Recklessness

CH 1

Brittany Broski didn't expect to be in Ireland. In fact, if you'd asked her last month, she would've laughed at the very idea. "The Irish need a break from me," she'd said, only half-joking. But now here she was, standing in a cozy, fire-lit café in the heart of Dublin, wearing a coat that felt three sizes too big, wondering why she'd packed exactly two pairs of pants for an entire week of unpredictable Irish weather.

The trip itself was supposed to be a "break from it all," a concept her manager had explained in hopeful italics. "Just a week," she whispered to herself, pulling her scarf a little tighter. "A quiet trip. Just some fresh air, cute sheep, and existential self-reflection."

But, naturally, the very idea of Brittany Broski having a quiet vacation was doomed from the start. She hadn't been in the café for five minutes when the door opened behind her with a gust of rain and a flurry of Irish accents. And then, right on cue, she felt a tap on her shoulder-hard enough to make her nearly spill her coffee.

"Oh-sorry about that," the man said, immediately sounding apologetic, though with a glint of something close to amusement in his voice. Brittany turned around, and... there he was. Tall, dark-haired, with a jawline that looked like it had been hand-chiseled by a particularly dramatic Renaissance artist.

She blinked. "You're good!" She said quickly, her own voice coming out somewhere between a shout and a gasp. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Totally fine. Just, you know... existing here."

The guy looked down at her, an eyebrow raised, and then, to her surprise, he smiled. It wasn't the awkward, half-smile that men tend to give in a packed café. No, this was a full-on, lopsided grin, like he'd just walked into a scene from a rom-com he hadn't been cast in but was down to improvise anyway.

"Existing, are ya?" he repeated, the Irish accent rounding out his words in a way that somehow made them both friendlier and infinitely cooler than anything Brittany had ever heard. "That's a risky thing to be doing in a place like this."

Brittany snorted. "Yeah, no kidding. Can't even stand in line for coffee without some random Irish guy literally bumping into me. Almost like... I dunno... you wanted an excuse to talk?"

The man's eyes crinkled, like he was genuinely amused. "Caught me red-handed, haven't ya?" He extended his hand to her, and she noticed how the rain outside had made his curls messier, clinging to his forehead. "I'm Cian."

"Brittany," she replied, shaking his hand. "And let me guess-your friends all call you 'the handsome one,' and you're really good at getting girls coffee because they're too charmed to say no?"

He laughed, not the polite kind of laugh, but one of those deep, belly laughs that was almost louder than the quiet murmur of the café. "More like the 'awkward one,' honestly. And I'm not sure anyone's ever let me buy 'em coffee without saying no first."

"Well," Brittany replied, trying and failing to look unimpressed as he handed a couple of euros to the barista, "you're welcome. Guess that makes me special."

He raised an eyebrow. "Special, are ya? Alright then, Brittany, let's make it a good one."

They grabbed their coffee and found a small, round table near the window. Brittany couldn't help but steal glances at him as they sat down. He was just "Irish enough"-the accent was there, but it wasn't the heavy, leprechaun-voice she'd heard in old movies. Instead, it was kind of... comforting, like if a rainy day was a person.

"So, what brings you to our rainy little island?" Cian asked, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.