1
“Are you an angel from heaven?”
“No.Satan let me out in costume today.”
Adelaide
People suck.I mean, not all people, but having to meet with them and listen to their “creative ideas” on what they want on their websites is the least favorite part of my job.
God, and having to meet with them out in public?Where there are people?I am not Ariel.I do not want to be where the people are.It takes everything I have in me not to roll my eyes.I need to be professional and land this job.
I creep down Main Street, cursing the plows for not doing any kind of a decent job of clearing the snow from the roads.Maybe my anger is misplaced because Mother Nature should have checked with me before dumping a foot of snow overnight.The four and a half years I’ve spent here in New York for college have done nothing to put me at ease while driving in the snow.It snowed in Kansas City, but nothing like it does here.
The snow grabs at my tires, pushing my car toward the one other car on the road, coming from the opposite direction.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
The car swerves across the road, cutting in front of me just as my tires catch, and I barely get things under control.I seethe every curse I can think of at the snow, the plows, the universe, and the asshole who almost hit me and made me miss my turn.And, now, I’m going to be late.
Twenty minutes later, after turning around, getting stuck in stupid one-way streets, and finally getting back to Main, I gingerly pull into the parking lot of McBride’s.This is my first time actually going to the Irish pub in the almost four and a half years I’ve been in New York.With the millions of stories I’d heard throughout college about the pub and the whorish Irish guys working here, I’d have been fine with not coming at all.
With my messenger bag slung across my body, I shove my hands into my pockets and hurry to the door.I should know better; I really should.Just as I start to stomp the snow off my boots, my bag shifts and pulls me off-balance.Arms wheeling through the air, hands reaching for anything to stop the madness, I lose it.Bust ass and end up flat on my back in the snow bank to the left of the door.
Late.
Cold.
Ass covered in snow.
I’m so not getting this job.The wind whips my magenta-and-pale-pink hair up into a twirl of gourmet cotton-candy mess.I haul myself up and dust the snow off my black leggings, cringing when a chunk of snow finds its way into my boot.I don’t have time for this.I should be home, cozy in my apartment, with some coffee and a blankie.
Small favors, but my glasses stayed on, and my computer is okay.Carefully, I get myself together, inhaling deeply and slapping what I hope is more smile than grimace on my face, and step into the pub.
The door slams shut behind me on a gust of wind, and all heads turn to face me.I clear my throat and approach the tall, dark-haired guy, pretty sure he’s the photographer whose website I’m supposed to be building.“Mr.Kearney?”
“I am.Please, call me Aidan.Are you Miss Huntington?”
He reaches out to shake my hand, so I grit my teeth and firmly clasp his.Yeah, I don’t like touching strangers either.They can have all kinds of germs.Like, how do you know if a person just picked their nose right before shaking your hand?His hand feels smooth and clean, so I hope for the best.Maybe I can discreetly grab my hand sanitizer as I unpack my computer.
“Adelaide,” I tell him, following suit.“Great, so what are you looking for with your website?”
I really want to just get this started and done, so I can go home and hang out with Eric.He’s the best roommate I could have ever asked for after living in the dorms for the first couple of years of school.
Aidan pauses and rests his hand on the back of the chair across from me.“Erm, I don’t know really.I thought, with you being the expert, I’d let you guide me.”
More small favors.Maybe this won’t suck.
“Can I get you something to drink?A pint maybe?”
I stare at him for a second, not quite sure what to say.Is it professional to drink while working?Not that it matters.I don’t really drink.
“I’ll just have some coffee, I think.Thanks.”
“You’re sure?”His voice is deep, the accent a little more pronounced than when we spoke on the phone.
I nod and watch as he makes his way to the bar.
He grabs a tall glass of dark beer for himself and a steaming mug of coffee for me.“Do you take anything with it?Some sugar?Creamer?”
