Page 5 of Since We're Here
I spent my childhood on the brew floor, tagging along with my father on sales visits to local pubs, curled up in a corner of the brewery office with toys or eventually a book or homework. Summer meant helping with the brewing process from end-to-end until soccer took over my life.
Slea Head Brewery is part of who I am. So is Dingle.
And that woman is definitely not from around here. I pull the tap handle and let Guinness flow into a pint glass, careful to keep the foam low until I get to the top. It’s before tourist season, so I know ninety percent of the people who walk in that door. I slide the full pint next to another one and accept a credit card from the patron.
That new woman’s wearing a short dress. In Ireland. In February. With no jacket, no hat, and tall boots that revealed a strip of her thighs when the wind from the chilly evening blew in with her.
I swipe the customer’s card on the iPad and half listen to the next person order a pair of New Dingle Amber Ale pints.
She has to be a tourist, which means she might be my perfect next one-night stand. It’s been six long months since the last one. Tourists are my best option: no commitment, no second date, no awkward conversations in the light of day. They have a quick night with an Irishman and then move on with their lives. I don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or see that bewildered look on their faces as they try to figure out if I’m being sarcastic, or an arsehole, or both.
Relationships just don’t work for me. I tried with Cara, Liam’s older sister and my fiancée. For seven years.Feck. I’m thinking about her.That ended after I retired from soccer and followed Cara to Dublin. It was a disaster.
As soon as Cara and I broke up, Liam became my nemesis instead of a mate.
Because even though she’s the one who cheated on me, I know it was my fault. I ruin all my relationships.
Which is probably why my parents never seem to take my side against that family.
I have three goals: get Slea Head beers distributed in behemoth Irish pub chain Wellington Pubs, help my sister Saoirse with my nieces, and be there for Mam and Dad. That’s it.
Women who aren’t my sister or my mother or my nieces don’t fit in those priorities. At least, not for more than a night.
Liam leans in and says something to make the woman laugh, then he stands and heads this way. Maybe she’s not a tourist. Walking in alone and sitting with locals doesn’t exactly point in that direction.
“Two flights of New Dingle. And a cheese toastie.” Liam frowns, waiting for me to serve him.
I don’t respond verbally, just prepare the popular flights. Not only do I carry New Dingle’s five-brew lineup, I’ve got them all on tap. I’ve been carefully watching which beers sell the best since I returned to Dingle and bought O’Brien’s—and the flat above it—five years ago. I’d always wanted to take over Slea Head. And now that the brewery is mine, I want our own five-beer flight by autumn. That means adding two more: an IPA and an autumn brew.
“Playing tomorrow?” I ask as I fill the final small flight glass.
“Yeah. You know I am.”
“Good luck.” Is it fair that, as an ex-professional goalkeeper, I’m on one of the town’s soccer teams? Probably not. But it feels damn good when we play against Liam and he fails miserably at scoring against me.
Liam examines my face. He used to be able to tell if I was being sarcastic, serious, or just plain awkward, but not anymore.
“Piss off.” Liam walks back toward the table.
“Don’t forget the toastie,” I call, satisfied that I annoyed him.
But the feeling disappears when I watch the tourist smile at his approach.
O’Brien’s gets crowded,and I’m not able to keep an eye on the cute woman, not until she shows up right in front of me at the bar, arms crossed loosely, a relaxed look on her face.
She’s even more gorgeous close up. Her dark hair is long and wild, her cheeks pink from the alcohol, and her eyes a deep chocolate brown, like the color of a fresh Guinness.
“What can I get you?” I lean my hands on the bar.
“A water would be best at this point.” She gives me an easy smile.
“You’re American.” I state the most obvious thing ever. It’s amazing I get women, given how bad I am at flirting.
“Yes. I arrived in Ireland today.” Her hair falls in a long curtain next to her cheek.
I curse myself for letting Noreen talk me into renting out the flat. I’ve had my cottage for almost a year now, but I’ve been fixing it up, and it’s been useful to also have the flat for nights I work late or have a few drinks. Or have someone to take back there. But I’m in my cottage full-time now, so it didn’t make sense to leave it empty.
I’ve never taken a woman back to my cottage. It’s too personal. Not with the room decorated for my nieces when they come for a sleepover, my work-in-progress furniture that’s been on hold since taking over the brewery, and my pet sheep. It doesn’t feel right for a one-night stand.
