Last Call at the Local (Love, Lists & Fancy Ships, #3)

by Sarah Grunder Ruiz

And to you, dear reader. You deserve every good thing, even when you’re having dark thoughts. You deserve to be happy, even when you aren’t well. And love—you deserve that too.

“Are you flirting with me?” When the man laughs, it makes me want to laugh too. “I wasn’t, but I can if you’d like.” I’m sure it’s a joke, but after everything that’s happened today, I’m feeling like a mess and not a hot one. Besides, it isn’t every day a gorgeous tattooed Irishman offers to flirt with me, joke or not. Who am I to reject the universe when it sends something good my way? “You know what? That would be nice. I’m having a bad day.” I adjust myself on the stool to tuck one leg beneath my butt. “That’s if you’re serious about the offer.” A smile twitches at his lips when he looks me over. “I’m serious,” he says. I turn to face him. “Well then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

And this Jack . . . I like him.

She’s the one. It’s the only thought that’s run through my head for the last five minutes. She’s the one. She’s the one. She’s the one.

A mess in every way. Someone must have made her see herself that way, and whoever it is, I hate them.

When I see homes like this—imperfect but clearly loved—it makes my chest ache. I want to have a place like this. Somewhere to belong. A place that’s mine, where I can be myself with people who understand me and like me just the way I am. People who don’t wish I was someone else.

When she lifts her gaze to mine, the first thing I think is, I’ve fucked up, because it’s at that exact moment I realize I’m going to be undone by this girl.

But my problem isn’t that I don’t think. It’s that my brain only has two modes: think everything all at once and make sense of none of it, or think about one thing obsessively at the expense of whatever actually needs my attention. The point being, I am always thinking. Just never about the right things.

“Aithníonn ciaróg, ciaróg eile,” he says. “It’s an Irish proverb. Roughly translated, it means, One beetle recognizes another.”

You’ve gotta believe in what you make, otherwise why would anyone else?”

I’ve got the uneasy feeling that my great idea might be even more of a disaster than it is already.

“Have you been good, bud?” I ask, giving him a scratch behind his ears. The best thing about Sebastian is that he always knows when I’m upset. He knows, and yet he can comfort me without worrying, or trying to help, or judging me. He doesn’t wonder if he did something that caused me to be this way, like Mum and Ollie do. He just lets me know that he sees what I’m dealing with. He’s just . . . there. Which is really all I want. Dealing with OCD is hard enough on its own. Dealing with everyone’s feelings about my OCD is why I keep it to myself most of the time, even when I’d really like to talk about it with the people in my life.

Jack is so special. I think he deserves the world

I look over at her, but her eyes are on the music. Her hand in mine doesn’t take the thoughts away or make me feel better. But it gives me something to hold on to when I have no idea if I’ll sink or swim. It’s a reminder of why I’m putting myself through this torture. I’m not well. I haven’t been able to admit that, not even to myself. I’m not well. But I’m going to get better.

“What your thoughts are about . . . that’s no one’s business.” I say. “You don’t owe that to anyone. You and your thoughts are not the same thing. If you don’t want to be with someone right now because it’s too much on top of everything else, that’s one thing. But if it’s because you think you don’t deserve to be with someone . . . Jack, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be in recovery or have everything under control. You deserve to be happy. Not later, but right now. You deserve as much happiness as you can get. And for what it’s worth, I think plenty of people would want to be with you exactly the way you are. Including me.”

“Tá tú go hálainn, ciaróg.” “What does that mean?” “It means you’re beautiful.” “Oh,” I say, feeling myself blush. “Do you know a lot of Irish?” “Just whatever I learned in school. And a few phrases to help me flirt with girls.” “Does it work?” “Sometimes.” He releases my chin. “Níl mé ag iarraidh go dtéann tú.”

I have no idea what this means or where it’s going, but I want to find out. I don’t want this to end, but the only thing I know for sure is that it will. Four weeks has never felt shorter.

“I’m not kidding! He’s just a fling. A travel romance.” I grin at her. “I’m very worldly now, you see.”

I’m angry :(

His eyes roam my face before meeting mine again, and the way he looks at me makes my chest ache. He wipes the tears from beneath my eyes, then cradles my face in his hands. “How can you think you’re too much, when I can’t get enough of you?”

I want to make the most of the time we have together, even if it isn’t much. Being with Jack reminds me of my very favorite days. Perfect ones with perfect weather. When I look up at him, his arms loosely wrapped around my waist, it feels like tilting my face up to the sun, like standing in the middle of a new city that somehow feels like home.

You deserve every good thing, even when you’re having dark thoughts. You deserve to be happy, even when you aren’t well. And love—you deserve that too.

I have a feeling I’m going to miss her for a long, long time.

I’m sad

So, did all your birthday wishes come true? Jack Where are you right now? Raine Amsterdam. Jack Then no. Not even close.

You make it feel like home.”

“That’s how much I love you,” I say. She smiles at me. And that mouth . . . I have no idea what she’ll say next. But I can’t wait to find out.

I tug the beanie from his head and run my fingers through his dark hair. And when he grins at me with those clear blue eyes and that easy expression, I decide that I was right, this cat is lucky, because without him, who knows if Jack would’ve sat beside me the night I first walked in here.

I look him over. He seems like he really wants to know. And why shouldn’t I marry him on Monday? I’ve never been one for planning anything. I don’t understand why people wait so long after already deciding to be together. And besides, after two years of traveling, I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing exactly what I want. This is awful fast, the voice of reason warns. But I tell the voice of reason to suck it. Sometimes one beetle recognizes another, and it doesn’t matter if it’s been five minutes or five years. And this Jack . . . I love him.