Page 126 of Experiments in Offline Dating

That day was different.

It was different for us—who no longer cared about anything but being within arm’s length, finding a bit of skin to touch, a moment to lock eyes and remember every second of the night before in drawn-out, lurid detail.

But also different for me, because I had never been like that with anyone before. I hated PDA. It made me awkward and clumsy and had always felt like some sickeningly saccharine play I was trying to put on to make someone else happy, convince them I had a heart. But somehow, no one else mattered now. I could not get enough of him, his drug was in my system, and I didn’t care who saw it, I needed more.

At the café, we ate everything in sight, our legs and feet touching beneath the table. Then the rain stopped for a bit, and we decided to see one last destination before all the magic was over and we had to pack up and head back to the mainland. The thought of the mainland felt like an ice pick to my sternum. This had an expiration date, of course, but it felt far too soon.

Hand in hand, we wove through a little cluster of old cottages and found the quiet rocky path up to the black fort ruin, far too steep and rocky a road for any tour buses. This, we were told, was more for the locals. We saw no one else as we wove our way up, Finn barking and running around, too excited to keep pace with us.

Dún Dúchathair, the black fort, looked like a smaller version of Dún Aengus. But where exploring yesterday’s fort had been pretty cool, this was something truly special. No one was here.

Instead of one long jagged cliff straight down, the sea here had carved out two perfectly scooped coves, the ruin still clinging to a fragment of land that jutted out between them, all the more beautiful and otherworldly for its fragility, its helplessness to the water, glittering like jewels below.

We explored the ruins and the strange, shattered flats of gray slate, so common here that it was used for everything; we found fossils of ammonites that I thought looked remarkably like the old Celtic swirls carved into many of the ancient, sacred structures.

“Let’s sit here. The view is just as good.” Tadhg motioned to a rock far away from the edge.

“It’s not just as good.” I tugged the weight of him with both hands but couldn’t move him an inch.

His brow furrowed. “There’s no need to always push yourself.”

“I want to go sit over there. I can do this.” I stepped in to him and looked up into his eyes. “If you’re there.”

He gathered me in his arms and pressed a kiss on the top of my head. “Aww. Look how sweet you are now. I guess all you needed was to be bedded half a dozen times in one night.”

I smiled against his chest. “I can do it if you’re there because you’re essentially a massive sack of bricks wrapped in flannel and I know that even a tsunami can’t sweep me off this cliff if I’m holding on to you.”

“Oh, I see. So I’m your security system, then.”

“Exactly.” I looked up in his eyes. “If an anvil could scowl all the time, that would be you.”

“Christ, you’re a pain in my arse,” he said sweetly, like it was sweet nothings.

I wrapped my hands around said arse and squeezed. “Seems fine to me. Stop complaining. Now let’s go and see if you and Finn can manage to herd me off the edge of the cliff like a buffalo.”

The wind was angry as it crashed into us, but he held my hand tight and anchored me. We took our time over the stones until we got to the long, flat stretches of rock that had shorn off and left perfect benches for the view.

It was so beautiful that it felt almost painful. Tadhg put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. The storm could bluster and seethe all it wanted. Tadhg would always keep me safe.

Then Finn jumped up and lay down beside me. I silently made a shocked face to Tadhg, who made a face right back. Tentatively at first, I stroked her silky fur, and when there was no bloodshed, I relaxed into it, and she closed her eyes, and I forgot what an asshole she was until it was much too late for either of us to turn back.

We lost track of time. We had to hurry back, and every step of the way, all I could think was that this was almost over, that soon we’d be on the ferry and it would sail us away from here. It would be over, and neither of us knew what this fling would become when it was.

I had hoped we might have an hour or more to curl up in bed one more time. To have each other again. To remind ourselves what that felt like and to store it away somewhere safe in our memories. But time had gotten away from us.

We collected our things from the B&B in a rush and jogged to the ferry, Tadhg carrying my bag as well as his. The rain stung my eyes until they welled up.

But when we got to the harbor, there was no line of tourists in raincoats. There was no ship. We found an older man in a ticket booth, and Tadhg spoke to him in Irish that spilled out so quickly it sounded like a song. Then Tadhg translated for me: “Ferry’s canceled. There’s a storm coming tomorrow, he says, and the water’s too choppy.” My heart thudded. Tadhg frowned down at me. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. We’ll . . . Well, there’s not much we can do, but when we get back to—”

“How long?”

The man answered me in English. “Ah, no telling. You’re stuck here. Could be three or four days, like, if the water’s rough.”

Concern pulled at Tadhg’s face. A laugh bubbled out of me. “Thank God.” And then right there, in front of the little man in his yellow raincoat, I pulled Tadhg in and kissed him hard against my smile.

The man said something and snapped the glass closed. Tadhg laughed.

“What was that?” I asked.