Page 46 of Twist of Fate
“I saw Finn looking at you when we were at Sean’s Bar,” she says as we wait for our food. The pub is beginning to fill up, a blend of tourists and locals. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to live in a charming little village like this in the heart of Ireland.
Is it peaceful? Are people friendly?
“He was looking at everyone,” I finally say, messing with the straw in my water glass. “It’s his job.”
As soon as I got home last night from having dessert with Finn, my mom had hounded me for details.Did you talk? Was he nice? Isn’t he cute?
I mean, yes. He is nice, and to my utter shock, I did actually enjoy talking with him. Cute, however, is not the word I’d use to describe that man.
Sexy? Fine as fuck? Edible? All good words to describe Finn Larkin.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m on vacation. I’m here for a handful of days, and then it’s back to my real life, depressing as it may be. Even though my mom seems to think a frivolous fling will do me some good, it’s not for me.
So, while I’m glad Finn and I seemed to have worked past whatever initial awkwardness still lingered between us, I think my mom is going to have to settle for the fact that the only thing in my future with Finn is friendship.
No matter how much she tries to meddle.
After our quick lunch, we are back on the bus and on the road again. The farther we get from Dublin, the narrower the roads become, and I have to hand it to our driver, Collin; he is an expert at navigating our giant beast of a bus.
Seating arrangements have Mom and me sitting about halfway back on the bus today. It’s far enough back that I can’t actually see Finn, but I can hear him.
Every time he gets on that microphone and shares little facts about the town we’re passing through or a story about a past tour, I find myself closing my eyes and just listening to him. Today, he gave us a little Irish language lesson.
You know that episode ofOutlanderwhen Jamie recites his wedding vows in Gaelic, and it’s so hot that you’d willingly yeet yourself back to the seventeen hundreds to find a man like that?
No? Just me?
Well, hearing Finn speak Gaeilge is better. I think I could listen to him talk forever, and I am coming to realize it’s not just the Irish lilt or the deep cadence that draws me in.
It’s him.
No. We arenotfalling for the tour guide, remember?
I try to tune Finn’s voice out, post a pic of my castle to Instagram, and that’s when I see it.
Galway.
When we drive into the city, I’m glued to the bus window. My eyes crane upward to see the steeples of the churches and around corners to catch glimpses of cobblestone walls and water shimmering in the distance.
The entire city is breathtaking.
Collin stops at our hotel, but we’re only there long enough for a quick bathroom break before a guide arrives to take us on a walking tour.
“Are you going to be okay?” my mom asks as all forty of us head off in a large group down the road.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, adjusting my small purse across my chest. I put on my jacket for the first time today because the sun has vanished, and Ireland has chosen to reveal its true colors, intermittently spitting rain on and off.
“We haven’t done much walking until now, and I wanted to ensure you’re pacing yourself.”
It’s truly humbling when your sixty-something-year-old mother has to check in on you when it comes to physically exerting yourself.
“I’ve been fine so far, Mom. No aches. No pain,” I tell her. “I haven’t had a flare in a few months. I’ll let you know if I need to rest.”
I consider myself lucky. My diagnosis is moderate at best, but I am still young, and I know she worries about all the years that lie ahead of me.
We both know exactly when my last flare was, but neither of us mentions it. My meds usually manage the worst of the symptoms, but overwhelming stress can override even the best medication. When that happens, I just have to ride it out and wait for things to settle down.
She doesn’t push the issue any further, and when our guide—a tall, fit guy in his fifties—starts to introduce himself, I take a quick glance through the crowd, hoping to spot our other guide. I find him near the back, his large hands shoved in the pockets of his black jacket. Finn is leaning against a brick wall. With his broad frame and impressive height, he practically towers over everyone else.
