Paris Is Always a Good Idea

by Jenn McKinlay

  Michael glanced between us, and I nodded. I figured we might as well settle in. Seven years was a lot of catching up to do.

  “Comin’ up,” Michael said. He turned and headed back to the bar.

  “So, what happened on your grand tour after you left Ireland?” Colin asked. “Where did you go? Who did you meet? And most important, why didn’t you come back?”

  “Well.” I took a deep breath. Where should I start? Did I start with my mom? No, that was the end. I began with the countries I visited after I left Ireland. There was London, which was amazing; Germany, beautiful; France—that was tricky. I told him I was a nanny, but I didn’t mention Jean Claude. I wasn’t sure why—it just seemed like bad form. I talked more about Sweden instead.

  Colin listened and asked insightful questions. I’d forgotten that about him. What a good listener he was, as if he could hear the subtext in my words. I gave quick details about the rest of my trip, not mentioning Marcellino either, and then I came to the news about my mother. When I told him about the call I’d received on that fateful day, my throat got tight. Colin put his hand over mine and gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.

  “I felt that way when Mr. O’Brien died. He was like a father to me in the truest sense of the word.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “How did he die?”

  “Fuckin’ cancer,” he said. “He was a smoker his whole life. I suppose it was to be expected, but it came for him fast. Three months after the first diagnosis, and he was gone.”

  “Fucking cancer is right,” I agreed. Then I told him about how losing my mom had caused me to take a job with the American Cancer Coalition.

  “Isn’t that something?” he asked. “Look at you, making a difference in the world. I always knew you would.”

  “You knew no such thing, you big charmer,” I said.

  Michael came by and took our empty plates and brought us fresh pints. We toasted one another again, and I felt myself, my old self, poke her head out of the closet I’d kept her in for the past seven years. I was feeling attraction, affection, and, frankly, a little lust. Warmed by the good food and better company, I put my hand on Colin’s arm. I pressed closer, wanting to feel connected to someone in an intimate way, a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time. It occurred to me that I’d been lonely over the past few years, but I’d just rolled it up with my grief and poured it into my work. But now I wanted more.

  “It’s your turn. Tell me what’s happened to you over the past seven years,” I said.

  “Well, I hardly know where to start,” he said. He was staring into my eyes, and I smiled. I could tell he was feeling the same rekindling of our old relationship that I was. Would it be too pushy to invite him back to the cottage? Probably. Was I ready for that sort of thing? Probably not. I still wanted to.

  “Aye, Colin, do tell the fine young lass what you’ve been up to.” A woman came to stand at the end of our booth. She held a baby in her arms and had two young children, who looked to be about three and five years old, holding on to the hem of her coat. “I’m sure we’d all enjoy the tellin’, and you might want to start by introducin’ her to this tiny fella and his cohorts in crime.”

  “Uh.” Colin’s eyes went wide. He glanced from the woman to me and back.

  I heard my phone buzz inside my purse. Not now! I pulled my phone out of my bag and glanced at the display. Knightley! Two hours had passed since I’d spoken with him, and here he was, calling just like he’d said he would. Of all the times to be responsible!

  I went to mute it. Then I hesitated. He’d said he’d call the local authorities if I didn’t answer. Would he? Oh god, he might! Which was about the only thing that could make this insanely uncomfortable moment even more awkward.

  “Hi,” I answered, overly bright and cheery. “Now is really not a good time. Thanks for the call. Bye.”

  Colin looked at me askance as I ended the call. I wondered if I’d offended him by answering. I mouthed the word sorry and then glanced back at the woman. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I could tell from the look on her face, whoever she was, she was not happy.

  My phone started to ring again. I looked at the display—Knightley! Argh! I suspected he would just keep calling and calling. I answered, “What?”

  “Maverick, this is Goose,” he said. “What’s your twenty?”

  “My what?” I asked. “Who’s Maverick? Wait, are you using a Top Gun reference?”

  “Well, Goose is the greatest wingman ever,” he said. “I figured it was appropriate.”

  “No, it’s not. I don’t need a wingman,” I hissed. “What do you not understand about this is not a good time?”

  “Is everything all right?” he asked. His voice was abruptly serious.

  I glanced back at Colin and the woman. No, everything was not all right. The woman was smiling, sort of—it was a brittle curve of her lips—while Colin was looking decidedly ill at ease. It hit me then. I’d never even thought to ask if he was married. I glanced at his hand. There was no ring on his finger, but the vibe here was definitely not good between him and the woman.

  “Colin,” I asked, forgetting about Jason on the phone. “Are you married—to her?”

  chapter nine

  IN A MANNER of speaking,” he said. He had to raise his voice as a trio of musicians began to warm up in the corner.

  “That’s a yes,” the woman clarified.

  “Oh man, your old boyfriend is married, and he didn’t tell you,” Jason said in my ear. Then he sang, “Awkward.”

  “Shut up,” I said. Colin’s eyes went wide, and I shook my head. “Not you. Him.” I gestured to the phone.

  “Him?” Colin asked. “Who’s him?”

  “A coworker,” I said.

  “Hey, I’m more than that—I’m your wingman,” Jason protested. I ignored him.

  “And he’s calling you all the way in Ireland at night?” Colin sounded outraged.

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You’re offended when you neglected to mention that you have a wife . . . and kids? They are yours, I presume.”

  “I was just about to tell you about them,” he said. He glanced at his wife. “I swear.”

  “Uh-huh.” The woman and I spoke together.

  “Ooh, man, I’m glad I’m not him,” Jason said. “One angry woman is bad enough, but two? He’s a dead man walking.”

  “Good night, Jason,” I said.

  “What? No!” he cried. “It’s just getting good. Switch to video so I can watch.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Pretty please?”

  “No, and if word leaks out about this at the office, I will cut you,” I said.

  “You sound fierce,” he said. “That’s hot.”

  Ugh. I ended the call. I was not going to let Jason listen to any more of my complete and utter humiliation at finding out my old boyfriend was married by having his wife and kids crash our “date.”

  “I was about to tell Chelsea about the lot of you,” Colin insisted. The baby started to fuss, and he reached out and plucked it from its mother’s arms. “Give him here. Chelsea, you remember Aoife O’Hare from our summer work program?”

  “Aoife Donovan, thank you very much.” The woman frowned at Colin as he hugged the baby to his shoulder and patted the little one’s back in a well-practiced gesture that showed his parental skill as the baby immediately snuggled into his dad’s warmth.

  I studied the woman’s face. Aoife. My jaw dropped. Aoife was a few years younger than we were. Pleasantly rounded with thick, long, wavy black hair, creamy skin, and eyes as blue as Lough Caragh. She’d been a lovely girl but painfully shy. This woman standing in front of me now looked neither plump nor shy. Aoife, pronounced E-fah, had matured into a real beauty.

  “I remember you,” I said. It felt like an achievement to bring her back to mind. I smiled
and held out a hand. “You were a lovely girl, but you are a stunning woman.”

  Aoife squinted at me as if trying to decide if I was full of bullshit or not. I wasn’t. That wasn’t my way—lying was just too exhausting, plus she really was a knockout. Aoife must have come to that very conclusion, because she shook my hand and nodded once.

  “I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize me. I’ve dropped two stone and finally grew some baps.” She gestured to her breasts, and I snorted.

  “Really, Aoife,” Colin said. “Is that appropriate talk in a pub?”

  “Says the man who is known for lightin’ his farts on fire after a few too many pints.” Aoife rolled her eyes as she absently put her arms around the two children, one on each side of her, and pulled them in close like a mother hen spreading her wings over her chicks.

  “I was with me lads, and it only happened the one time,” he said.

  “Aye, the one time you lit your backside on fire,” Aoife said. She laughed, and her eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me,” he said. He looked disgruntled, but it soon gave way to a smile.

  “So you keep saying, and yet here you sit,” she retorted.

  I felt a laugh well up at their good-natured teasing. It was clear there was a lot of love between Aoife and Colin, and I was surprised to find it made me joyous rather than envious. Okay, maybe there was a pinch of envy when I saw the love so evident between them, but mostly they made me happy and . . . hopeful.

  “I’ll have you know,” Colin said, “that I was about to tell my friend Chelsea about the beautiful girl I married, who is the love of my life, who has given me my three greatest blessings,” he said. His eyes shone when he looked at his wife and children.

  “Oh, were you now?” Aoife asked. A pretty pink blush stained her cheeks.

  “I was,” he said. “I sent you a message to meet me at the pub after you were done at your mother’s. Didn’t you get it?”

  “Of course I got it. That’s why I’m here, but imagine my surprise at seeing you with your former girlfriend in a snug,” she said.

  “Oh.” He frowned. “But I’m married.”

  “Which you clearly neglected to mention,” Aoife said.

  Colin turned to me with an embarrassed face. “Oy, you didn’t think this was a date, did you?”

  “Of course not,” I lied. I waved my hand in an awkward don’t be silly flap, hoping to combat the heat I could feel filling my face, but judging by the pitying expression on his, he did not believe me for one second. Damn it.

  I wondered exactly how many Guinnesses would be required for me to drown my mortification. Maybe getting sucked into a bog on the walk home wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But then why wait? I could happily go full human combustion with the heat of my embarrassment, turn to ash, and blow away on the wind. Yeah, that would do.

  “Now you’ve embarrassed her, you eejit,” Aoife hissed. “Honestly, you’re makin’ a right bags out of it.”

  “Right,” Colin agreed. “But this is actually great, because now I can introduce you all, which is grand. This here’s our oldest, Amelia.” He gestured to the girl on Aoife’s right side, who had enormous blue eyes and the deep red hair of her father. She stared at me with curiosity as she hugged a stuffed sea turtle to her chest. “And there’s Connor.” He pointed to the dark-haired boy on Aoife’s other side. “And this sleepy fella is Jack.”

  I pushed aside my mortification and smiled at each of the children, amused to see that Jack was already out cold on his father’s shoulder. “You have a beautiful family,” I said. “You should be very proud.”

  “I am,” Colin said. “The greatest day of my life was when Aoife, the loveliest girl in all of Ireland, agreed to be my wife,” he said. The grin he cast Aoife was full of roguish charm, and she shook her head and sighed.

  “You’re incorrigible,” she said. “And you’re still an eejit.”

  “I am at that,” he agreed. His grin deepened. “But you love me.”

  “With all that I am.” She sighed. She leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t a chaste kiss.

  I wasn’t sure where to look, but my gaze was caught by Amelia’s. The young girl whispered, in a voice that wasn’t a whisper at all, “They do that all the time.”

  The couple broke apart, and Aoife ruffled her husband’s hair and said, “All right, my dearest husband, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn for some craic. Off you pop.”

  “What?” Colin protested.

  “The children are yours,” she said. “While I stay and get reacquainted with Chelsea. It’s been, what, seven years? We’re due for a catch-up.”

  Oh boy. I wondered if it was going to be a catch-up or an ass chewing, although Aoife had said it was her turn for “craic,” which in Ireland meant fun. Then again, ripping me a new one might be a great good time for her.

  I glanced at Colin, looking for help, but he shrugged in resignation and slid out of the booth. Amelia and Connor happily released their mom and latched onto their dad. Aoife kissed baby Jack and each of the children and then slid into the booth across from me. She raised her arm to flag down Michael while Colin leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

  “It was grand to see you again, Chelsea,” he said. “Come back out to the farm if you’ve got time, or better yet, come to the house for dinner.”

  “We’ll see,” I said. More accurately, that would happen on the twelfth of never. I lowered my voice and asked, “Aoife doesn’t hold grudges, does she?”

  “Hide the knives,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

  My eyes went wide, and then I caught the twinkle in his eye and laughed. I took a lingering glance at his square-jawed, handsome face, knowing it was likely the last time I’d ever see him. “It really was great to see you.”

  Colin glanced at his wife and gave her a wicked wink. “I’ll be waiting for you, missus, at home.”

  “Just make sure it’s worth my trouble to come home,” she said. Her look was sly.

  “Oh, it’ll be worth it.” He kissed her quick and then hugged the baby close as he strolled out of the pub with his children gathered around him as if he were the pied piper.

  The musicians were playing softly in the corner, clearly still warming up, but Colin took the thread of one of their songs and twined it with his rich baritone. He started singing the Irish tune “Whiskey in the Jar,” which I hadn’t heard since I’d last been here. The rest of the pub regulars joined in as Colin passed by.

  Aoife was singing softly under her breath as she watched her man and her children head for home. She blew a kiss in their direction, and Colin caught it with his free hand just before he slipped out the door.

  Michael stopped by our booth with two shots of whiskey and two more pints. I glanced at Aoife in alarm. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the pretty Irishwoman, so I figured I’d best be blunt.

  “Is this where you smash a glass and threaten to go for my throat for going after your man?” I asked. I hoped it sounded like I was kidding, because I was . . . mostly.

  Aoife tossed her head back and laughed. “You Americans, you’re so dramatic. I have no ill will for you, Chelsea.”

  “Even though I was having dinner with Colin?” I asked. “I mean, even I know it looked pretty bad.”

  “I’m not a jealous woman,” Aoife said. “It’s such a wasted emotion. If Colin did me wrong, then he’s not the man I thought he was, and getting jealous certainly wouldn’t change that. I’d be the one feeling badly with the twisting snake in my belly, not him.”

  “True enough.”

  “Besides, despite his mischievous nature, my Colin is an altar boy all the way through, which is why he sent me the message inviting me to join you,” Aoife said. She seemed pleased by this. “He was happy to see you and may have even fancied a bit of a flirt to remember
his youth, but if you’d made a play for him, he’d have run so far and fast, you’d not have been able to catch him.”

  I laughed. I knew Aoife spoke the truth. That was one of the things I’d loved most about Colin. He was good and kind and loyal all the way down to his toes.

  “I’ve no need to fight for what’s mine,” Aoife said. “He’s a steady man, and I’m grateful for it.”

  “You seem very well suited and happy together,” I said. “I’m glad. He deserves a good wife and a happy life.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She raised her shot of whiskey, and I did the same. We clinked glasses and knocked back the shots. Mine burned a path down my throat, and my eyes smarted as I fought not to cough. Instead, I took a long swig of my beer to wash it down.

  “That’ll cure what ails you,” Aoife said. “At least for the evening.”

  “Or it’ll burn it right out of you,” I said. I studied my drinking companion. “When did you and Colin get together?”

  “About a year after you left,” she said. “He pined for you for a long while.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said. I shrugged. “I had to go.”

  “No need to apologize to me,” Aoife said. “I wasn’t ready for him the summer I met him, but a year later I was, and because you hadn’t come back, so was he. I did wonder why you never returned. You seemed so happy on the farm.”

  “I was, but I had committed to other jobs, and I knew it was likely my only chance to see the world, and I didn’t want to miss it. Then I was called home because . . . my mother was dying,” I said. “Everything changed for me after she passed.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Aoife said. She sounded like she genuinely meant it. She reached across the table and put her hand over mine. It comforted me, and I welcomed it. “That’s a crushing blow to lose a parent so young.”

  I nodded. It had been a crusher.

  Aoife wasn’t one for melancholy, however, and the next thing I knew, she had me up and out of the booth, dancing a reel. The four men were locals, but the other two women were tourists as hopelessly lost at dancing as I was, which made me feel immensely better. There were stubbed toes and people moving in the wrong direction, and occasionally the wrong partner was grabbed. Such as when Aoife grabbed me and danced me out and around the circle to much hilarity.