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Someday In Dublin

Someday In Dublin

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Someday In Dublin

Length:
244 pages
3 hours
Publisher:
Released:
May 8, 2015
ISBN:
9781311875150
Format:
Book

Description

Amy travels to Dublin on a whim, desperate to escape her life and reconnect with the person she used to be. With the help of a friend, she assembles a list – an Irish ‘bucket list’ of sorts – for her whirlwind weekend, planning every single detail...

Except for Michael. She never saw him coming.

When they connect at a crowded pub, sparks fly and Amy’s plans become twice the fun - until a secret changes everything between them, altering the course of two lives.

Can Amy find her spirit and rekindle her passion? Can Michael face his inner demons and find the absolution he needs? And can they find their way back and find what they need in each other?

Find out....Someday In Dublin!

Publisher:
Released:
May 8, 2015
ISBN:
9781311875150
Format:
Book

About the author

Britt DeLaney lives and writes near Philadelphia. In her spare time she watches too much Netflix, eats too many Pop-Tarts, and is currently writing her ass off.


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Someday In Dublin - Britt DeLaney

Someday In Dublin

Britt DeLaney

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Britt DeLaney

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgments

This one is for all the hopelessly hopeful romantics everywhere.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Dublin

Chapter 2: The List

Chapter 3: Taking A Chance

Chapter 4: Morning

Chapter 5: Moher

Chapter 6: Linsdoonvarna

Chapter 7: Dun Aengus

Chapter 8: Bray

Chapter 9: Kate

Chapter 10: Goodbye

Chapter 11: Reality

Chapter 12: The Letters

Chapter 13: Exchange

Chapter 14: To And Fro

Chapter 15: Storm

Chapter 16: Resolved

Chapter 17: Philadelphia

Chapter 18: Lancaster

Chapter 19: New York

Chapter 20: Washington DC

Chapter 21: Cape May

Chapter 22: West Chester

Chapter 23: Howth

About the Author

Other Books by Britt DeLaney

Chapter 1

Dublin

He was looking over at her again.

Amy took another drink of her cider and self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear as she glanced down at her journal. She was embarrassed as hell that he'd caught her eavesdropping on the table next to her, but she couldn't help herself.

The old guy on the left, who – for whatever reason – went by the nickname of Duke was regaling his best mate with a story about his younger days in the army, a very drunken evening and a woman who was born without a thumb.

And Amy just missed the punchline because Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Wearing-A-Smirk was onto her. She strained to listen in without looking so obvious about it, leaning back slightly while holding the journal up, as though she were reading from it.

Duke's friend was now explaining that certain types of alcohol give you very different hangovers, and generally expounding on the failure of younger men to heed the warnings of their drinking elders before they indulge and regret.

Regret? said Duke. I'd not regret her. Thumb or no, she's an experience I haven't had the like of since. I think she felt she had to compensate for it somehow.

It was only a thumb, his companion pointed out. It's not as though you found something standing up t' greet you when you dropped her drawers.

Duke smacked the table, joining his friend in a good laugh. Amy couldn't help but smile as she set the journal down, and picked up her pen.

You would love these old men. Their laughter is contagious. And you know their stories will carry them through the night or at least a few more pints while the world spins on around them.

She chewed on her pen cap, rereading it and thinking it sounded stupid. Who was she kidding? She wasn't a writer.

Mr. Staring Too Hard was throwing her completely off. She pushed her long brown hair back off her face, scratching through the sentence as she wrinkled her nose. She reached for her drink, finishing the last of it, and glanced up again.

He was talking to the bartender and not looking at her now.

Wait, yes he was.

He'd just turned his head and he was looking right at her again. She hastily looked down, hoping he didn't notice her noticing that he wasn't noticing her when he finally noticed her again.

She flipped back a page in her journal, pulling out a stack of folded papers and laying them flat in front of her before making a check mark next to the an item on the first page.

Then she looked up again.

He was watching her over the lip of his glass, which he'd just tilted up to his mouth. His now smiling mouth.

Amy looked down at the table, determined this time to make a serious effort to ignore him. She opened up her journal again, and set her pen to it.

You would laugh out loud at me if you were sitting here, she wrote. He's gorgeous, but as usual, I don't have the balls to do much more than look like an idiot every time we lock eyes. I know what you'd say if you were here. I know what you'd say and I'm not going to do it.

Amy punched the button on her phone so she could check the time. She turned it back off again, and then closed up her journal, folding and sliding the papers back between the pages.

She was just starting to reach for her coat when she realized he was standing in front of her.

Running away, are you? he asked. He had a glass in each hand, and he set one down on the table. Well, it's too late. I've brought your drink.

Huh?

You're drinking Bulmer's – at least, that's what Tom told me. He inclined his head toward the bartender.

Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am, she said, nodding. Thanks.

So are you staying or are you leaving? he pressed. Because I had planned for us to be staring at each other for another thirty minutes, but if you've better things to do… He cracked a sideways smile that made her feel a little flustered.

Maybe a lot flustered. He was handsome from across the room, but up close those eyes were too blue, that jawline was too strong under the close stubble covering it. His dark, silky hair was slightly mussed and he had a dimple on one side when he smiled.

You're staring again, he pointed out, lifting his brows.

Amy flushed hot red. Okay, he was gorgeous, but he was also kind of a jerk. She didn't have time for jerks. She had an agenda to keep.

I was just thinking, she said. I was getting ready to leave because I have somewhere to be.

He leaned back, grimacing in a pained way. Just the luck I'm having, he said. You're meeting a fella then?

Amy couldn't help but smile at the word fella. She shook her head.

No. I'm on my own. I came here for dinner but – she reached over, opening the journal and sliding one of the papers out. Hey, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for a certain pub.

If it's a pub you're looking for, I'm your man, he said, sliding into the chair across from her and setting his glass down on the table. He extended his hand.

Michael.

She took it, shaking gently. Amy.

Amy the American?

She smiled sheepishly, tucking her hair behind her ear again. Is it that obvious?

You sound like one, he said, But apart from that, you're nearly falling out of your seat trying to listen to the people around you.

She reached for her cider, taking a drink and setting it down. Let me guess…you're a regular, and you've heard every story these old guys have to tell.

Definitely. My turn to guess…the story involved a woman of questionable reputation.

Amy nodded, grinning. And only one thumb.

Ah, the thumbless girl. A beautiful story.

How did her husband find out? Amy asked, lowering her voice and leaning forward. I didn't catch that part.

I haven't the slightest idea, he shrugged. I've never seen those two before in my life. But there are two like them in every pub in Ireland.

She looked surreptitiously over her shoulder. I'll bet there are, she said. I just wish I had the gift for capturing stories like that.

You're a writer, then? He gestured toward her journal.

Amy glanced down. What me? No. No way. Not that creative.

Michael crossed his arms and put his thumbs under his chin, studying her.

No, I'm thinking that you are.

Really. She arched a brow, waiting to see where he was going with this.

You came all the way to Dublin for holiday, he said. Your eyes light up with every story you hear – I've watched you eavesdrop on three or four now – and every so often, you look out the window and watch the people on the streets as if you long to hear their stories, too. He leaned back, reaching for his beer. I think you've got an adventurous spirit, Amy from America.

She looked at him as if startled, then covered it quickly, reaching for her cider. I don't know if I'd call eavesdropping in a pub an adventure.

Maybe you'd reconsider if you'd heard the rest of his story, Michael said, gesturing at the old man with a twinkle in his eye. Or mine.

She took a drink. Maybe, she allowed.

Is it your first time to Ireland?

Yes. My first day, even.

Well, welcome, he said, lifting his glass to clink it to hers. Amy picked up her cider, clinking back.

Sláinte. she said.

Sláinte, he replied. You're already learning the language. He took a drink, setting his glass back down. Now, what's the name of the pub you're looking for?

Amy reached for the piece of paper, unfolding it. The Long Stone, she read.

The Long Stone? He looked at her askance. You don't want to go there, luv. They're overpriced and usually overcrowded. I can recommend a dozen better pubs, and closer.

No, it's got to be that one, she said apologetically. Is it far? Google made it look like it wasn't too hard to get to, but I got turned around twice today just walking a few blocks. My sense of direction isn't the greatest.

It's a short walk, he replied. I can take you there if you've set your heart on it.

She looked at him warily. I don’t want to be any trouble. I can find it if you'll just point the way.

He folded his arms on the table. You're no trouble. And we'll be walking on well-lit streets teeming with the cream of Dublin society. He put a hand to his heart. I promise.

She chewed her lip. I'll think about it, she said.

Michael nodded. Well, I've already made up my mind about you, but if you'd rather not have my company for this evening, I'll be off and out of your way. I'm no bowsie.

She took another drink, toying with her glass and pushing it around on the table.

You've made up your mind about me? She looked up at him.

I have. He gave her an impish grin and she couldn't seem to stop herself from smiling back.

All right. You can show me the way, she said. But I'm not so sure I've made up my mind about you yet.

She stood up, reaching for her coat, but he beat her to it. He held it out, helping her into it.

Well, Amy from America, he said. I think you have. And now it's up to me to prove you right.

Chapter 2

The List

They stepped out onto the bustle of the street, and Michael indicated a left turn from the door of the pub they'd just vacated.

So why The Long Stone? he asked.

It was recommended by a friend. Amy shoved her journal under her arm, then tucked her hands in her pockets. It's really cold out here.

You do realize you're in Ireland? We're as far north as Canada to you Yanks.

Guess I never thought about that before, she said. I picked September because I thought it would be mild.

In the daylight, it is, he agreed. But once the sun goes down, it takes a pub and some fine companionship can keep you warm.

He didn't glance down at her as he put a hand to the small of her back, guiding her through a gathered throng on one corner that was queuing up to get into a busy pub. It was a good thing, too. Amy wasn't feeling nearly as cold with all the heat flooding her face. This guy had her seriously off-balance.

So…Amy the American…where are you from?

Just outside of Philadelphia, she said. Are you from Dublin?

I'm from Killiney. It's not far. I work in Dublin.

And what is it that you do?

Graphics and animation, he said. We do a lot of work for the movie and television industries.

Really? Amy looked up at him, fascinated.

Well, what do I look like I do?

I don't know, she said, shrugging. I just figured you were a musician or something. I think every guy that's talked to me today plays in a band.

You're in Dublin, luv, and you're an American girl. Usually we just thicken up our brogue and claim to be in a band when we see a girl the like of you.

She rolled her eyes. So you think I'm an easy target?

I would never think that of you. The corner of his mouth lifted and he raised a brow. Are you?

Not this trip, I'm afraid. She gave him an apologetic smile.

Michael let out a heavy sigh. So it's only the leprechaun talk, is it? I suppose I can add 'Top 'o the mornin' and 'Erin go bragh' to our conversation, as you prefer.

Amy laughed. You get extra points for being charming. I don't need the leprechaun talk.

You're sure?

Please. No.

Michael smiled down at her, and that dimple showed up again. And you find me charming?

She was saved from answering by the sign in front of her. Is this the place? she gestured at the sign on the outside of the pub.

This is the place, he said, slowing his steps as they approached. The inside is large and it's not so crowded as usual. There won't be much of a wait.

Amy nodded, reaching for the door. Michael stepped back, shoving his hands down in his pockets.

Are you coming in, too? she asked.

Am I?

Well, she said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. I'll need someone to keep the leprechaun band boys away.

He nodded solemnly. Fair warning, he said, "I used to play the uilleann. I'm sure that makes me unbearably sexy to American women."

"The uilleann?

Irish bagpipes. Though I may need some practice. I haven't played since I was fifteen and discovered that girls generally prefer guitar players.

I'll keep that in mind, she said, opening the door. And I'd love to have you along. I don't know anybody in Dublin.

Well, he said, holding the door open for her. Now you know me.

~ ~ ~

This place is nothing like I expected. Amy looked around, shaking her head slightly as she took in the décor. I was expecting a rowdy Irish pub, not Viking memorabilia.

Well, it is a pub, Michael pointed out. And you are in Ireland, a land that the Vikings invaded.

It's fun, she said, taking another bite of the deep fried Brie. Her eyes closed as it melted in her mouth.

Good, isn't it?

She swallowed. Sinful. I've only been here a day and I think I've put on ten pounds.

Over here, you'll weigh out in stone. Or kilograms, he said.

How many stone in ten pounds?

Can't do sums until I've had two more pints, he said, spearing the last bit of brie on his fork. And you've nothing to worry about, luv. He started to bring the fork to his mouth, and then paused. It's the last bite.

We could flip a coin for it.

I'm willing to forfeit for something in return. At her raised eyebrows, he quickly amended; Just an answer to a question.

Deal. She opened her mouth, leaning in.

He brought the

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