Page 6 of Since We're Here
“What are you in town for?” I fill a small glass with water.
She blinks at me and accepts the water, chugging the entire glass and keeping her eyes locked with mine. She breathes out deeply when she’s done.
“Actually, can I also get a pint?”
“What would you like?” I expect she’ll ask for a pint of New Dingle, maybe the IPA that even I admit is excellent.
“What do you recommend?” She leans forward over the bar, resting her elbows on the counter and unintentionally giving me a generous view of the valley between her breasts.
“Do you like dark beer?”
She shakes her head. “Amber ales are my favorite. And IPAs.”
I lean closer to her again and there’s a stirring inside of me at the sight of her plump pink lips and the smooth skin of her neck, leading to the swooping neckline of her dress. I impulsively reach out and tuck a thick strand of hair behind her ear, sparks shooting up my fingers when I make contact with her skin.
She breathes in sharply, her nostrils flaring. But she doesn’t pull away.
What is wrong with me? Who reaches out to touch someone like that? Me. Awkward-as-feck me.
I clear my throat and lean back. “How about a Golden Amber, Slea Head’s amber ale? It’s similar to the New Dingle Amber Ale that was in the flight, but better, in my opinion.” I leave out the part that I’m the one who runs Slea Head Brewery, because that would sound like I’m trying to impress her. I’ve weirded her out enough for one night.
“If you recommend it, sure.”
There are a few regulars waiting patiently behind her, but I take my time pouring the ale from the tap.
“You passing through town? Backpacking around Ireland?”
She laughs. “Definitely not a backpacker. You won’t catch me at a hostel.”
“Where are you staying?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I’ve definitely moved into creepy territory, but I’m just trying to make small talk.
“So many questions.” She tilts her head and I’m surprised she doesn’t turn around and run.
I push the full pint over and hold her gaze as she sips the top two inches from the glass.
“Thisisgood. Thanks for the recommendation.”
I take an order from another customer, but when I turn back from the refrigerator with two bottles, she’s gone, and there’s some cash left on the bar. She’s not back at the table with Liam, either.
“We need a bottle of Merlot,” calls the other bartender, Declan.
“I’ll get it.”
“And a Chardonnay.”
“On it.” I wipe my hands on my jeans and head down the dim hallway next to the bar which leads to the small pub office, restrooms, and two other doors. One goes to the basement storage room, and one to my old flat, a locked door here and at the top of the stairs leading into the living area. It used to be super convenient.
And right next to that door stands the American tourist, leaning against the wall and staring down at her mobile. She doesn’t see me but runs her hand around the back of her neck, rolling her head around and pulling a heap of hair over her shoulder.
I approach her, because how can I not?
“Lost?”
She glances up, and for a second I catch a sad expression on her face.
“Oh, hey.” It’s replaced with a bright smile. “The bartender.”
I stop about a meter from her. “You okay?”
