Blonde locks swirled with the wind. The hem of my red dress twirled around with the stormy Galway gusts. My lashes fluttered constantly in an attempt to stop the loose strands of hair from obscuring my vision. I couldn’t decide whether to tame my skirt or catch the blinding curtain of hair; at some point, I gave up on both. I must’ve sworn, “Feckin’ wind,” a thousand times in my head as it did its best to blow me sideways. 
 
We could have chosen any city bar, but no, Rosie had her mind set on dragging us to a popular new venue that’d just opened. Apparently, it offered great live music, hot guys, and two-for-one classic margaritas during happy hour. 
 
Truth be told, the thought of fresh crisp margaritas excited me. That was before my new heels had turned into torture weapons and my once-impeccable look had been torn apart by the outlandish weather. “It’s feckin’ freezing girls!” I complained. 
 
Suddenly I recalled the monotone voice of the RTE newsreader that morning: “Tonight, a Status Red wind warning has been issued by Met Éireann for Galway and Clare. Storm George is set to bring about gusts of up to 120 kilometers per hour.” Recalling his foreboding words, I screamed, “Girls, where is this place? My heels are feckin’ killing me.”  
 
From behind me, I heard Rosie’s high-pitched voice rise above the beeping cars and whooshing branches. “Come on, Bridget and Laura! Get a move on; the bar’s just around the next corner and it’s not going to drink itself!” 
 
“She said that ten minutes ago,” Laura shouted from beside me, wrapping her leather jacket tighter around her. Unlike mine, her jet-black hair remained perfectly in place, cascading down her back in a sleek high ponytail. Laura always looked immaculate, even in a storm. 
 
“Stop whinging girls, I can hear you,” Rosie retorted.  Then she screamed excitedly, “Ladies, there it is!”
 
Facing into the wind blew aside all the loose strands of hair and I could finally see properly. Rosie was right; we'd made it. The bar was to our left, its new fluorescent “Waxies” sign proudly displayed above the entrance. The light show hosted within blazed out through the bar’s large Georgian-style sash windows. The bar was huge, far bigger than I’d imagined, and it was packed to the rafters with the in-crowd. Right away I could see it was as good as the rumors had it. The music was loud; the sound of a live band boomed from inside, intensifying whenever the large door next to the ripped doorman swung open.
 
“How are you stormy ladies tonight?” teased the doorman as we hurried up the slippery cobblestone path towards the entrance. He was a big burly bear of a man dressed in black, and his muscles bulged underneath his dark polo shirt. He made for an imposing presence, but when he flashed us, girls, a smile it was warm and welcoming. He opened the door for us and my excitement started to build as the flashing lights from the stage illuminated our faces. The other girls’ loud and constant clacking of heels melted into the music’s beat. My companions didn’t spare me a single glance as they bounced ahead, their eyes twinkling with excitement. It was safe to say our long walk and the freezing winds had already been forgotten. 
 
“Wait for me, girls!” I shouted, picking up the pace, just as eager to escape the brewing storm. 
 
I caught up with them just inside the door and we headed to the ladies’ to resurrect our storm-damaged appearances. When we emerged into the main club, Waxies was even more sophisticated than I’d imagined. It felt wild yet chic, filled with a young and fashion-conscious crowd. From the stage, a crazy light show flashed across the dancefloor, timed in perfection with a thumping sound system. Bands were busy setting up their gear whilst a young DJ packed the dancefloor in between sets. The well-dressed crowd seemed to be having a lot of fun. I couldn’t see a single person sitting still; everyone was swaying with the music, getting right into happy hour. The atmosphere was infectious; the sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, and cheers echoed distinctly through the sounds of an Avicii track. 
 
I turned on my heel, searching for the girls. Of course, they were already at the bar and struggling to carry cocktails. Laura’s gaze searched intensely through the rows of tables for an empty one. Finally, she pointed towards a table in the back, jumping slightly in excitement. Balancing drinks, she sprinted through the dancing crowd, only stopping beside me for a split second to say, “Bridget, we’ve got the margies, you get the shots in. Okay?” 
 
I meant to object, to say that a double round of margaritas was enough to kick off the night, but she was already halfway to the table, her hips swaying to the music, leaving me alone to silently concede to her whims, like always. 
 
Sighing, I turned towards the bar. I noticed some fit musicians on stage, talking excitedly amongst themselves while checking their instruments. I guessed they were the next band to go on. Sadly, the guys on stage had just announced their last song of the night. I liked their music and would have loved to have danced to at least one of their songs; but then again, I was curious about this next band too. 
 
“What can I get you?” asked the barman. 
 
My mind was in a world of its own, and I didn’t even hear him. Feeling embarrassed, I nodded and ordered three tequilas.
 
“Let the young lady think, will you?” another voice intruded, “Excuse Mick, he’s having a rough night behind the bar.” 
 
Slightly startled, I turned around to see who'd spoken. That's when it hit me. Rarely am I speechless, but I was then, as I found myself staring into piercing blue eyes like the bluest oceans I'd ever seen.
  
My heart raced; nervous butterflies circled in the pit of my stomach. They fumbled in the darkness; their tiny little voices had nothing to say.  
  
“Yes. Sorry, what did you say?” I enquired once I was drawn back to reality. “My mind was miles away.” 
 
​“Daydreaming?” he asked. I noticed him stare into my eyes. He didn't look away. In the flashing lights of Waxies, his eyes seemed to sparkle as they looked down at me. Their blueness was intoxicating, like whirlpools that pulled me into them. 
 
​“Something like that.” I stared towards the stage, not wanting to make it so obvious I thought he was gorgeous. My heart was racing, and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the booming bass of the music. 
 
He noticed me staring at the next band setting up on the stage and laughed. A few seconds later, I got a better glimpse of him. The dark shade of his hair, the shadows his curls cast on his brow. These features, against the bright blueness of his eyes, gave him an alluring, almost other-worldly look. I took in his broad shoulders and the way his white shirt outlined a lean, muscular body. 

“Have you seen the next band play before?” he asked with a cheeky grin. 

“No. It’s my first time coming here.” The loud background music gave me an excuse to talk into his ear and inhale his cologne. It was an intoxicating smell, oaky and rich, with a hint of spice. I breathed in deeply. Hints of bergamot and lavender emerged as well, and these elegant scents flooded my senses with their raw sensuality. 

“They play a mix of electro dance and traditional Irish fusion. It’s a bit of a weird combo but I promise it's good.” He laughed out loud and held up both hands in defense.
 
“I’ve heard of bands like Afro-Celt doing that kind of mix. I think it really gets the crowds revved up.” I shrugged and sent a wink his way. 

Looking back, I have to admit, it was funny how easy he was to talk to. He gave me a sense of familiarity, like when you meet an old friend. 
 
Also, I’m not one to make small talk or easily bond with any man whose name I didn’t even know. Rosie and Laura were my witnesses to this over the years. 
 
With him it was different. I didn’t have to search for the right words or even think of an answer. It came naturally. Maybe it was the intensity with which he looked at me as if he really wanted to hear my thoughts. Whatever it was, the flirtatious undertones in our conversation made my heart race with desire.
  
“Well, I hope you’ll still be interested by the end of the performance,” he said, smiling as he stepped back from the bar. His eyes scanned me for a few seconds, he then turned towards the barman. 
 
“Mick, whatever this girl orders, it’s on me!” 
 
I was about to protest, then he spoke again. 
 
“I’m Conor.” 
 
“Bridget,” I got out in between nervous laughter.  
 
“I’ll come by after the show. I hope my performance doesn’t make you run for the hills.” 
 
A few moments later, I realised what his playful words and gaze meant.  
Conor walked on stage, strumming his guitar. “Hello Waxies. We are Ocrás”.
 
Grabbing the mic, he introduced their first song as the cheering crowd filled the
dance floor.

Sighing, I sank deeper into my green couch, my thumb aimlessly scrolling down the list of names I’d already searched for multiple times on Instagram. Conor and his mysterious band were nowhere to be seen.  Even checking Waxie’s Instagram and Facebook produced zero results. Whoever managed their social media affairs needed to be shot at dawn. Feeling frustrated, I started imagining the firing squad. I’d been stalking him now for hours—in fact, ever since my earlier than anticipated exit from Waxie’s—no matter how many times I searched, it was impossible to find him anywhere online. Only knowing his first name didn’t help matters, either.  

Bridget, are you going completely crazy? My questioning mind enquired. Why are you stalking this guy? Are you turning into some kind of groupie? Does he charm all the girls, with those piercing blue eyes? It was perfectly possible. I wouldn’t be surprised if many of the women who frequented Waxie’s were after him.

There were no answers to these questions. To this day, I’ll never know why I was so determined to find him. I wasn’t even sure what I would do if I did. 

True, my stalking skills were rather poor, but it wasn’t like I went looking for a stranger’s social media account every day. Why was I being so obsessive? We’d barely spoken; I hadn’t even seen his full performance. We’d left early thanks to Laura’s unexpected fall. She’d slipped and twisted her ankle carrying another round of cocktails. 

What was it about this musician that aroused such interest? These strange feelings I couldn’t explain. Also the ease with which we had talked. The skips my heart made when he smiled were far too memorable to ignore. Something told me I had to at least try and find out more. Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. I thought. 

In the background, I could hear Laura whining about her sprained ankle. Between moans and dramatic cries, she apologised profusely for ruining our night out. She’d really nothing to apologise for; it had been those damn heels of hers that’d decided to betray us and maybe a few too many cocktails. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, having to abandon ship so early. Plus losing the chance of talking to Conor again after his show was playing on my mind.

My apartment was small but snug, with an open-plan kitchen and sitting area that I had filled with plants and some of my own sketches and watercolours. The kitchen had a new, marble-effect laminate countertop, upon which I’d decorated with modern appliances, including a sleek chrome coffee machine. It gave the room a chic yet cosy aesthetic. The sitting room had two leather loveseats, one of which Laura was stretched out upon, her sprained ankle elevated and resting on the coffee table. On the mantle over the fireplace were pictures of the three of us on various nights out in Galway. By the door, where my jackets were hung, the girls sometimes left their own coats. They visited so often that the place felt as much theirs as mine. I’d even loaned them my extra sets of keys. 

“Earth to Bridget,” Rosie started waving her hand sarcastically in front of my face.

Crashing back to reality, I nearly jumped out of my skin, dropping my phone on the carpet. Until then, I wasn’t aware of how deep I’d fallen into another world. Without warning, Rosie snatched the phone, her eyes now fixed on its Instagram search results. Frowning, she looked in my direction. My cheeks were suddenly on fire. I knew what was coming; the teasing, the questioning and the Spanish Inquisition. 

Now fully in retrieval mode, I tried to rescue my phone, as if I could possibly avoid the grilling that was about to unfold. Rosie then pounced like a cheetah, landing on the yellow armchair where Laura was sitting. The girls squeezed together, staring at its screen, both with curious and excited grins. Their eyes met mine, then fell back onto the phone, playful smirks appeared on their pouting lips. Embarrassed, I started sinking deeper into the green sofa, ready to accept their anticipated interrogation.

“Well, well, well…” Laura began. “Who’s Conor?”

“Who have you been hiding from us, Miss Bridget Kennedy?” Rosie teased, raising a brow.

I contemplated my next words carefully, so I didn't sound like a complete stalker. They were going to scold me either way for keeping last night's brief encounter a secret. Sighing, I squeezed in between the two girls, partially excited to reveal details of the mysterious Conor.

“I met him last night standing at the bar in Waxie’s. He was the one who bought the shots for us at the start of the night. I can't find any trace of him and it's driving me insane.”

Both girls gasped. Teasing laughter filled the air with loud excited clapping. Laura cautiously stood up, then fell down beside me, winking as she handed back my phone, her wide green eyes, ushering me to continue. “Well, where did he go and why didn’t he join us?”  

“He was playing on stage. I was kind of expecting him to talk to me after the show, but well…” I took a deep breath, pointing towards Laura’s bandaged ankle. 

“He’s the singer!”

“Was he the fit singer?  That’s right. I remember you grinning at him like a Cheshire cat.” 

I nodded.

“Wow BK, a real-life man? And here I was starting to think you’d written off the lot of them.”

“Ah sure, lay off her, it’s a good thing she has such high standards. She’s waiting for her Prince Charming.”

I blushed even deeper, unsure of what to say. How could I explain to the girls how Conor made me feel? It sounded silly to say out loud. We’d only just met, but he fuelled something in me that I’d never felt before.

“Don’t be dramatic! He’s not Prince Charming, is he?” She noticed me blushing and shrieked with laughter. “Oh girl, you’re smitten! Our Bridget, speechless over a man. I never thought I’d see the day.”

I shook my head, but it was true. My usually calm and collected self had gone AWOL since meeting Conor. I couldn’t think straight or concentrate on anything. 

“BK you’re such a silly moose. You should have told us! You could have gone back on your own!” Laura scolded in exasperation, her loud voice nearly piercing my eardrum.

“That would have been crazy, I'm not a groupie.”

“We’re going there again!” Rosie finally declared. I was about to protest, despite being clearly excited about Rosie’s proposal. Just before I got to say another word, my phone started ringing. The ringtone blasted through the room, making me jump. It was a withheld number. I fumbled with the device before I eventually managed to answer. “Hello?”

“Is that Bridget?” an unfamiliar voice spoke.   

For the next couple of minutes, I listened carefully to the voice on the other end of the phone. A wide smile spread across my face. The excitement I felt about last night’s encounter was now enhanced with good news. Rosie and Laura watched as I nodded into the phone, thanking the lady. I paced around the room, every once in a while making notes whilst leaning on the small shelf behind the green couch. By the time I’d finished the call, both Rosie and Laura were behind me, staring over my shoulder at the scrap of paper I’d written a time and an address on. 

“Girls! Do you remember the festival job I applied for a few weeks ago?” I squealed, turning around, raising both hands over my head. “Well, I’ve just been offered the gig!” A few seconds later the girls started engulfing me with deep hugs. Two pairs of arms started literally squeezing the life out of me. “Congratulations BK”, their excitement and squeals echoed around my living room. “Calm down ladies, please move aside. They want to meet in a couple of hours. I need to get ready.”

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed out the wrinkles on my favourite red dress.  I wanted to put more effort into my appearance, but unfortunately the clock was against me. After trying on several shoe and jacket combinations, I finally made up my mind on a less formal, casual festival look. I decided on my red strappy sandals and a much loved black leather jacket. The jacket still looked great. Rosie and Laura insisted on curling my hair and picked out a pair of gold amethyst earrings, also adding black eyeliner and mascara to my lashes. Rosie finished off the look with a nude lipstick that she said made me seem serious and professional but still sexy. So, thanks to the girls, my plain outfit had some kind of sparkle to it. It wasn’t anything too grandiose or fancy, I thought this outfit looked the part to make a good first impression at the festival meeting. 
 
Leaving my apartment I quickly checked the address and worked out it was going to take twenty minutes to walk to William Street, the location of the festival office.

In defiance of last night’s tempestuous weather, the sun was shining high in the sky, beaming from beyond the few clouds that still roamed above the damp pavement. The brightness of the day added to my feeling of optimism. The smell of soil and rain lingered heavily around the streets, along with the chilling air that was born from Storm George. A light breeze played against my jacket and lifted the curls of my hair from the back of my neck. It was crisp, light and refreshing.

As I left my apartment I noticed my favourite oak tree lay victim to last night’s storm. Her final resting place was tightly cordoned off with orange netting. Men in high vis yellow jackets stood around her. Talking. Preparing their chainsaws. I felt sad witnessing her final resting place and seeing her broken branches and leaves scattered throughout the street. A few weeks ago, I sketched her beauty from my balcony. I estimated her age to be over one hundred. I’d watched small children climbing her lower branches. I sighed and took one last look at her branches. 

Slowly, I scanned the street signs ahead and then back at my phone’s street app. I was heading in the right direction ahead of schedule. Even so, my heart fluttered in anticipation and my palms felt clammy. Saying I was nervous was an understatement.  

The Galway 360 Festival was new on the scene. It was going to be a huge event. The festival itself would be located fifteen minutes drive outside the city.  Many of my contacts in the events industry had been gossiping about it. My first interview was with the artistic director, a guy called Declan.  I’d been informed on the phone earlier that he had moved overseas. 

My heart was beating heavily, excitement burned as I picked up a fast pace. I have lots of experience running events, however, this would be my first music festival. I was confident in my vast knowledge of music genres and artists, but I still felt nervous. 

I felt privileged, there had been a lot of competition for the festival position. A few weeks ago, I really didn’t think I had any chance of getting the gig. Fortunately, miracles do happen, and soon I will be meeting the festival owner and her crew. The meeting was in fifteen minutes and I needed to keep moving.

 I wasn’t sure what to say when I met the festival owner Ciara Breen, I’d just have to play it by ear. I had already role-played several scenarios. Fake it til you make it, Miss Kennedy. I thought.

Thinking about music and bands made me think of Conor. The girls’ proposal of returning to Waxies certainly sounded more appealing. For now, I had other pressing matters on my mind. I blessed myself, sent up a little prayer to himself and pushed my way through the two glass doors of the festival office. The atrium that I stepped into was modern and chic, with large glass windows that bathed the space in natural light. It was cavernous and echoey, and my heels clattered as I stepped across the polished floor. 

The building looked huge. There must have been at least six floors to its modern glass facade. Inside seemed to contain infinite rooms and desks peeking from every corner. I was certain that I’d get lost, given my bad sense of direction. The friendly receptionist was a rather large lady called Mary who escorted me to the lifts. She then gave me directions to the board room on the top floor.

I arrived five minutes early. Inside the meeting room sat an older woman working on her laptop.  She was sitting at the head of a long chrome-based glass table.  

As I entered the room she stood up, her lips curled into a kind smile.
“Hello, I’m Ciara.”
“Bridget!” I responded, my voice a little too high, betraying the emotions I was trying to hide. 
“Thanks for coming. I know it’s such short notice. But myself and some of the crew have to leave for a few days, so we’re short on time.”
“No! It’s totally fine.” I smiled nervously. “Are all the bands going to join us?”
“Well, not all of the members, just their agents and some of the stage crew. I wanted you to meet the team before you started, so moving forward you'll have an idea of the festival line-up, the crew and what to expect.” 

  The meeting room started to fill up mostly with sound, lighting and operations crew. They were a burley bunch of bearded men and had a real festival look about them. They wore flannel shirts, the sleeves of which were rolled up to reveal tanned forearms from days spent outside. Two music agents arrived who’d be representing several acts including three international artists. Both men were well-spoken, wearing navy suits and were both polished in their appearances. A well-dressed guy in his forties sat to my left. Ciara introduced him as Festival Frank. He would be running festival safety protocols.
A jovial atmosphere filled the meeting room. Tea, coffee and biscuits arrived after ten minutes brought in by Mary the receptionist. Everyone seemed to know each other. They chatted amongst themselves, exchanged pleasantries, asked about kids, and joked about whether or not we’d get rained out this year. Apparently, it had happened at other festivals. Everyone seemed excited about the new 360 festival. Just as I was starting to feel comfortable, and a little less nervous, a familiar voice suddenly came from the doorway:

“Sorry, thank God I’m not too late!”

In a heartbeat, I turned around; my eyes wide open, already knowing who it was. My muscles froze in place, my heart stopped for a second. Life has a funny way of presenting coincidences. Nothing ever happens by accident, I thought to myself.

“Conor! You're just in time, there’s still a few chocolate biscuits left,” Ciara teased sarcastically, her joke creating an echo of laughter throughout the meeting room. “Anyway” she continued, gesturing to him to grab a seat. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Bridget Kennedy. Bridget will be the Events Manager in charge of programming, marketing and social media.” Everyone in the room sent a polite acknowledgement in my direction.

I tried my best not to look directly at Conor. However I noticed a familiar smile that crept slowly onto his lips. His eyes shone with the same intensity I'd seen the night before in Waxies. He looked even more handsome in the daylight, I thought to myself. The sunlight made Conor’s eyes even more blue, like the summer sky on a clear day. They reminded me of stretching out on warm grass ready to gaze up into the heavens. Conor’s sky-blue eyes invited me to fall into them. 

After forty five minutes of presentations the meeting successfully came to a close. Leaving the boardroom Ciara politely stopped me, “Bridget, I’d like to introduce you to Conor O’Neill, you should see this one on stage. He may be a little flaky when it comes to timekeeping, but he certainly knows how to rock the crowd.”

Smiling, Conor extended a hand, and for the second time, we touched. I took his hand and shook it firmly, letting myself savour the feel of him. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of playing the guitar, and warm. The feel of them sent a tingling sensation through my body. It felt like I was frozen for a moment, too nervous to move and obviously too scared to speak. He truly took my breath away. A smile crinkled his eyes as he looked down at me. “Nice to meet you, Miss Kennedy.”