Page 73 of Since We're Here
“You alright?” Her forehead crinkles, and she looks at me intensely.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I work on plastering some kind of smile on my face.
“You must be freezing!” Noreen’s in a winter coat, her brown curls tumbling over her jacket. “Not working tonight?”
“No. Well yes, I was.”
“Everything working out at the flat?” Noreen is examining my face. “I know you’d planned to head back to the States, but let me know if you want to extend the lease.”
“Come on Nor, I’m desperate for a pint.” Gray tugs on her hand.
“Flat’s great. Go on to the pub,” I say, seeing my out. “Have a good night.”
I slip past them and head toward the pink neon sign of Ian’s tattoo parlor, like it was my destination all along. I dart inside. Everything about me is impulsive, and I have the urge to prove it.
It’s quiet and empty inside and I appreciate the warmth. My shivering slowly fades, and a moment later, Ian peeks his head out from the back room.
“Hello, lass, how can I help you?”
“I’m pissed at Patrick.”
He studies me for a moment, then chuckles.
“Come on in to chat. I have whisky.”
“I don’t really drink whisky.”
Ian ignores my protest and I follow him to the back room, where there are three empty tattoo stations and a round, black table. A thick binder sits in the middle.
“I’ll be right back.”
I settle into the comfortable chair and Ian ducks through a doorway, emerging a moment later with two glasses of amber liquid. He sits across from me and slides a glass my way.
“Thank you.” I take a sip and wince at the heat in my throat. “Does it always taste like this?”
Ian nods. “Well, this is the good stuff, so it can burn a lot worse going down.”
I sip again and appreciate it the second time, knowing what to expect.
“How’s the road trip planning going? I’ve been thinking about it since you told me last Saturday night.”
“Good.” I nod. “I’m almost done. I’m gonna call it Quirks, Brews, and Views, since we’ll stop at a few breweries.”
“You’ll be in Dingle, right? I’d love to see Oliver.”
“Yeah. So you and Oliver are old friends?” I study Ian’s freckled face.
“We became close while he was in Dingle. He’s a talented artist. Here—” He opens the binder and flips through to a section in the back. “These are some of the designs he left behind.”
I flip through the pages of my sister’s fiancé’s drawings. There are flowers, soccer balls, mountains, trees, rivers. A shamrock. Celtic designs. A series of hearts. Even before he touched a tattoo needle, Oliver had an eye for ink.
“Oh.” I look up at Ian. The red-haired man raises his eyebrows at me.
“Oh what?”
“I just had an idea on how to make the road trip even better.”
“How is that?”
