One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

20

“There’s really nothing going on between you two?” Claire follows me down the street, squinting as we hit a patch of bright morning sunshine.

“Nothing besides work.”

“So this is just out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I’m good!” I protest. “I do charity stuff.”

“The fact that you call it charity stuff tells me you don’t.”

I pause outside O’Shea’s, turning to face her. It’s a quiet Sunday morning and I’m well aware I should be getting home from a bar and not arriving at one, but here we are. I didn’t intend to be here at all but Declan messaged again during the week asking if I’d help out, and I’d felt bad about my attitude before. He’d agreed to remain professional. There was no reason we couldn’t be professional and friends. And this is what friends do, isn’t it? Help each other out? Though with what exactly I’m not quite sure.

“This is the next step in our relationship,” I tell her.

“And this is your non-romantic relationship?”

“Correct. It’s professional, friendly—”

“Deluded.”

“How’s your grand plan with Mark coming along?”

She doesn’t rise to the bait. “If you’re so sure about this, why do you need me as chaperone?”

“You’re not a chaperone. I thought you wanted to get out of the apartment more.”

“P.m. not a.m.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” I say, pushing open the door. “Maybe we’ll both…” I trail off as I step inside. Claire knocks into me, clipping my heel.

The bar is… not what I expected. I’m used to being here at night when it’s packed with people and the lights are down low. Now the floor is near deserted and decked out in multicolored balloons and streamers, a clashing mix of Valentine’s and St. Patrick’s Day.

“Is that a bingo table?” Claire asks.

I follow her gaze across the room to a little stage set up by the booths. It does indeed look like a bingo table. “Maybe it’s sexy bingo.”

“Are you sure this isn’t some preschooler’s fever dream?”

“He said it was a singles lunch.”

“Brunch.”

I whirl to see Declan emerging from a side corridor, carrying a stack of paper plates.

He’s wearing light-blue jeans and a branded bar shirt, plain white with a green shamrock over the heart and o’shea’s written in slanted gold writing. A floral necklace hangs around his neck.

“There’s more where these came from,” he says when he sees me staring at it.

“What’s the theme here?”

“Good clean fun, Sarah. And whatever decorations we have in the back.” He turns to Claire. “I remember you.”

“Yes, you slept with my roommate.”

He looks delighted. “I did, didn’t I?”

They’re both in on it.

“Claire’s tagging along,” I say. “She wants to practice flirting.”

Declan only smiles as Clare shoots me a glare. “Well, you’re in the right place. I really appreciate you guys helping us out this morning.”

“Helping the charity out,” I clarify.

“Don’t worry. Every cent is going to the Irish in New York association. It helps people down on their luck, offers mental health support to those who need it. You’re doing a good, selfless thing. And you also get a free T-shirt.”

I catch sight of Elena exiting the kitchen with two large water jugs. A couple of other volunteers arrange tables around us.

“Where do you need us?” Claire asks.

Declan dumps the plates on the table and directs her to the kitchen before bringing me to the back, whistling as he goes.

“I didn’t think you were going to show today,” he says, propping open the door to a storeroom.

“You said I’d get a free drink.”

“I did. And also this. I’m going to need you to put it on.”

He holds up a T-shirt. A large green heart is on the front with singles brunch! written in Comic Sans. It is awful.

“Why can’t I wear an O’Shea’s T-shirt?”

“Only staff wear those and, to confirm, I am not paying you a cent for your time today.” He holds out the shirt. “Arms up.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“Elena’s wearing one.”

“So?”

He shrugs, arms still outstretched.

“I’m not… She’s…” I gape at him. “Fine.” I snatch the T-shirt from him and pull it on over my head. “Happy?”

“Very.”

I shimmy it down my waist and free my hair. It’s at least two sizes too big for me.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes,” he says fondly and hands me a box of crepe paper before bringing me back out front.

“Antonio’s on our sound system,” he says, introducing me to a skinny, balding man sorting through the wires by the bar.

“I have one speaker and one microphone,” Antonio corrects.

“No expense spared.” Declan checks his watch. “First few should be arriving any minute now.”

I frown as the volunteers put the finishing touches to the room. “How many are you expecting at this thing? I didn’t even know people still did singles events.”

“What else are they going to do?” Antonio mutters.

Declan doesn’t even blink. “You keep that attitude up and I’m putting you in a T-shirt.”

Antonio plugs in the final wire and the ancient sound system comes to life.

“Just in time!” Declan says.

I turn to the doors to see the first few people arrive. But at the sight of them, I can’t help but wonder if they’ve arrived at the wrong place.

“Declan?” I ask as he fiddles with the volume control. “What’s the demographic for this brunch?”

“Sixty-five plus,” he says cheerfully. “Though most are well over seventy.”

I watch as Claire hurries over to prop open the doors for a man in a motorized wheelchair. “I see.”

“Hot mic,” Antonio says, passing the microphone to him.

Declan taps it twice. “Is this thing on?”

“You want me to get some feedback sound effects like last time?” Antonio asks, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Declan ignores him. “Miss Nora Madigan,” he calls into the microphone. “Don’t try to hide, you know I can see you.” He points at a laughing woman who just came in. “Looks like the first bus just arrived,” he says to us.

“It’s a seniors’ singles brunch,” I say.

“They drive them in from all over the city,” Antonio explains, tucking some loose cable behind the speaker. “You’re all set up. I’ll be in the back.”

“Thank you for your enthusiasm as always,” Declan calls and turns to me. “You ready?”

“For what?”

He tosses some loose change into a large blue bucket and hands it to me. “To make some money.”

* * *

There must be fifty people in total. There are bingo and board games and short snappy quizzes that keep things moving. For the next hour, I barely get a second to breathe as I rush back and forth between the kitchens and the floor, guide people to their seats and empty bucket after bucket into the cash bags in the storeroom.

Declan is in his element. Teasing, flirting, moving things along while he makes the crowd laugh. Sometime before lunch things finally begin to quieten down as buffet plates are set out and he motions me over to him.

“You wrecked?” he asks while Claire reads out the next round of bingo numbers.

“Let’s just say I know why you have trouble getting volunteers for this.” I rest against the bar beside him. “Question.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Your mom said you were uncomfortable in front of crowds and that’s why you didn’t make a best man’s speech at the wedding.”

“Did she now?”

“You seem just fine here.”

“It’s only certain crowds I don’t like.”

“Your close family and friends?”

“You’re making me feel a little uncomfortable with these personal questions, Sarah. Not very professional of you.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.”

He laughs. “I have secrets now, do I?” But his smile drops as he spies something across the room. “Patrick Mahony,” he calls. “One cheese roll per person. Or you drop another ten bucks into the bucket.” He waits until Patrick backs away from the plate before turning back to me. “Every time with that man.”

I smirk, looking around the bar. I don’t know how successful a singles event it is. Most people seemed to have split off into smaller groups, chatting and playing games over their lunch, but a few have paired off together, talking quietly among the chaos. I feel a stab of longing at the sight of them. They make it look so simple. Maybe it will be easier when I’m seventy. Maybe then I won’t second-guess every one of my instincts.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Declan says.

I shake my head, dragging my gaze back to him. “I was thinking I should bring my dad to one of these things.”

“We host them twice a year. He could come along next time.”

“Maybe.”

“How’s he doing anyway?”

“Dad? He’s okay.”

“Does he date?”

“Not since Mom. A bit of that’s my fault,” I say with a forced smile. “Moody teenage Sarah wasn’t keen on her dad seeing other women.”

“None of what happened was your fault.”

“I know,” I say lightly. “I’m kidding.”

“Are you?”

I don’t respond and Declan watches me for a moment, fiddling with the microphone. “You ever poured a pint?”

“I… No.”

“Come on then.” He slaps the bar, straightening with a hop. “Time for your free drink.”

“We don’t have to—”

“You start with a clean glass,” he says, flipping one in his hand. “Dry and cool. Come on,” he repeats when I don’t move. “Tilt it at a forty-five-degree angle, just like so.”

I push myself off the bar and take the glass. He guides my other hand to the tap but doesn’t linger, stepping back to put space between us.

“Now,” he says. “Straighten the glass slowly as you start to pour… Yep, so the exact opposite of what you’re doing.”

“This is slow.”

“Ireland slow, not New York slow. Move.”

I stand back as he demonstrates. “You make it look easy.”

“You just need the practice. Also I’m very good at it.” He sets the glass beside us. “Two-part pour,” he explains and I have to smile at the enthusiasm still radiating from him.

“You really won’t miss this?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter as he waits for the Guinness to settle. “It’s the people more than anything. I won’t miss the hours. Or the drunks. Or cleaning up all manner of bodily fluids at two in the morning. I definitely won’t miss St. Patrick’s Day.”

“Yikes,” I wince.

“But times like this? Yeah, I’ll miss this.”

I watch him for a moment, trying to figure it out. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” I say finally. “Where did that idea even come from?”

“The tour company?”

“It’s pretty niche.”

“I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while.” He crosses his arms, glancing at me. When he sees I’m listening he continues. “There was this one moment,” he begins. “Back when I used to work at the hotel. One afternoon I was behind the bar and this guy shows up. American. Mid-fifties, tough, blue-collar guy. Terrible combover. He tells me that a few months before he’d been going about his business when he got an email from some random woman in Dublin who was putting together a family tree. Claims she’s his second cousin. Now this guy knew his grandfather had emigrated when he was a young man, but that was it, and now all of a sudden he has this whole family he never knew about. Said it blew his mind. So they email back and forth and eventually he arranges to come over and meet her. And he’s petrified. He said it was almost too good to be true, all the stories she’d been telling him, all the people and the history he suddenly felt connected to. So I pour him a pint and try to get him to relax. And then…” He trails off and I groan.

“Please tell me she showed up.”

“Not just her,” he smiles. “There had to be twenty people in total, adults, kids, babies. Two dogs as well. She organized a whole damn family reunion. We had to pull staff in from the lobby to get everyone settled. By the time I see him again, he’s sitting with the cousin and they’re both crying.” Declan shakes his head. “Can you imagine that? Feeling so much for people you’ve never met? Who you didn’t even know existed a few months before? I’d bartended at weddings, birthdays, funerals. I’d seen a lot of emotion but that stuck with me. I never forgot it.” His eyes slide to me and he straightens, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”

“Nothing.” I swallow. I’ve never heard him speak like that before. “I didn’t realize it was so personal.”

He shrugs, turned slightly away from me. I have the strangest feeling he doesn’t want me to see his face.

“You should put that on the website,” I add lightly.

“Way ahead of you.” He checks his watch. “Two minutes,” he says. “Top up time.”

I’d forgotten about the Guinness but don’t hate the way he stands next to me as he helps me fill the glass to the rim.

“Not too shabby,” he says as I place it carefully on a coaster. “You should take a picture. Send it to Annie.”

I smile. “She says Paul still teases her about it.”

“As he should. She’s the one who got completely sauced the night before her wedding. How are you doing without her?”

“I’m okay. She’s back soon for a few weeks.”

“Yeah, Paul was saying.” He pauses, his voice very casual. “Maybe we should all go for lunch when they get here.”

I don’t answer immediately, pretending to focus on my pint. “As a mutual friend group?”

“If you’d like,” he says quietly. “Or maybe—”

“Declan.” Antonio appears on the other side of the bar, tapping his wrist. I want to strangle him. Or maybe what? I want to ask but Declan’s already moving, draping another flower garland around his neck.

“Break’s over,” he says, his voice back to a cheerful tease. “Go mingle. I brought you here for your good looks, not your conversation.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond as he starts his emcee duties again and, confused, I head to the floor, where I spot a woman leaving the restroom with a younger girl.

“Let me help you,” I say, grabbing her a chair. The younger woman shoots me a grateful look as we help lower her into the chair.

“Thank you. You want something to drink, Granny?”

“It’s a bit early,” she says, looking worryingly at the board.

“I meant water.” Her granddaughter smiles.

“We have hot tea and coffee,” I say. “Or there’s some fruit juice if you want something cold.”

“Tea,” she says. “Hot tea.”

“I’ll get you a cup.”

“I’ll get it,” the girl says. “She’s very particular. I’m Hattie by the way. This is my gran, Eleanor.

“I’m Sarah.” I sit as Hattie heads over to the drinks station. Eleanor eyes the other guests nervously. “Is this your first time here?”

She nods. “That one insisted,” she says gesturing toward Hattie. “To get me out of the house.”

“How long have you lived in New York?” Her accent is still strong but different than Declan’s, more lilting.

“Fifty-two years next spring.”

My eyes widen. “You sound like you never left.”

“Granny sticks very stubbornly to her accent,” Hattie says, returning to the table. “Just wait until she’s had a few glasses of sherry. Then you can barely understand her.”

Eleanor gives her a stern look but Hattie only grins.

“It’s true,” she says, setting the tea down. “One glass means one hour of tales from the home country. Three glasses mean we’re getting a ballad and a history lesson.”

“You like my stories,” Eleanor sniffs.

“I love your stories,” Hattie says, squeezing her hand. “We’re saving up to go and visit one day.”

“I’d like to see it again before I die,” Eleanor sighs while Hattie rolls her eyes.

“I’ve never been,” she says to me. “But she’s promised to bring me around. Visit her old town. Find her family and friends.”

“Choose my gravesite,” Eleanor says solemnly.

“Granny!”

I glance to my left to where Declan kneels by an elderly man, helping set up a game of checkers. “You know the owner of this bar runs genealogy tours to Ireland.”

Hattie frowns. “Like Ancestry.com?”

“More personal. They set up a whole trip based around you. They help find your family, sort flights and accommodation out. You should talk to them if you’re thinking about visiting.” I pull up the website, handing my phone to Hattie. “They work with all different kinds of budgets and it’s really…” I trail off, trying to sum up what I saw in Declan. “They care.”

“And you know the owner?”

I nod. “You can trust him to look after you.”

“Well this actually looks great,” Hattie says, showing the screen to Eleanor. “Thanks for the tip.”

“No problem.” The bell rings for the next round of games and there’s sudden movement around us. “You should go find a partner for the history quiz,” I say. “I’ll get you some paper.”

Hattie helps her grandmother up and I turn to find Declan standing a few feet away, watching me with a look on his face I’ve never seen before. As if he’s never seen me before. It vanishes as soon as our eyes meet and the familiar, cocky smile appears, making me wonder if I imagined it.

He cuts a short bow, one hand going to his heart. “Stunning work,” he says.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. “I’m on commission, right?”

“Keep that up and you just might be.”

“Sarah?” Hattie appears at my elbow with a pleased look. “Granny likes the man in the bowtie.”

“Then let’s go make some introductions.” I turn to her as we head across the floor to where Eleanor is already deep in conversation with a dapper man in the corner.

I feel Declan’s eyes on me the entire way.