We move around each other with the choreography of Olympic figure skaters to the pizzicato score of the fiddle player, Cillian taking orders out of the kitchen and me swiping them from his hands and replacing them seamlessly with dirty dishes. When I call to the back quickly to tell him we need one of the Guinness kegs changed, he doesn’t miss a beat or require more polite words before he says, “Got it.” The only hesitation comes a few moments later when he emerges from the back with the keg in his arms and I find myself overfilling a glass from one of the other taps, distracted by the sinewy muscles in his arms.

“Shit,” I say, then, “Here you go,” wiping down the sides of the glass then handing the cider off to Kiera, who saw me watching Cillian.

“You two, I swear it,” she says. It warms me to see the look she gives us.

“Hush!” I say anyway, laughing and blushing, “I have guests!”

After the first big wave of food and drink orders, the place settles into a happy hum of contented revelers. The air smells like the fire burning in the hearth and the sweet, warm scent of fried fish and chips. Cillian brings me a small plate for myself and I take bites between customers. How did I ever go without good food? And how is Cillian’s this good?

Around nine, two men approach the bar. They’re each pink in the face from drinking, both smelling of pipe tobacco.

“Oy, isn’t you that big famous actress?”

My peaceful mind ratchets into high-intensity mode as my heart falls. Is it over? Is the hallucination fading?

“What?”

They both burst into laughter, patting each other on the back, and then one of them says, “Two Guinness, Ms. Hepburn.” They crack up again, reminding me of the old guys on The Muppets. He raps on the counter and then gets back into conversation with his friend, and I realize they were teasing me. They heard the gossip. It’s as Kiera anticipated.

“Arseholes,” says Cillian, who clearly overheard, after I give them their beer and they thank me. “That’s Danny and Eoin though. Always a pair of eejits.”

“They’re fine,” I say. “They’re teasing. They probably think the whole thing is a lark.” He nods and then stares at me. “What?”

“You know, you’ve helped me out behind the bar before.”

“I have? Then why didn’t you think I could do it?”

He laughs. “Because you were a disaster all the other many times you’ve insisted on trying to do this.”

“What? How!”

“Well, one time you did okay, but after the rush, it turned out you’d forgotten to charge anyone.”

I slap a hand over my mouth and stare at him with wide eyes. “Oh, shit. Oh, no … Cillian, was I supposed to charge people tonight?”

“You didn’t…” he says, face falling.