough compliments to last a lifetime. To balance them out, I can tell you what I find annoying about you. You’re always fecking smiling.”

“I can’t help it if I’m a sunshine-y kind of person.” I bite my lip and his eyes flick down to my mouth. In turn, I look at his. What would it be like to kiss him again?

“Even though your boss is kind of an arsehole.”

I let out a laugh. “Nah. I think he’s just misunderstood.”

One side of his mouth turns up at that, and he starts to say something else, but stops abruptly with a glance at the entrance to the pub. I’m mid-gulp of my second pint and enjoying the warmth spreading throughout my body. The easy, relaxed look vanishes off his face and is replaced by a cold mask turned to the door.

“Patrick? You okay?”

He looks like he’s turned into a different person. What just happened here?

“Oh, shite,” Saoirse says.

I follow her and her brother’s gaze to the door, where there’s a new trio of people heading to the bar. Liam and another couple holding hands who I don’t recognize.

“What? Is it Liam?” I glance from Saoirse to Patrick. His teeth are clenched so hard, I’m afraid he’s going to crack them, and his mouth is turned down in a deep frown. Any light in his eyes has been completely extinguished.

“It’s not about Liam.” Saoirse’s eyes narrow at the group as they shake off their jackets and look around.

“Who is with him?”

There’s dark pain in Patrick’s face. It’s in the space between his eyes, where a worry line deepens. And the way his muscular shoulders are raised so much higher than they were while we were joking around a moment ago.

The group is now at the bar, and Liam turns and throws his arm around the unknown woman’s shoulder. The woman laughs and pushes him away.

“Hello, hi, someone tell me what’s going on?”

Ian sighs. “That’s Cara. Liam’s sister.”

My jaw drops.

“Cara is Liam’s sister?” I swing my head back to Patrick.

“You two have talked about Cara?” Saoirse was the one who originally told me Cara’s name, but it was on our bike ride that Patrick had shared more.

“Y-yes. Just not the sibling part of the equation.” I look back at the group, now getting served by Ronan. The other man walks up behind Cara and slides his hands on her waist.

I turn to watch Patrick’s profile. He keeps his eyes trained on his ex-fiancée. So much makes sense. The soccer and brewery rivalry between Liam and Patrick. How they seem to despise each other. Why didn’t he tell me this other connection?

“She’s around town once in a while, but I haven’t seen her at the pub in ages,” Saoirse explains.

“I mean, why the hell would she come to her ex’s pub with her boyfriend?”

I hate the way the life and energy seem to have drained from Patrick. I miss our flirty banter, the way he was making me feel, how my insides fluttered when I won a hard-earned laugh.

Saoirse’s phone rings on the table and MAM pops up on her screen.

“I need to get this in case there’s something with the girls. I’ll be right back.” She reaches over and touches Patrick’s arm, but he doesn’t react.

“I’m going to go check on my kids as well.” Ian stands and follows Saoirse.

Now it’s just the two of us at the table.

“Hey, this is shitty, I’m sorry she showed up.”

He finally turns his head to me, and his eyes soften.

“It’s not your problem.”

“Fuck that, yeah it is. I hate that bitch.”

He chuckles, and I get one of those fluttery feelings.

“It’s bound to happen. This is a small town. I can’t avoid her.”

“In your pub? This is your territory.”

He pauses, and I think he’s done talking to me about Cara, but then he speaks.

“I hadn’t been in love with her for a long time when we broke up, but I didn’t realize that until much later.” It’s almost like he’s talking to himself. “Her hooking up with that American banker... she did me a favor.”

“A shitty ass favor, Patrick.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It was difficult losing her and Liam at the same time.”

I swallow, trying to absorb some of the pain radiating off him. He starts to turn back to the bar.

“Hey, look at me.” I reach up and gently put my hand on his cheek, moving his face toward mine. Our connection is warm and tingly, and his eyes blink a bunch of times when they meet mine. “Fuck her. She messed up and lost you.”

“But I don’t do crossword puzzles or knit.”

“Still a catch.” My heart skips a beat.

A smile creeps over his face. My hand is still on his cheek, and his eyes dart down to my lips. Someone drops a glass by the bar, and I look over to see Cara staring at Patrick. Her ex-fiancé, who has another woman’s hand on him. Her eyes are wide and her jaw drops open slightly.

Correction: Cara’s staring at us .

There’s a look on her face as she drinks him in, then me, then him again. It’s curiosity, longing, maybe regret. That’s what I think, anyway. She’s ignoring everyone around her—including the man with an arm around her waist—and watching.

I turn back to Patrick, and he hasn’t noticed her looking at us. Because he’s looking at me.

I have the best idea ever.

“Hey, just go with this, okay?”

“Go with what?” The spot between his eyebrows crinkles.

I do the only thing I can think of. The thing that seems perfect for this moment. I put my other hand on his face and pull his mouth to meet mine.

I kiss him.