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Once. That was the number of times Gemma had messed up an order.
“Fuck off, Kilkenny. And by fuck off I mean out there to that steaming bunch”—she inclined her head to the rowdy hen party, all neon tutus and willies-shaped goods of various sizes—“Let’s not miss them getting another order in before hitting the nightclub.”
On his way to the dozen drunk women already hooting wildly in his approach, Fionn rustled his short curling locks, which had never acclimated well to the humidity.
“C’mon over here gorgeous, boy,” they were hooting.
He smiled at them, genuinely, holding out his hand as he gave a little twirl, but there was only one person—one woman—on Fionn’s mind tonight. His new girlfriend.
Back behind the bar as the crowd began to die down for the night, Fionn checked his watch as eleven o’clock rolled past with no sign of her coming in the front door he’d peered over at every chance since his shift started. He was tempted to text, but she said she’d come, and she never lied before.
She’d even told him when his frown gave away all his hesitation that she didn’t mind reassuring him because trust was circumstantial. He had asked her to elaborate on that, but she told him a true man of philosophy would opt to interpret it rather than be given the answer outright.
In agreement, Fionn had ruminated on what she meant for many days; the circumstantial trust—not him being a man of philosophy. But still, hehadfigured out what she meant in the end; trust was about the emotional outcome. It was in a way blind faith.
Trust my character. Trust my intentions are good, but don’t feel bad for having weariness depending on each tailored situation.
Though Fionn concluded he did trust her to come tonight like she said she would, he tapped the bar twice with agitation before leaning into Gemma who was pressing cloves into the lemon slice for the next order.
“Can I bum a cigarette?” he asked.
A single, pierced brow raised with blatant interest in what had him so riled up, but for her decency, she didn’t press, instead passing him over her second-last Benson.
“Thanks.” He barely looked at her as he left out the back in a sweaty rush into the alleyway where the Bossman was taking in a late-night order of kegs.
Fionn lit the crooked cigarette and stuffed his free hand into his pocket as he stared up at the polluted sky he found himself to be fond of.
“Help me out young lad will ya’?” Derry, his boss said through his own cigarette bobbing on his lips.
Always eager to help the man out, Fionn rolled up his sleeves and got to work stacking them by the door.
“I hear you’ve a woman,” Derry said in a jesting way. Or maybe the sing-song of all Cork accents made things sound jesting.
Fionn was sure Derry was aiming more for idle chit-chat than having true interest. The Bossman wasn’t the kind to give speeches or advice. He was the kind to laugh after each sentence just to consistently ‘keep the form up’ as he often chose to say.
Fionn didn’t judge him for that approach—the avoidance of serious conversation by route of humour. It was a trait of men he’d grown used to, to the point where Derry gave him a homely comfort not far off his dad, which felt confusing at times.
“I suppose I do have a woman, yeah,” Fionn said as they passed each other for the third time in the tow of kegs.
“And I suppose you’ll be bringing her here. That’s what I’ve heard through the grapevine anyway.”
“Tonight yeah. Tonight she said she’ll come.”
“Lucky man. Lucky man.”
Pacing back inside to the quieting bar where the rebel songs changed to weary ballads of troubles, Fionn’s melancholy fingers grasped for his phone. The slam of the front door interrupted, and his eyes immediately and almost pathetically drew up to it with another bout of hope.
Prefacing disappointment, he went to turn, but then in a second take of excessive blinking, he froze in his twisting step.
This, the raw reaction to her, had her cover all her face so that her fingers parted V’s on her eyes.
Fionn sought out the blemished wooden floor, his head shaking, mouth lopsidedly grinning, ears circumference reddening. Though not to be without looking at her for long, he near immediately drew them back again.
Of course she’d come like she said.
She lowered her hands from her face then, something mischievous brewing on her lips,
“Fionn.”
