by Frankie Love
“And has it been working for you, lassie?” I ask, raising the tea to my mouth.
She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. I know I’ve touched on something deep and raw within her. And I love that she doesn’t pull away from the complicated question.
“No. It hasn’t worked at all. This new lease on life has been one massive letdown.”
“Surely not all of it has been a letdown?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and looking down at my groin.
“I know what you’re doing, being cute to make me feel better; and Conor, I seriously appreciate it. But, I really mean it. This was my grand scheme to recharge my life …and now it’s almost over. My money’s nearly gone, I have a ticket to go to a home I don’t even have. I suppose I can move back in with my parents, but... it feels so anti-climactic. I just honestly don’t know what I’m going to do next.”
“I thought you said you were going to find a rainbow?”
She sighs deeply, and then as if mustering up every last ounce of courage she nods her head. “Yes,” she says sadly. “I’m going to try and find a rainbow. But then what? I mean, say I do find a rainbow, —it doesn’t mean there’s going to be some pot of gold at the end of it.” She shakes her head.
“But, what if there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?” I ask, already wondering how this story between us is going to play out, and realizing it’s a lot more complicated than Patrick or Sean thought. More complicated than I thought, certainly.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Part of me wonders if this has all been one life lesson, teaching me that there is no such thing as luck.”
“Oh, lassie, that’s not true at all. I think you met me for a reason.”
“You? What do you have to do with me finding a rainbow?”
I grin, realizing I may not know where our story ends, but I have an idea of how to get us there.
“Because, Clover, I’m The Lucky Irishman. I’m the one you paid to help you find your rainbow.”
8
When Conor tells me he’s The Lucky Irishman, my mouth drops. Is he fucking kidding me with this?
“Honest?” I shake my head, confused.
“Cross my heart, hope to die. Swear it on my mam’s grave. My father’s too.”
“You don’t have to swear on your parents. I … just. That’s a really weird coincidence.”
“Aye, I don’t believe in coincidence. My entire career has been built on expelling them.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I laugh, picking up my mug of tea, wondering where exactly this day is taking me. “So,” I clarify, “you’re The Lucky Irishman.”
“I am like I just explained.”
“And you’re not just teasing me. Not just saying that to like, get me to sleep with you again?”
Conor chuckles. “I don’t think I have to lie to you to get you to sleep with me, lassie. I think you want to do that again, regardless of what I say to you.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks because he’s right about that. Going down on him in the bedroom was the sexiest thing I’ve ever done, and all I want is to do it again.
“See, now I know what you’re thinking about,” he tells me. Setting down his mug, he runs his hand over his scruffy beard, grinning. “I’ll find you a rainbow, Clover. And after we find your rainbow, we’re coming back here and you can have more of what we started.”
“I don’t know if that will happen,” I say, already pushing back on what I want. Which is what I always do. Denying myself the good things I deserve... not really believing I deserve them at all. “Once I find the rainbow, I’m going home. I already have the plane ticket.”
“But you told me you don’t have a home to go to,” he presses. “Are you really so anxious to leave?”
I shrug, thinking over the last three weeks here in Ireland. They have been the loneliest three weeks of my life.
The truth is, I don’t have a ton of friends at home. A few years back, when I was in college it was easier, but after I graduated, I never really tried to meet new people. And sure, I have coworkers at the coffee shop, but I’ve never been one of those girls who had a best friend forever.
I swallow because obviously, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why I’ve never had a BFF. My modus operandi has always been bitchy and bitchier. It’s no wonder I don’t draw people in.
I drink my tea; avoiding Conor’s eyes, knowing that maybe I’m the reason my luck is so damn bad, just like Julian suggested.
I push away every good thing. People like that are left alone, trekking across the country of Ireland all by themselves. People like that don't find rainbows, not because they're not there, but because we refuse to see the good right in front of us.
And now, standing in this Irishman’s kitchen, I’m with a man who is funny and charming and sexy, who lives in a fucking barn worthy of an Instagram account capturing rugged mountain homes, a man who knows how to make tea and loves his country, feels like more than I deserve.
“Conor, once I find the rainbow I’m leaving. The truth is, I have no real reason to stay.”
Conor looks at me closer than I’d like, not answering me right away.
I change the subject, not wanting to dwell on my personal revelation.
“I paid for a private tour, so, Conor, where does it start?”
***
Outside, in Conor’s driveway, I see that he has a magnificent view. The barn is situated on a lovely spread of land, green as far as the eye can see.
“The property is beautiful,” I tell him.
“I’m glad you think so.”
He points to a van at the end of his drive. “So, I usually take the tour van right there, but I usually have a bigger group of maybe 4 or 5 that I drive around.”
“How long is your tour?”
“Well, I do my best to take them to the main tourists’ attractions in Wicklow. We go to Glendalough and Guinness Lake, stop at the Avoca Mill, places like that. But truly, the reason people choose my tour over another company is that I do my best to take them to the luckiest places, I have a knack for it, really. Just like you, others come for the promise of fairies or leprechauns. Or the rainbows, which I know you’re looking for.”
“And you usually find these things for people? You find leprechauns for your tourists?” I laugh, not believing this.
“Look, I show them the things they want to find. More than anything, though, I make sure to give the tourists a good time. That’s what they are here, after all, to enjoy themselves.”
When he speaks of tourists enjoying themselves I can’t help but feel a gurgle of jealousy inside of me, thinking he probably does show them a good time.
“Well, I booked you for the entire day, all for myself; spent my life savings to do so,” I tease; only half-joking. “So, let’s do this.”
“I think we’ll start in Glencree. Once there, there’s about a three-hour hike to Ravens’ Rock, and at the top of the rock, I’m sure we’ll see a rainbow.”
I smile, appreciating his focus on my one and only goal.
“Sounds perfect.”
“But we can go in my truck, no need to take the tour van.”
A few minutes later, we’re on the road and I can’t help but look out the window and marvel at everything I see. While I’ve spent the last three weeks in Ireland, the truth is, I haven’t had a real chance to let down my guard and relax. I’ve been so singularly focused that I haven’t even had a chance to enjoy myself.
But now, someone else is in charge and that helps me enjoy myself.
“We’ll cross through the lush gardens first,” he tells me. “They’re just magnificent, and the lochs there, too––just gorgeous”.
“It all sounds so wonderful. I live in Brooklyn and there’s not much in terms of wildlife. It’s hard to get out of the city.”
“Aye, then this is a far cry from home. You always lived there?” he asks, parking the truck in a small lot beside a dozen parked cars.
“I’ve always lived in New York, but not the city. I grew up in upstate New York. My parents still live in Buffalo.”
“Is it far?”
“Only half a day’s drive and I visit a few times a year. They’re busy with work, and honestly, we’re not that close.”
“Just half a day? That’s quite far, Clover. Takes that long to get from Dublin to London.”
I smirk as he points out another difference between us.
“But I’m truly sorry to hear that,” he adds.
“I take it you and your parents were pretty close?”
“The closest. It was difficult when Patrick and I lost them so quickly. My mam fell a few years back, broke her hip, never recovered. My father, he died a month later of a broken heart. The saddest story I ever heard, but just the ending is sad, I reckon. Those two had a happy life together.”
I nod, my heart swelling at his tenderness towards his parents. I reach over and take hold of his hand. Not letting go until we get to Glencree.
Once there, we hop out of the cab, ready for our adventure. I grab my camera bag from the truck and sling it over my shoulder. I unzip the case and triple check that everything is here.
As we start hiking up the trail, it’s impossible not to be whisked away by the romance of the mountain. And seeing Conor here, it’s obvious he’s in his element. Each step he takes looks natural, he moves with so much ease. And I swore he looked like he fit in down at that Dublin bar, but now I know being there was a far cry from his truest self.
Here, in the woods, Conor looks like he was carved from the same trees we’re passing as if he was made to walk alongside the green grass. As if he was made of this land, of this dirt, of this sky. Conor was made from this country, and I’ve never seen someone look so at home as he does, here.
“You doing okay, lass? You’re awfully quiet.”
“It’s so beautiful here,” I tell him, “but I must say I wish I’d worn better shoes.”
“You came to Ireland for a month to traipse around for a rainbow and you didn’t bring proper hiking boots? Just a pair of runners?” he asks, looking down at my tennis shoes.
“I think we’ve already established I wasn’t thinking this entire thing through when I made the decision to come,” I tell him shaking my head. “So, tell me, where is this rainbow you promised?”
“We’ve got another 3 miles to go at least. We’ve only walked half a mile so far.”
“Right.” I shake my head at my stupidity.
“At the top of Raven’s Rock, that’s where we will look for one. And look,” he says, pointing to the sky, “the clouds are just beginning to part. It might be a lucky day.”
It feels good to have Conor lead me to this guaranteed rainbow, but part of me wouldn’t mind not finding one.
He offers me his hand, and I take it.
If I don’t find one, I have an excuse to stay... even if it’s just for one more day.
Not that I’ll tell him that.
***
I’m sweaty and hot, and we’ve finally completed the 3.5-mile walk. The entire thing was uphill, not that I minded.
I swear I’ll never complain about this hike.
For 3 miles, I have had the privilege of watching Conor’s derriere as he walked up the mountain, straight ahead of me.
His ass is perfect in those jeans and every time he bent over to tie his shoe or point out some indigenous flora and fauna, the back of his flannel shirt raised ever so slightly, teasing me. Tempting me.
“Here we are, lassie.”
Standing at the top of Raven’s Rock, it feels like we can see forever.
“It’s lovely,” I tell him. “And I don’t want to be a spoilsport, but I’m wondering about that promised rainbow, Lucky Irishman.” Elbowing him, I tease. The sky is clear blue, not a cloud in sight, and certainly no rainbow.
He laughs, “Look, I don’t know what’s happening. There are always rainbows when I come. Always.”
“You sure about that?” I give him a signature scowl.
“I’m sure, lassie. I don’t know what the problem is.”
“Well, should we just sit here and wait or...?” My stomach growls, and I know it’s way past lunch time. We stopped a hundred times on this hike for Conor to point out something, all of it amazing, but it also means combined with the drive out here, it’s already afternoon, and we still have to walk back to the truck.
“Do you want to wait and look for one?” he asks. “The truth is, looking at that sky, I wonder if we’ll find one here today.”
“So, your whole guarantee a rainbow thing... Not exactly a science?”
“I’m telling you, I usually get to five or six stops on the tour a day. We’ve only managed one so far. So, don’t get your panties in a bunch yet.”
“Well, I’m hungry, so can we get some food and then go to stop number two?”
“Course, lassie. Wouldn’t want to see you hangry now would we?”
I smile. “No, we wouldn’t want that. Just let me get a few photographs, and then we can go.”
“I love that you take photos, Clover,” he says, watching me unpack my case and screw on a lens. “It’s so incredible, that you can look at a landscape and know just how to capture it.”
I smile up at him, positioning the camera in front of me, noticing where the light catches.
“I went to school for it, it’s not like I was born knowing how to do this,” I say.
“Don’t downplay your gifts.”
“Your gifts are better,” I tell him. “You know these mountains like the back of your hand. And know your place in them.”
“You know, lass, for a photographer, sometimes I think you don’t know where to zoom in or zoom out.”
I lower the camera. “Are you saying I don’t know how to focus?” Irritation flowers in my belly.
Conor shakes his head. “No, I’m not saying you don’t know how to focus, just that maybe you’re focusing on the wrong thing. What you aren’t, instead of what you are.”
I raise the camera to my eye, clicking wildly to avoid this conversation. Knowing though, as I do, that my eye is naturally trained on the right things when I look through the viewfinder. I know what parts of the photograph are inessential, and what parts matter the most.
And I know, deep inside, that Conor is absolutely right.
In life, unlike my creative work -- I’m focused on all the wrong things. What I haven’t got. Who wronged me. Why things aren’t fair.
I turn with the camera still to my eye and snap a photo of Conor looking out at the mountain views he has spent his life taking in.
The portrait of him is lovely. The green hills behind him, his face rugged and alive, as if he knows exactly where he belongs. Who he is.
In this moment, I know being here with him--a man so good and so true and so unfucking pretentious--is not an accident. I was supposed to meet him. A man so willing to say the hard truth.
Because I need the hard truth. I need a reality check.
He turns, realizes I’m focused on him.
“What is it?” he asks as I set the camera down.
I shake my head, not quite knowing how to say any of that to him.
“Did I hurt you, with my words?”
I shake my head again.
If I speak, I’m going to say things that are way out of line. Words like, I want you. Words like, please never let me go.
“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry, lass?”
“Thank you,” I manage. “For your honesty.”
As if knowing I can’t manage more of this conversation right now, Conor simply takes my hand and leads me down the mountain.
In this moment, finding a rainbow is far from my mind.
Because right, now, I feel like I have a pot of gold all my own.
9
I hate lying to her. And I can justify it in my mind, that it isn’t lying exactly... but it isn’t honest either.
She thinks I couldn’t
find her a rainbow, but that isn’t the truth at all. Just when we crossed a riverbank in Glencree, I saw one up ahead, and that’s not all of it, I saw nearly a dozen throughout the day.
Every time, though, when one was near, I bent low, grabbed her hand, and pointed out some rubbish plant or animal track.
It was all for a good cause. If she finds her rainbow, she’s good as gone.
And I can’t have that. Because of the bet, surely, but also because I want more time with her.
Clover is a fucking treasure, and I swear, I’d traipse through a grassy hill all day looking for a shamrock or chase a leprechaun––even if I knew I’d never find one if it meant she was by my side while I was looking.
“Here we are,” I tell her, pulling into Johnnie Fox’s Irish Pub. “It’s said to be the highest pub in all of Ireland. Nestled high in the Dublin Mountains. Established in 1798, it’s one of the oldest pubs too.”
“Is this the spiel you give all your tours?”
I shrug, “Tis. Do I make a good go of it?”
“It feels a little info-dumpy, but it’s fine. Factual yet concise; I approve.”
I open the pub door for her, and we find a seat in the corner near a turf fire.
“You cold?” I ask as a waitress brings us each a pint of Guinness.
“This will warm me up,” she says, holding up her glass and knocking her rim against mine.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“Double rainbows?”
“I think that might be a reach, for now, let’s just hope for one.” I smile, raising my glass to hers, but beneath the smile, I feel a growing worry deep inside me––if she realizes what I’m up to, I’m royally screwed.
We both order lamb stew, and as we wait for it, Clover surprises me.
“So, I was thinking, it’s already four in the afternoon and after we eat, there’s still quite a drive back to your barn... I don’t see how we can fit in more rainbow stops today.”
I furrow my brows, surprised that she’s okay with giving up her quest for now and nervous that it means she’s over this entire hunt.
