‘I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think we shouldn’t have left them to their own devices this long.’ She sighed for dramatic effect. ‘Really, Fin, you need to baby up soon before they resort to ever more drastic measures.’
He snorted then nudged her with his shoulder like he used to. ‘Youbaby up.’
She grinned as she nudged him back. ‘No,you.’
Fin with a baby… Wow, that was hard to fathom. Or it had been, anyway. But his rapport with the kids today had been next level and somehow now shecouldpicture him with a baby on his hip. A little boy or girl, all unruly dark hair and gangly legs, the mother of the baby—a gorgeous Irish redhead, of course—getting no look-in at all.
The image was like a needle jab to her heart and she sucked in a breath at the unexpected prick.
Her phone chose that moment to alert her to an incoming text and Sweeney could have kissed the damn thing. ‘Mai,’ she announced as she glanced at the screen. She tipped her chin at the laptop, still displaying the money shot. ‘I’d better get this off to her.’
He nodded. ‘It really isverygood, Sweeney.’
Sweeney knew for a fact that Fin had no clue about photography, but it didn’t matter as her head swelled at his genuine, heartfelt compliment. Coming from the guy whose opinion she’d always valued so highly, it meant a lot. ‘Thanks.’
‘Mai’s going to be beside herself when she sees it.’
‘Oh, please.’ Sweeney snorted at the understatement. ‘Mai is going topee her pantieswhen she sees it.’
*
Mai did, indeed—metaphorically, at least—pee her panties. She was more excited than Sweeney if possible at the stunning picture and raved about it so hard it swelled Sweeney’s head several sizes. She not only declared she was putting it across all the Banshees social media but asked if she could make it the header image for the website.
Sweeney granted her permission and within half an hour Mai, true to her word, had it up everywhere. There were few photos across Sweeney’s career that were standouts. She’d taken hundreds—thousands, probably—of amazing pictures, but the special ones were few and far between. Only a handful, really. But this one had already earned its place in that most prized realm. And not just because it was technically perfect but because, as with the other exulted few, it not only told a story but it was about the feelings it stirred.
In fact, Sweeney was so damn proud of it, she decided to share it from the Banshees Insta account to her own Insta stories before she went to sleep that night. Her grid wasn’t an option. It was her own to do with as she wanted, but she used it as a professional space for carefully curated breathtaking scenery shots meant to inspire and motivate.
Her stories were different. She often used them for more personal titbits, knowing they’d be gone from public display in twenty-four hours.
She captioned itCoach Fin Murphy #kingofthekids.
In a text box she wrote:My home-town team. These little #BallyshannonBanshees are heading to an interstate #gaelicfootball competition in a few weeks. If you can spare a dollar or two to help them and their support crew get there, tap for more.
Sweeney was still high on compliments as she put her phone on charge and climbed into bed that night. For a day that had turned out drastically different to the way it was supposed to, she felt remarkably good. Yes, she was stuck in Ballyshannon for a little while longer, still fake engaged to her childhood bestie, but the excitement she felt about getting those photos right today hummed through her body like an exposed wire, fizzing and sparking.
When was the last time a photography session had been this… thrilling? She loved her job and it was such a privilege to be paid to go to some of the most stunning places on the planet. But it hadn’t given her this kind of buzz for a very long time.
And, a smile fixed to her face, she rode that buzz straight into the land of nod.
*
That smile wasnoton her face when her phone rang at just before six the next morning. She answered it without looking at who the caller was because she’d figured it’d be Veronica updating her on the situation. When one worked for a global travel bureau, time zones were inconsequential.
‘Sweeney?’
‘Mai?’ She wanted to say,‘What the ever-loving hell, don’t you own a damn clock?’, but surely the other woman wouldn’t ring this early on a Saturday morning—or any day, for that matter—for something superfluous.
‘Oh my god,Sweeney!’
There was a certain level of screech to Mai’s voice that was like nails down a chalkboard. ‘What? Is everything okay?’
‘Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!’
Sweeney didn’t know if Mai was having a stroke or if she’d somehow woken up in an Archie and Jughead comic. ‘Mai Murphy, it’s not even six o’clock, I swear if you don’t start speaking in real words, I’m hanging up.’
‘The photo, Sweeney. Since you shared it on your stories last night, it’s goneviral. Like, exploded everywhere viral. The GoFundMe page has reached its goal and exceeded it by almosttwenty thousanddollars.’
Sweeney sat bolt upright in bed.‘What?’
