Page 18 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

‘Anyway, it’s the heat talking. On the plus side we’re nearly there.’ I move swiftly on, past the headless mannequin. ‘Just, no more impulse wedding-shoes purchases!’

‘Only one more fitting, then you’re all mine.’ Belinda gazes adoringly at her dress, then turns towards the stairs. ‘Have a great date, hun. Ya never know, he might surprise ya! Just stay away from the vindaloo, that’s not the kinda surprise you want, believe you me!’

Chapter Ten

Temple Bar is heaving as I turn the corner to Elephant & Castle. Tourists gather in tall hats shaped like shamrocks, listening to a guide talk them through the history of old Dublin. Traditional Irish music seeps out from open pub doors in the dead heat of the evening sun: the melodic strings on a fiddle followed by the heavy beat of the bodhrán.

Taking a deep breath, I shove the heavy oak door open and step inside. I pause at the podium where a sign reads, PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED. The large L-shaped restaurant isn’t too busy yet as I take a cautious glance left to right, and immediately I see him.

His skinny-jeaned legs are splayed out under the wooden table, the oxblood-red boots haphazardly crossed over one another, laces undone. There’s a long, bronze-framed mirror to my left and I do a quick check. Casual is what I was going for – frayed, baggy Y2K three-quarter-length jeans with low-heeled vintage slouch boots and a thin off-the-shoulder white ribbed top. My hair is loose, red lip intact, three-tier gold hoops. Filling my belly with another deep breath, I walk straight over and stop at the table. His head is bent over the laminated menu, a pint of beer is already half drunk, yet I’m exactly on time.

‘Donal!’ It comes out way louder than I intended and he jerks in his seat and drops the menu, as though he wasn’t expecting anyone.

‘J-Jesus .?.?.’ The shock in his expressive green eyes confirmshe definitely wasn’t expecting me to show up. I watch as the tips of his ears turn red.

‘Just Grace is fine.’ I scrunch up my nose in jest, my heart instantly going out to him and his visible embarrassment. He just exudes vulnerability.

Then he pulls his legs up and his knees collide with the underneath of the table. His pint glass topples over and the liquid spills everywhere soaking his jeans.

‘Oh!’ I jump back.

‘Balls!’ He uncurls his spine and leaps up.

Donal is at least six-foot two. I’m not small, at five seven, but he towers over me, long, lean and, well, gangly. A nearby waitress is on it and motions for us to take the adjacent free table.

‘No! Not balls .?.?. no balls .?.?. no balls .?.?.’ He looks at me as though he’s said something awful, then locks his hands to enforce a stillness. There is something so endearing about Donal, and all I want to do is to put him at ease.

‘You’ve no balls?’ I joke, hoping it might lighten the situation.

‘No! I have balls .?.?.’ He looks down at that area, then back up and suddenly his eyes are wide and he bursts into a shoulder-shaking, self-deprecating laugh.

I pretend to wipe my brow, shake out my hand. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Donal tells the waitress, turning the empty glass upright then slapping the wetness of his jeans.

‘Not a problem. Oh, you poor thing,’ she sympathises, giving me a funny look and putting a fresh jug of water on our newly set table before she begins her clean up.

‘Well that was a typical me icebreaker,’ Donal tells me, his tone gravelly as he shrugs. Once again I love the sound of his voice. It’s soothing and pleasing at the same time. Deep and calm.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I probably shouted your name,’ I say, because I did.

He remains standing until I sit, so I take the chair and he folds himself into the bench along the exposed red-brick wall opposite me.

‘Thanks for asking me for dinner,’ I say, carefully not using the word ‘date’.

He shrugs those thin shoulders, smiles broadly. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw your profile. I wasn’t sure if I should .?.?. But I thought about it and said I’d chance it.’ He tugs at his beard.

‘Of course,’ I nod with a smile.

‘My sister keeps hounding me to go on more dates, never gets off my back, so I was on Beyond Looks again last night and there you were.’ A flick of his wrist as that silver link bracelet slides down his wrist. He’s very fidgety.

‘Isn’t Dublin a small place, all the same?’ I say.

Very slowly, Donal nods his head, rolls his neck. ‘But .?.?. it’s just .?.?. well, you know, I didn’t really expect you to show up,’ he says, with such honest vulnerability that it stops me from confessing my intentions immediately: that I only accepted his date because I need one for Mia’s party. That would only hurt his feelings right now, so I don’t. I’ll wait.

‘Oh, of course. I’m delighted to meet you .?.?. yet again!’ My pitch is a little too loud and I sit up straight.

He laughs, too, and there’s that lovely, resonant quality that feels so inviting. His eyes crinkle at the corners as I continue.