I could feel him swallow, and then he pressed his own mouth against my hair. His chest expanded as he took a deep, steadying breath.
“I said I’d get you to the embassy,” he said. “And I’m still going to do that.”
He’d backed off in a way that was subtle but still punched me in the gut. He’d shifted his hands from where they’d started to drift over my hips to a more respectful location at my waist, likewe were two kids at a chaperoned dance. Suddenly I felt like if I tried to pull him in for a kiss it would be the most awkward, desperate thing I could possibly do. I must’ve imagined only a few moments before, when I’d been sure he was smelling my hair.
“In the meantime,” he said, “what else do you want to see in Ireland? Where do you want to go?”
I wrinkled my nose, thinking about it. In another life, if I’d had the chance to plan a trip like a normal person, there would be any number of cool attractions and amazing sites I’d want to visit. Those iconic cliffs, or megalithic monuments, or other cities like Galway or Cork. The idea of seeing any of those places sounded incredible, but I also found it hard to click into picturing myself as a regular tourist.
“It’s bad luck,” I said. “Starting a journey on a Sunday.”
He looked around, like he was searching for a clock somewhere in the club, before he reached to grab his phone out of his pocket. The action shifted him a little under my arms, and my hand did brush the edge of his hair then. I could pretend it had just been his own motion that had done it, and I used the excuse to splay my fingers in the fuzz before dropping my hand back to his neck. There was the finest sheen of sweat there, like dancing had heated him up.
“We’ve got time,” he said, glancing down at his phone screen. “Let’s keep the night going.”
We walked quickly down thecobblestoned streets with an urgency like we were two fugitives on the run, laughing like we were two teenagers out past curfew.
“Nothing is going to be open,” I said.
“That depends,” he said. “And we can always see how far we get. So what about it, what do you want to do?”
It didn’t matter, so I said the first thing that occurred to me without overanalyzing it. “Yeats’ grave?”
We came to a street with more traffic, and Eamonn reached down to grab my hand as we half ran across. He dropped it the minute we made it to the other side, and I wondered if he’d thought about it before taking my hand, or if it had been an automatic gesture. I couldn’t decide which one I liked the idea of more.
“A poet’s grave,” he said once we were headed down a side street, like he wanted to make sure he’d heard me. “That’s the one?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to see it. Is it far?”
“It’s on the other side of the bloody country,” Eamonn said, then grinned at me. “But it’s a small country. We could head that way, see how far we get before we’re too tired, then pull off the road somewhere to sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” I said. I hadn’t known I’d felt like that until I said it, any more than I’d known I was going to suggest we visit a writer’s grave in the middle of the night. I had this paranoia that if I allowed myself to go to sleep, if I let myself fall fully into a dream state, there was no telling what might happen next. I didn’t know if I’d wake up and be back in my old life, which would be a relief in many ways, should be what I wanted. I should bebeggingto sleep.
But there was also the chance that I wouldn’t wake up at all. Or that I’d wake up and be in a completely different place, a dream within a dream, a nesting doll I’d never emerge from. And I didn’t wantthisnight to be over yet, didn’t want to have to say goodbye to Eamonn now that he’d found me again.
“Well,” he said. “It’s about three hours, so I’ll try to make it in one go, but if I need to stop, then I will. How about that?”
“Sounds good.” He was the one driving through the night. It wasn’t really my place to dictate how he did it.
We kept walking, and I was grateful to have his jacket back. I was also gratified by how many streets and landmarks I felt like I recognized already, how I remembered being on Drury Street earlier that day or passed a corner shop that had been all lit up and bustling but now the windows were dark. I hadn’t traveled very much in my life, relatively speaking, but I liked the point when someplace new started feeling a little familiar.
There was a puddle in the dip of the street when we stepped off one sidewalk, and Eamonn cleared it in one easy stride, reaching back to touch my elbow as I did the same. “Watch yourself.”
I wondered what a date looked like to Eamonn. If this was the kind of thing he would’ve done with the girl he’d said didn’t see her forever with him—dinner, maybe even the dancing after. I wondered about the best date he’d ever had, if there was any part of him that would be tempted to saythis, tonight, even though it wasn’t a date, even though we hadn’t chosen it or planned it so much as let it unfold.
“So it really is all a coincidence, then?” Eamonn said seemingly out of nowhere, although maybe his thoughts were running in the same direction as mine. “You being here, after that date with Niall?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not actually dating?”
I wanted to snort, but held it in. “No.”
He gestured across the street to where he’d parked, and it made me happy just to see that weird little red car again. I stood on the right side, waiting for him to get in and open the doors, but instead he reached around me, close enough that his hand brushed my skirt, as he put the key in the lock.
“You planning to drive?” he asked, a smile in his voice, and I realized my error and walked around the front to the other side of the car. He’d already gotten in and reached over to open my door from the inside.
“It’s not my fault everything’s flipped here,” I said, buckling my seat belt.
