One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

35

It’s late on Friday night and O’Shea’s is packed. The deep green booths are filled with people, glasses and plates of food dotting the tables, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder.

It feels strange coming back here. I used to come all the time; the bar is only a few blocks from my apartment. I know the wine list back to front and which toilet stall has a rusty lock and as I step cautiously inside the comforting din of a hundred different conversations, I realize that despite everything, I’ve missed it.

But I’m not here for nostalgia.

I’m here to grovel.

I am wearing my trusty black dress. I have washed my hair.

I just need to make my feet move first.

I linger in the doorway until someone bumps into me from behind. Only then do I force myself forward to where Declan stands behind the bar. I’ve been watching him for the last few minutes, amazed at how easy he makes his job look. He never stops moving, pouring pints or clearing glasses, always catching someone’s eye and smiling as he accepts cards, cash and tips.

He’s busy. Very busy. I should wait until his shift is over.

I should get over myself.

I squeeze between two groups of loud men as I take a recently vacated seat at the bar. By then, it’s only because my legs feel like Jell-O, do I not stand and bolt right out of there. He doesn’t look over.

I should have just texted him. He’s probably still mad. He’ll probably take one look at me and—

“What can I get you?”

A waitress I vaguely recognize approaches. She seems friendly. That’s good. That means he hasn’t posted a photo of my face in the break room for everyone to throw darts at.

I straighten on the stool and, a little louder than necessary, ask: “What whiskey do you have?”

From the corner of my eye, I spy Declan stiffen and fight the urge to flee as he turns to face me.

“We’ve got Jameson, Bushmills, Teeling—”

“Surprise me,” I say. It’s not like I’ll be able to tell the difference anyway.

She shrugs and turns, busying herself with the bottles. Declan’s no longer looking at me, his head bent to hear somebody’s order.

I look down at my phone to see Annie’s message. Have you talked to him yet? I’d had a long conversation with her while Dad’s truck was getting fixed and called her again while I was getting ready, asking both for her advice and to check with Paul where Declan was working tonight. I’m in the middle of texting her back when a message from Will comes through.

Just flash him.

I reply to both and open my camera to check my reflection. Makeup not smudged, hair shiny from one of Claire’s moisture sprays. There’s a pimple on the side of my nose but I can’t do anything about that and at least there are no boogers that would require some stealthy—

“Here you go.”

I jump as Declan sets a very tall, very pink drink in front of me. It’s almost luminous in its brightness, garnished with slices of strawberries and sugar crystals along the rim. A paper umbrella is slotted between large cubes of ice.

It looks ridiculous.

I stare at it in confusion. “What is this?”

“Your punishment.”

I lift my eyes to his, not reading anything from him. “I asked for whiskey.”

“There’s whiskey in it. A few drops of it at least. As well as pears, whipped cream, elderflower, maple syrup—”

“Okay,” I interrupt, my stomach protesting at the description alone. I put my phone back in my pocket. “You want me to drink this?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

He waits.

Okay.

Okay!

Shit.

I look between the drink and him. He’s not joking. Nor is he exaggerating. This is my punishment. He raises a brow when I don’t do anything, almost mocking.

“Sláinte,” I mutter, a little too sarcastically and raise it to my lips. Just the smell of it has me gagging.

You can do this Sarah. Show the man you care.

Show him you… Oh God. The first taste on my tongue is like someone poured a cup of sugar into my mouth.

I fight the urge to spit it all over the counter, hold my breath and start to chug. I keep my eyes on Declan as I do, watching him watch me. He doesn’t so much as blink.

A few horrible seconds later, I set the glass down, the whipped cream clinging to the sides of the glass where it’s not all over my face.

When I know I’m not going to immediately throw it back up, I look at him as if to ask, Am I forgiven now? Can we talk?

Declan crosses his arms, unimpressed. “That will be seventeen dollars.”

I glare at him but before I can argue he walks off, disappearing to the other end of the bar to take someone’s order.

I catch the eye of a woman beside me. “Is this some kind of kink thing?” she asks.

I slide gingerly off the stool, swallowing a hiccup. The waitress eyes me curiously as I pass her a twenty and push through the people behind me, heading to the restroom.

My teeth are tingling. I spit out the taste in the sink and wipe the remnants of the cream off my mouth and somehow my nose.

Okay, so he’s mad at me.

Or maybe it is a kink thing and this his way of welcoming me to his world.

Or he’s mad.

He’s probably just mad.

I wash my hands slowly, giving myself time to calm down. Declan’s not waiting for me when I emerge. He’s not waiting for me at the bar either. He’s not even behind the bar. I spend a good few seconds searching to make sure. But he’s gone.

My stomach rolls and I slink back to the dark hallway, wanting to be near a toilet just in case.

I am not forgiven. And I drank a candy store for nothing.

There’s a burning sensation in my throat that won’t go away no matter how much I swallow. It was hard enough to come here like this. To admit I was wrong.

Well, screw him if he thinks he can get rid of me that easily. I may be an idiot but—

“Leaving so soon?”

I twirl as Declan steps out from his office down the hall.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, hand flying to my chest.

“A while.”

“And you couldn’t have said something?”

“You seemed busy. You were muttering to yourself.”

“I was steeling myself to come find you.”

“Because you want to apologize?”

“No. I mean, yes. But not like this.” I grimace, holding my hand against my stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

Declan rolls his eyes and tries to move past me, but I step in front of him, blocking his path. Behind him, the kitchen door flies open and a waitress comes out, carrying a plate of onion rings. “Last one,” she says to Declan, barely glancing at me as she hurries past.

“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” I ask after she disappears into the bar.

“No.”

I fight down my frustration. “No?” I look pointedly toward his office. “There’s nowhere in this bar we can talk?”

“I don’t want to talk with you. What did you think was going to happen?”

“Honestly? I thought I’d wear my sexy dress and sit at the bar and order a whiskey and you’d laugh and instantly forgive me.”

He shakes his head in one slow movement.

“Right,” I mutter. “So, tell me what to do. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“You know, when I heard you were coming tonight, I thought you might try something but I thought you’d have a grander plan than this.”

“You knew I was coming?”

He gives me a look. “Paul rang me asking very pointedly was I working and if so, where. He sounded like he was reading from a script. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“I know you’re probably still mad at me,” I say, miserable. “And that’s fine, that is totally understandable, but I thought you might like to know something, so when you’re no longer mad at me we can talk about it.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m in love with you.” The declaration comes out in a rush, each word tripping over the other.

His expression doesn’t change. “You’re in love with me?”

“I think so. I know so,” I correct quickly. “I know I am. And you don’t have to say it back. I know I told you what happened with Josh, but I don’t want you to feel any pressure. Being in love with someone is a big deal, so if you just want to—”

“Yes.”

“What?” I gulp in a breath.

“Yes, I’m in love with you.”

Oh. I blink, swaying slightly on my feet. I didn’t actually expect him to admit it.

He’s in love with me.

He’s…

“Since when?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, as casually as if we were ordering takeout. “A while.”

A while.

I stare at him as my heart tumbles over inside. “How long a while?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” My hands go to my hips. “Yes, it matters.”

He rocks back on his heels. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“Kind of,” I exclaim. “It’s a lot. No one’s ever told me they’re in love with me before.”

“Is this not the best-case scenario of what you wanted to happen tonight?”

“The best-case scenario didn’t involve me chugging a year’s worth of sugar down my gut,” I snap, pushing the hair back from my face.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, and I can tell his patience is wearing thin. “You came here to apologize and tell me you love me. I accept your begging—”

“I didn’t beg.”

“I accept your begging,” he repeats. “And I tell you I love you and now you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m happy.”

Oh.

My eyes snap to him and his beyond-irritated expression as I finally get it.

“You’re happy,” Declan continues, his voice flat.

Yes. Yes, I think I am.

I’m happy.

The realization is so sudden, so simple that I laugh. I can’t help it. A giggle escapes and then another.

I love him.

I love him and he loves me. And now he looks at me in such bewilderment that I laugh harder.

“Is she alright?” a waiter asks as he passes.

“She’s fine,” Declan says. “It’s just drugs.”

The man hurries on as I try and catch my breath, unable to stop.

“You’re insane,” he says to me, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He rests beside me, one foot on the wall, his hands in his pockets as he waits for me to calm down. Eventually, I do, my laughter turning to hiccups before ending in a smile.

“I’m in love with you too,” I say.

“That’s handy.” He’s silent for a moment, examining his shoes. “The papers are signed.”

“I know.”

“It’s in the past.”

“I know,” I say. And I do. “I believe you. I trust you. I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

Declan says nothing, watching me warily.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m afraid to say anything in case I set you off again. Don’t you dare,” he adds as I let out a small giggle.

“I’m just on a sugar high.”

He smirks. “I didn’t think you’d drink it.”

“Only for you.”

“You’re not going to vomit all over my shoes again, are you?”

“Is there any chance you’ll forget about that or…” I sigh as he shakes his head. “Didn’t think so.”

He reaches between us, toying with the skirt of my dress before he pivots to stand in front of me, tugging me closer.

“Wait,” I say, my hand flying up so he kisses my palm.

He groans. “What?”

“Do you have any more secrets to tell me?”

His face clears in understanding. “I might do. Nothing serious.”

“Me too,” I whisper. “No ex-husbands though.”

“And I have no more ex-wives.”

“I’m kind of a night owl,” I say, eyes searching his. “Sometimes I go for weeks without much sleep and then need a weekend where I’m just comatose for forty-eight hours.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“I also don’t really like dogs. People judge me when I say this, but I can’t help it.”

“I’m not judging you. We’ll get a cat.”

“We?”

“Yes,” he says softly. “We.”

We. I like that. I like that a lot.

“Not that we have to move fast,” he continues. “We’ve got time. We can take it slow if that’s what you want.”

“I’d like that,” I say. “But maybe… maybe we can start slowing down tomorrow.”

And there’s that smile again. That smug, promising smile.

“Claire’s working tonight,” I explain.

“Is that so?”

I nod, a little breathless. “All night.”

He lets go of my dress to hold my hands, interlocking my fingers with his. We are far from alone. I am vaguely aware of other people occasionally wandering through the hallway but pay them as little attention as they pay us. We’re just two people getting close to each other in a bar. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.

Except I know different. Because I’m sure this has never happened before. This monumental, gut-busting happiness that I feel, how could this have happened before and for the world not to have changed so completely?

“Well,” Declan says. “I get off in an hour but technically I’m the boss so I can do what I want.”

Another laugh threatens to escape but I keep it inside, doing my best to look serious. “And what do you want to do?”

His head moves closer to mine and I love him so much I wonder how my skin isn’t glowing from the inside out.

“Declan?”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t answer my—”

He cuts off my words exactly as I hoped he would. He kisses me like he’s been waiting for me his whole life. He kisses me like he loves me and as somewhere in the bar a bell rings for last call, I kiss him right back.