Page 10 of Twist of Fate
I turn and offer them a broad smile. I can almost hear the inappropriate thoughts swirling in their heads as they shamelessly look me over.
“Welcome,” I say, and they all continue to stare. My grin only widens as I turn toward the pub. “Shall we head inside?”
In a perfect scenario, I prefer to arrive at the hotel early, allowing me time to get my bearings and prepare. I check into my room, go over my itinerary, and then head down to the pub early.
Like the moms’ group, most people don’t expect someone like me to be their tour guide, which gives me a bit of an advantage. I grab a pint, sit back, and observe everyone as they enter. Those precious few minutes can be the difference between mistaking someone’s daughter for his wife or noticing a limp and being able to step in and assist someone on and off the bus.
But I don’t have that today, so instead, I walk in with everyone else and say a quick prayer that everything goes according to plan. Taking a quick scan across the room, it all seems to be business as usual—gray hair everywhere.
I used to have to suppress an eye roll when dealing with a certain demographic, but then I quickly discovered two things.
Old people are actually pretty cool, and they tipped like fucking champs.
I allow the group of women and the couple from Minnesota a moment to settle in before I step into the center of the dimly lit pub. Thanks to our rather loud entrance, I seem to have already captured the attention of everyone in the small space. Flashing that polished smile once more, I open my mouth and say the words I’ve spoken dozens of times to hundreds of people.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Finn Larkin, and I work for O’Connell Tours. I will be your host and guide for the next week as we journey across Ireland together.”
I let that sink in for a moment before moving on, stealing a glance around the room as I try to greet everyone present. It’s important to familiarize myself with each person as quickly as possible. I will be responsible for all these faces for the next six days, so committing them to memory—even if just short-term—is crucial.
“We have a lot to discuss before our group dinner tonight, and we only have the pub to ourselves for the next hour, so we unfortunately need to get down to business. However, since you’re on holiday, we’ll have a bit of fun too—or craic, as we say in Ireland. No, not that kind of craic. It’s notthatkind of tour.”
Everyone laughsright on cue.
“Eoghan, our bartender for today, will be coming around to ensure everyone has a drink in hand.” I gesture to the lad behind me, who has assisted on several of my other tours. He nods and quickly gets to work on the closest table.
“And,” I continue, looking at my captive audience. I can’t help but notice a few tired faces, so I make a mental note to check on them later. Most of our clients work with travel agents who always recommend booking an extra day to adjust to the time change. I can always pick out those who ignore this advice and arrive jet lagged and frazzled. They are probably still in the same clothes they left home in and barely have time to check into their hotel rooms. “To ensure we’re not strangers by the time we leave this pub, we’re going to go around and get to know each other.”
This is sometimes where I lose people, depending on the dynamic of the group.
Once, about six months ago, there was a chorus of boos so loud I nearly just saidfuck itand skipped the whole damn exercise. But unfortunately, O’Connell Tours believes it is crucial to bonding and all that.
And I tend to agree.
Thankfully, this group seems amenable.
The offer of free drinks usually helps.
“I think we will start on this—” My voice catches in my throat as I turn and find myself staring into a familiar set of blue eyes.
The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
She is sitting at a small table in the back, which is likely why I haven’t noticed her until now.
Because this girl? She is the kind of girl you notice.
The kind of girl you remember.
An older woman sits at the table with her. Given the similar slim frame and blond hair, I’d say she’s probably her mother. Then, like a set of dominoes falling, my mind finally begins to catch up with the scene in front of me.
She is here.
She is here, in this pub. In my meeting, which means…
She’s in my fucking tour.
Shite.
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