Page 22 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

I swallow loudly. ‘Oh. You .?.?. I .?.?.’

He saves my blushes. ‘My sister, I mentioned her – AKA my dating coach – doesn’t eat meat, so her first-date advice didn’t stretch to “avoid messy chicken wings”. You obviously eat chicken.’ He nods to my dish. ‘Do you like chicken wings?’

‘The Elephant & Castle ones? Sweet lord, I’d eat them for eternity,’ I admit hoping to alleviate his awkwardness.

He looks up hopefully with those striking green eyes. ‘Tell you what, Grace, how about we share these? Your meal is tiny.’

‘I’d love a chicken wing, Donal.’ I put down my fork, reach over and pick a hot one off the top of the pile. ‘And please tuck into this, too.’ With my free hand I twist my bowl into the centre. ‘You’re right, it is tiny. I’d still be starving.’ Relief floods his hot-sauce-stained face.

I lean over the small, square wooden table, blowing on the saucy wing before carefully taking a bite. ‘Oh, my God, delicious!’ I moan. ‘It really is the best hot sauce in Dublin.’

He still looks so awkward I just want to hug him.

‘Tuck in, Donal!’ I order, lifting my napkin and dabbing my mouth. ‘We’re in this together now. Two friendly carnivores.’

A smile curls at the corner of his mouth as he lifts a wing, his frame almost covering half the table as he bends to eat it.

I let him chew and I take my time, then I ask him, ‘So now that we can continue, you said you had another job taking up your cash flow, I think you said. What is it you do?’ I lick my fingers, dip them in the water bowl, and wipe my fingers on the now not-so-white napkin.

‘I’m .?.?.’ He rolls his shoulders. ‘I’m kinda in construction, you could say.’ He props his elbows on the table; the chicken wing looks minute between his long fingers. He turns it anticlockwise.

I hold my half-eaten wing in front of my mouth. ‘Really?!’ as I say the word in shock.

‘I don’t look like the buildery type?’ His shoulders shake now as he laughs.

‘No, not really.’ I bend over my wing, take another bite, chew slowly.

‘What did you think I did? Go on now, be honest.’ He dips his fingers in the water bowl and crosses his long legs. He has to shift his body to the side to allow this action. His keychain rattles from his belt buckle and he looks relaxed again. He lifts his beer and takes a long drink, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I’ve gotten used to the dried-sauce-stain on his forehead now. I’m still not telling him, though.

‘Honestly?’ I take a cold sip and put my wine back down. ‘Maybe, eh .?.?. let me see, work in a record store? Skateboard shop?’ I offer, tongue-in-cheek. I’m really starting to enjoy myself. I pick up another delicious wing. ‘One of those computer-fixing places.’

He laughs again, and it’s really contagious, it comes deep from his belly, his shoulders rocking, and I laugh, too, as he tucks his long hair behind his ear once again.

‘Jesus, that’s not great. I’m a grown-ass man.’ He drains his pint to near the end.

‘First things that came to my mind.’ I sip, hunch my own shoulders up high and make a face at him.

‘Better than serial killer, I suppose,’ he says, deadpan.

‘Way better,’ I agree, nodding slowly, licking my fingers.

‘Or a hot-dog health inspector at an outdoor music festival.’ He physically shudders.

I make a ‘scream’ face, hands on each side. ‘Ora Portaloo toilet cleaner at an outdoor music festival.’

‘Can you imagine?’ he says, appalled. He pinches the bridge of his elongated nose.

‘No!’ I block my own nose as the couple at the table next to us look over. ‘Executioner!’ I call out.

‘That’d be a head wreck!’ Donal raises his hand and we high-five, both of us freely howling now.

‘Clamper!’ we both say at the exact same time.

‘TOUCH WOOD!’ we shout in unison at one another again, tipping our fingers off the wooden table in perfect synchronicity.

We both freeze.

Neither of us speaks.