Take A Chance With Me (With Me in Seattle 18)

I’ll be damned if Joey Lemon—or anyone else—will keep me from her.

Chapter 19

~Maggie~

“Can I get you some more coffee, Mr. Dugan?” I ask the elderly man who isn’t actually an overnight guest of the inn. Still, he comes in for coffee and a full Irish breakfast, which consists of enough food to feed a family of four, three times a week. Sinead told me that she doesn’t even charge him because he lost his wife last year, and this gets him some company. He’s a sweet man, and he enjoys chatting with the guests, asking them questions about where they come from and then giving information about the area.

He should be a tour guide.

“Aye, thank you, lass.” He holds up his mug for me and smiles gratefully. “You’re a lovely sight to see first thing in the morning, sweet Maggie.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dugan. And you’re as handsome as can be. Just wave me over if you need more coffee, you hear?”

I’ve been working hard, day and night since I arrived a week ago. I can’t complain, as I knew I was here for work, and it helps to keep my mind off a certain American back home.

“I’ve got the dining room covered,” Sinead says when I walk back to the kitchen for a fresh pot of coffee. “Now that the biscuits are out of the oven, do you mind seeing to the laundry upstairs? Guests should be checking out soon, and then we can get started on cleaning the rooms.”

“Sure thing.”

“Maggie.” Sinead, a pretty woman just a few years older than me with dark red hair and happy green eyes, looks concerned as she takes my hand in hers. “Are you all right? You’ve seemed so sad since the day you got here, and I didn’t want to intrude. But it breaks my heart to see you this way day in and day out.”

I sigh, wrinkling my nose. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me because I’ve known you for most of your life. I may not see you often, but I know you’re usually much happier than this.”

“There’s a man back home.” The comment is simple but says it all.

“Ah, and a man can surely bring out the sadness in a woman, can’t he? I’m going to the pub tonight for a pint and some food that I don’t have to make myself. Why don’t you join me?”

I immediately start to decline. After all, I’m not a ton of fun right now, but then I reconsider. Why should I be sad and mopey the whole time I’m in Ireland?

“You know, that sounds like a lot of fun. What time should I be ready?”

“By five. Excellent.” Sinead smiles and pats my shoulder, then leaves the kitchen with a tray of biscuits for the customers.

The workday runs smoothly and quickly, given that we only had four couples check out today. I’m all finished with my duties by early afternoon, so after a quick change of clothes, I grab my windbreaker and a hat and set off for the cliffs.

The salty sea air is a welcome thing as I make my way over the green grass to the cliffs and just stand, breathing in the air and watching the waves.

Yes, this is my happy place. I could stand here forever.

The truth is, I’ve been angry and sad this week. Confused. And then angry again.

Cam hasn’t reached out even once. Last night, I picked up my phone, and when I brought our last texts up, I saw three dots as if he were typing something. I was so excited and nervous to hear from him, but then the dots disappeared, and there was nothing.

Not one thing in more than a week.

I have so many questions, and I know that he won’t answer any of them.

And that’s damn frustrating.

I make my way inland to the castle ruins that I played in and around as a child. I used to daydream about leprechauns and faeries running around, granting wishes. Once, I could have sworn I heard the music from long ago being played through the mists around the ruins, but I didn’t tell anyone because they would have told me I was hearing things.

But if you can’t think of such fanciful things in Ireland, then where can you?

There’s an ancient cemetery behind the ruins with stones long ago weathered, so the names aren’t readable. But I think it’s a beautiful place. Every day after I finish work, I come walk out this way, listen to the waves crashing against the cliffs, and sing softly to myself.

I haven’t posted on social media in more than a week.

I’ve unplugged, as they say. And although I miss Cam something terrible, it’s been nice to be here, working hard and letting the sea soothe my bruised heart.

I check the time and realize that I need to head back to the guest house so I can get ready to go to the pub with Sinead. I haven’t been yet, and it’ll be fun to run into locals that know my family, sing, and listen to the old-timers tell tall tales.