Page 4 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

Donal disappears downstairs and I join the queue. Thankfully it’s short. I order two Americanos and add a king-size bar of Skelligs orange chocolate, and ask the server to drop the drinks over, then make a dash to a recently vacated window seat. I dump my bags at my feet, still pushing down the acute jealousy that comes with the visual of Emma Stark and that glossy ivory dress bag.

Peeling back the silver paper I snap off two squares. I let the chocolate melt on my tongue, working its magic as I roll my eyes in appreciation. As the two coffees arrive, all I’m thinking about is that Logan will be back in Dublin.

‘Oh, you got them to have in here. I thought you meant to take away?’ He’s back, towering above me, confusion in those striking green eyes.

‘S-sorry,’ I start. What am I doing? I don’t know this man! My cheeks flush with heat. Of course he thought I meant to take away! He asked for milk and sugar. This news about Logan has sent me totally out of my mind. If I was in my flat I’d have ‘Lover’ by Taylor Swift on repeat. Followed by Gracie Abrams’s ‘That’s So True’. I’d be in a marvellous musical meltdown.

He’s still drying his hands with a paper towel. ‘Yer grand.’ He rolls it into a tight ball.

‘No, here, let me get you a takeaway cup.’ I jump up. ‘I’ve just had a really bizarre morning and I .?.?. I .?.?.’ I tug at the loose threads on my frayed shorts with one hand while gesticulating erratically to the counter with the other. But before I can finish, he’s pulling the stool out and sitting himself down on it, patting the one I’ve just got off, signalling for me to sit again. He aims the balled-up paper towel into a nearby bin and the aim isperfect. The towel falls right down into the centre. It’s almost too cool a move for a guy like him. He places his suit bag on top of my pile of bags, lifts his coffee cup. His long, lean fingers wrap around it, nearly covering the entire pink-and-red striped pattern, and focuses those kind eyes on me.

‘So what’s really going on is you just need someone to vent to right now, and a stranger with a bleeding shin seems perfect?’ He makes that claw again with his free hand and pulls the long red hair back from around his face. ‘Man I Need’ by Olivia Dean plays from the overhead speakers.

‘I’m not a lunatic. I promise.’ Still adjusting my shorts, I sit back down slowly.

He taps his fingers in time to the music. Then shakes out a sugar sachet. And in that soothing voice, he says, ‘Spill.’

Chapter Three

Two Americanos, half a bar of Skelligs and a shared cinnamon roll later, completely unexpectedly we’re still talking. Well, to be more exact, I’m still talking! I’ve filled this strange man in on my entire life. I’ve told him all about Emma Stark and how she swooped in and robbed me of my hard-fought-for internship atFerguson Brophy Bridal Designs.I’ve given him the low-down on Mia’s upcoming divorce party from Moaning Michael, and now I’m drowning him with my Logan saga. I know I should stop, but it’s like I’ve opened a well inside me and I can’t stop talking. It’s why I should have gone to therapy. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken out loud about Logan, and now I can’t seem to contain myself.

‘Believe it or not, my wedding morning to Logan looked idyllic.’ I roll out a sarcastic laugh, turning slightly to avoid the glare of the sun through the long window, and cross my tanned legs.

‘Oh, yeah?’ He lifts a ginger brow in curiosity.

‘Glorious, bright-blue skies, just like today, but there I was, like a dope, obliviously sipping mimosas with Mia, while she helped me get dressed into the gorgeous wedding dress I’d designed for myself.’ I engage my toes to grip my flip-flops.

‘Best laid plans and all that.’ He swings his impossibly long top leg on his high stool and I see the white tissue wrapped around his skinny bloodstained shin.

I shift on the stool again, my legs are sticking with the heat,I uncross them again. ‘Right? But despite being just hours away from the ceremony I couldn’t shake the feeling that something might still go wrong. My gut was roaring, but I ignored it.’ I confess this to him knowing I’ve barely confessed this to myself.

A sharp snap of his fingers jolts me. ‘Always trust your gut,’ he says rolling his shoulders down.

‘Horse. Bolted. Stable door.’ I hook my feet onto the low bar of the stool, snap off another square of chocolate and offer it to him. He accepts it.

‘Thank you. So what happened then?’ He slides it into his mouth and sucks. When he’d ordered the cinnamon bun a while ago, he’d cut it and given me the larger half.

‘I got a text!’ I do my bestLove Islandimpression. ‘Logan decided to send me a text one hour before our wedding that said –Gracie, I won’t be at the church. I can’t marry you today and I’m so sorry. I’m going to New York to follow my dreams, don’t hate me. With a kiss and the one-tear crying emoji at the end.’ I feel my stomach churn as it always does when I think of that text. That text I still read over and over and over, I’m just not able to delete it.

He takes a minute. ‘Fuck. Sorry. That’s so fucking shitty.’ A sympathetic face as those long fingers gently tip-tap the ceramic on his cup.

‘C’est la vie.’ I need to shut up, I know; let him talk. I’m not this socially unaware. I re-do my unruly hair, re-twist it into my claw clip, thinking about how to change the subject as I let the clasp snap shut.

‘And before that text?’ He tilts his head at me so that his hair falls over one eye; he shakes it back.

I crinkle my nose in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What happened that a guy can do that to a woman, leave her on her wedding day? I have sisters.’ His lips purse, he looks positively annoyed now, swirls the coffee cup with more vigour.

But this is his first question and it catches me off-balance. Niall Horan sings ‘Slow Hands’ above me. I have to think for a minute. ‘In his childhood, you mean? Nothing, Logan was adored by his parents, the golden child.’

He pinches his chin, the thick bristles in his wild beard covering his fingertips. ‘No, I mean, that’s a personality trait – surely there must have been signs that he was capable of something as utterly selfish as that?’ As he talks his beard catches the light to reveal strands of light-chestnut woven throughout. I notice now how the beard seems to enhance his features, adding dimension to his jawline and drawing attention to those expressive eyes. I’m thrown for a split second before I answer him.

‘W-well, yeah. I mean .?.?. Logan was a struggling actor when I met him. By nature, I think most actors have to be a little selfish because they have to be incredibly self-driven and have tunnel vision, ya know. I supported us both by making communion dresses in our flat while interning atFerguson Brophy Bridal Designsso he could fully focus on his career. I burnt myself out pretty much getting his career started. I paid for the rental of a theatre space in town for the show and he directed his first production ofMacbeth. He cast himself as Macbeth .?.?.’

Donal gives me a side grin. ‘Of course he did.’

‘Ah, now.’ I throw my head back and laugh, it’s the most fulfilling laugh I’ve felt in ages.