by Charish Reid
“Oh yes, there are two beds and a toilet in the attic.”
It was impressive as it was lonely. She’d only need one room for her stay. “Here’s the WC, right here,” he said opening the door to the downstairs toilet. “Behind it, here’s the shower and sink. Now pay attention to this,” he flicked on the light to the actual bathroom. “The shower is controlled by this box.”
She watched in confusion as he pulled a string on a box situated beside the shower head. The sound that emitted from the contraption sounded like a small generator. “Why?”
“It controls the hot water,” he said above the noise.
“And is that different from the water heater switch in the kitchen?” she asked loudly.
“That’s right,” Mr. Creely said, switching it off.
Antonia stared at the shower, unable to understand the logic. “Alright.”
He exited the bathroom. “Let’s get you back to the living room.”
As she followed the old man, she took a quick peek out of the kitchen window. She spotted her designated clothesline and sighed. It was a far cry from her hotel in Clifden.
“Here, you’ve got a fireplace. Fer the love of Mary, do not put paper in the fire. The roof will catch fire quicker than the flight of the sídhe.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but she nodded anyway.
“You’ve got plenty of peat to burn, but you may want to buy fire starters and logs at the store.”
She peered into the bin that he referred to and saw black bricks of some kind of dirt. “Peat?” she asked, pointing at them.
“Irish fuel.”
“Is there another heat source for the evenings?”
“Ye got central heating, the control panel is on the wall there,” he pointed at the dial beside the fireplace. Antonia went ahead and turned the dial. With the setting sun, the cottage was already a little chilly. “The internet comes from that thing up there,” he said craning his head upward.
She followed his gaze and spotted the small Wi-Fi router near the ceiling.
“I had those installed just last year,” he said with pride. “Got complaints that people couldn’t do their work.”
“Great to know.”
Mr. Creely shook his head. “All of that beauty out there and people still need to stare at a screen.”
“Mm-hmm.” Antonia kept her mouth shut.
“I’ll leave you to look upstairs,” he said, handing her the key. “My knees aren’t what they once were.”
Antonia slipped the key in her jacket pocket. “Of course, I’ll check it out later.”
Mr. Creely ambled to the front door, but paused to regard her for one last time. “You’ll be staying here alone?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Mm. Your first time to Ireland?”
“Yep.”
“How do you like it so far?”
She smiled. “I like it just fine.”
“You from America?”
“Yep.”
Mr. Creely nodded. “I got a brother who lives in Boston. You ever been to Boston?”
“Sure, once or twice,” she said. “I’m from Chicago.”
His clouded eyes lit up in recognition. “Obama!” he said with a smile. “He was a fine president.”
“Oh yes,” Antonia agreed.
“When he came here, several years back, oh was that wonderful.”
“I bet.”
“And what did you say you do?”
Antonia distinctly remembered not telling Mr. Creely anything about herself. “I publish,” she stopped short. “Well, I used to publish books. But now I’m trying to write a novel.”
Mr. Creely was impressed. By what, she wasn’t entirely sure. “You’re a writer? My goodness, how grand.”
“I haven’t finished anything,” she said.
He patted her on the arm. “Ah, but ye will, ye will, dear girl. You’ll find inspiration out here.” He turned and slowly started for the door. “You’ll be a Joyce, yet,” he called over his shoulder.
Antonia chuckled. “I don’t know if I’ve got a Ulysses in me.”
Mr. Creely swatted the notion away. “Ah, start off slow and try fer a Finnegans Wake,” he joked.
She shook her head with a grin. “Sure, I’ll try that.”
Once he stepped outside, he turned and said, “You might want to talk to your neighbor about writing.”
“My neighbor?”
“There’s only one other visitor here and he’s right next door. Dr. Byrnes is a professor who comes here every year. Galway man, I believe.”
“Oh really?” Antonia asked leaning against her doorway. “Do you know what he teaches?”
“Literature,” Creely said with a wink. “Although, tonight you may find him at Coynes.”
“Coynes?”
“Paddy Coynes, the pub across the street. Also, the chipper is next door.”
“The chipper?”
“Fish and chips, hamburgers and whatnot.”
Antonia nodded. “Good to know.”
“Well, I’ll leave you be,” Mr. Creely said. “You have any problems, you just stop by the office.”
“I will,” Antonia said, relieved to settle down. “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Creely.” She closed the door on him and sank against the other side. A powerful wave of exhaustion swept over her. She still had to retrieve the rest of her bags from the car, get her groceries in the fridge, and email her loved ones before she could consider resting. “But I’m home,” she announced to the empty cottage. The silver lining was finally starting to appear before her. Antonia could already feel her shackles lighten. The weight that she left back in Chicago was just that, left in Chicago.
Chapter Ten
Antonia steeled herself against the stares from the smokers outside of the Paddy Coynes Pub. She folded her arms across her chest as she walked through their thick cloud of smoke to gain entrance.
“Evening,” one heavy-set man said, flicking his ashes at the sidewalk.
“Evening,” she breathed, reaching for the door. So far so good.
Inside the small and cozy establishment, things weren’t quite as busy as she feared. Most of the clientele must have been outside smoking. A table of young men and women looked up at her as she entered. They gave her a good once-over before returning to their drinks. Antonia had experience with being one of just a few black people in a classroom, a workplace, or at one of Derek’s work functions. This, however, was even more alienating. She was the only black person in an entire village and imagined that she would be known as “that new black woman,” in no time.
Antonia veered straight to the bar. A stiff drink could do her good right about now. She was weary from the road and jet lag was sure to follow. She wedged herself between two, red-faced men—one fat, the other bald—and flagged down the barman who had his back to her. “Excuse me?” He couldn’t hear her voice over the traditional pipe and drums that filtered through the pub’s speakers. “Excuse me.”
“Danny!” the bald gentleman barked.
The wiry barman turned on his heel, flinging a dish towel over his shoulder.
“There’s no need for ye to be shoutin’, Steven.”
“I ain’t shoutin’ for my sake,” the bald man said hitching a beefy thumb at Antonia. “I’m shoutin’ for the church mouse.”
“Thank you,” Antonia said.
Steven, who already looked bleary-eyed for six o’clock, looked her up and down. “And yer very welcome. Dear me, where’d ya come from?”
“The cottages across the street.”
The bald man burst into a loud braying laughter. “I mean, where are ya from?”
Antonia’s face warmed. This was the second time today she’d flubbed this question. “I’m from America.”
; “I’ve got a cousin in Boston,” he said. “You ever been to Boston?”
She nodded. “Yep. I’m from Chicago though.” How many times would she have to repeat this?
“Steven, leave her be,” Danny snapped. “Can’t you tell you’re drivin’ her to drink?”
“Oh, it’s fine.”
Danny leaned against the bar, adjusting the loose cigarette tucked behind his ear. “Now, what can I get you?”
She didn’t want to look like a novice on her first night. “Guinness, please.”
“That’s a real woman,” said the red-faced fat man from the other side of her. He looked fairly tall and wide, perched precariously on his barstool. While he wore an expensive gray three-piece suit, he also appeared to be in his cups.
“Coming up,” said the barman, retrieving a glass. She watched as he pulled the Guinness lever, filling a glass with the dark brown beer. A lovely thick creamy foam formed as it hit the top, making her lick her lips. “You’re from Chicago, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Your first time to Ireland?”
How can everyone tell? “It is.”
“How are you liking it so far?”
She pulled her gaze from the beer and looked at Danny. Antonia didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the repetition, but the question sent her into a peal of laughter. “Jesus,” she said in between gasps. “I’m sorry.”
Danny gave her a curious smile. “Beggin’ yer pardon?”
Antonia leaned over the bar and shook her head. “It’s not you, it’s everyone...”
“I’m pretty sure I asked her the same thing earlier today,” said a masculine voice from behind her. It was a very familiar deep and husky voice that she remembered hearing not too long ago. Antonia whirled around to face her frozen pizza friend, Aiden. He was wearing the same snug sweater and gorgeous smile from earlier.
Her mouth must have fallen open because Steven remarked, “She looks like she seen a ghost.”
“Aiden,” she breathed.
“Antonia,” he replied, tipping an empty glass at her.
“Her name’s Antonia?” Danny said. “That’s a real class name!”
“That’s what I told her,” Aiden said, leaning past her to place his glass on the bar. She felt the warmth of his body as he pressed closer to her. His scent was a pleasant mix of soap and citrus. Her belly flopped as his arm brushed against hers.
“What’s she do for a living?” Danny asked as if she weren’t standing there.
Aiden gazed down at her and pursed lips that were almost shrouded by his black beard. “I’m not sure, Danny. I don’t think I got around to asking her that.”
She shook herself out of her stupor and answered, “I publish, I mean, I used to publish books.”
Aiden gave a nod. “Well, there you are. She used to publish books.”
“Any Irish books?” Steven asked.
Antonia frowned. She had no memory of her past life before arriving to this bar. “I don’t know,” she murmured. She also wondered how the tables had turned so quickly. Only hours before, it was Aiden who was the nervous one. She swore that she’d had the upper hand in their previous interaction. Now, she bumbled like an idiot, a passive viewer of a spectacle that was quickly unfolding. “I’m not sure,” she clarified.
“Don’t worry boys,” Aiden said with a wry grin, his forest green eyes twinkling in the low light of the bar. “One day, an Irishman will make it across the pond. I heard Oscar Wilde did alright for himself.”
“He did alright indeed,” Danny said. “Your Guinness?”
Antonia was, as her mother called it, “stuck on stupid.” She slowly turned to reach for her beer, hesitating to take her eyes off Aiden. She didn’t remember being this nervous when she met Derek. That was a walk in the park compared to the flush of embarrassment that currently struck her. “Thank you,” she said to Danny.
“I’ll have the same as the lady,” Aiden spoke up. “And please put it on my tab.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” she insisted.
He smiled. “I don’t, but I’d like to.”
“First your pizza and now this,” Antonia murmured into her glass. “You’re a very giving guy.”
“You have no idea.” His voice was low and directed just to her.
A flash of alarm shot through her body. No, not alarm, something else... Antonia was desperate to extricate herself from the situation. But before she could move past him, she saw a flash of something heavy making a fast descent. The red-faced gentleman in the three-piece suit was taking a dive from his barstool and threatened to take her with him. Antonia moved too slowly to hear Danny’s shout from behind the bar and the scrape of wood against the floor.
Before she had time to react to the flurry of movements, Aiden’s strong arms scooped her up by the waist and shoved her against the bar. They narrowly missed the man who tumbled like a boulder, but she accidentally sloshed her fresh Guinness all over the front of Aiden’s sweater. Antonia gasped from the panic but when she caught Aiden’s gaze, she almost swooned within his grasp. He stared down at her as he shielded her body, and in that split second, she saw something in his eyes: A fierce possessiveness. She now understood the feeling that shot through her body. It wasn’t alarm, it was arousal. His large hands were planted on her hips, clutching her firmly, a vivid reminder of where a man’s hands could trail. While his touch didn’t linger for too long, she recognized the sensation that scorched her skin. Unable to speak, Antonia simply watched Aiden push her to safety before assisting the other men rescue the gentleman on the floor.
They certainly had their work cut out for them. The man was unconscious and lying on his back like a giant tortoise. Three grown men struggled with all of their might to pull dead weight from the floor. “Antonia, go ’round ’em and pull up a chair,” Danny shouted, the tendons in his neck stretched as he dragged the man by his arm.
Antonia set her beer down and raced behind the group of men for the nearest chair. While they heaved, she tried to fit the chair under the man’s hindquarters. “Can you get him to the chair?” she asked.
“Brace yourself!” Danny called out.
“Steady the chair, lass,” Aiden said in an authoritative baritone. “Put your back into it.”
If the situation weren’t so laughable, Antonia would have thought they were hauling a harpooned beast onto a whaling ship. She was slightly shaken, but still alert and strong enough to hold the weight of a drunken patron in a chair. When they got him squarely fitted into a safer seat, they straightened and looked upon their handiwork. Danny took the towel he’d tucked in his waist and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Jaysus, Michael...”
Michael, the drunk man, came to after a couple light slaps on his ruddy cheek.
“Where’s me whiskey?” he demanded, oblivious to the sweating men around him.
Aiden chuckled as Danny and Steven swore under their breath. “You’ve had enough whiskey,” the barkeep barked. “Just sit here and settle your hash, will ya?”
“I wanna sing a song,” Michael slurred loudly. At this point, Danny threw his hands up and walked back behind the bar. Antonia assumed that this was a good time to release her death grip on Michael’s chair.
Aiden reached out and took her arm. “Are you okay?” he asked. His large hand held her still as he appraised her for any injuries. The warmth of his touch made her tremble slightly. His closeness was inviting and dominated the space around them. The energy vibrating around him was almost enough for Antonia to forget where she was.
“Yes,” she said with a halting laugh. “I didn’t expect this kind of excitement from a sleepy village.”
Aiden’s face broke into a handsome grin that was just as contagious. She couldn’t help but return it and blush profusely. “Sounds like it’s your first time in an Irish pub.”
�
��Thanks for the welcome and the drink...that you’re currently wearing,” Antonia said, pointing to his wet chest. “Sorry about that.”
He looked down, as if he hadn’t noticed the dark stain on his sweater. “No worries, darling. We’ll get you another.”
“Already working on it,” Danny said from behind the taps. “Can’t have the lass’s first beer in Ireland spoiled on Michael’s account.”
* * *
After receiving her second beer of the evening, Antonia and Aiden found a quiet seat next to the bar’s fireplace. It burned with peat and gave off a pleasant earthy scent that she didn’t mind. Antonia looked forward to building a fire in her cottage later on.
“Mesmerizing to stare at, isn’t it?” Aiden asked as he sat beside her. The only thing that separated them was a small table to rest their beers on.
She ignored her pounding heart and focused on the comforting warmth of the crackling fire. “It is,” she said. “I don’t have a fireplace at home, in Chicago,”
“In America.”
Her gaze flew to his and found laughter in the small wrinkles around his eyes. “Yes, in America,” she said, stifling a smile.
“What are the odds that you and I would end up in the same tiny village in the middle of nowhere?”
“This wasn’t meant to be.”
Aiden took a swig of his beer. “No?”
“My original plan was to stay in Clifden, but my hotel reservation fell through.”
“And the goddamn oyster festival brought you out here?”
She shrugged. “Go figure.”
Aiden leaned back in his seat and contemplated her situation. Antonia snuck a peek at his long, sturdy Viking legs. What would it feel like to sit on his lap? Feeling very thirsty, she returned to her beer. The creamy metallic taste would take some getting used to, but it relieved her dry mouth. Yes, she was thirsty, indeed. Her polite sips of Aiden’s body became long languid stares. He had ditched his wet sweater and now sat in a black T-shirt, revealing muscular forearms covered with smooth black hair. Her gaze traveled to his sizable biceps and powerful shoulders. What’s under that T-shirt? “...when we were at SuperValu.”
