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Cordelia was struck by the raw beauty of it all. More than once she raised her camera to take photos – she wasn’t much of a landscape photographer, but she was a tourist who wanted to remember this ride. She was trying to remind herself that sometimes photographs could be for fun. They didn’t all have to be perfect.

But she was keenly aware of Niall in the cart behind her. A few times the nape of her neck prickled and she thought maybe he was looking at her.

Who cares if he’s looking at you or not? You’re just friends. Friends look at friends all the time.

“I heard your dad’s letting you put something on the menu for Pátrún,” Róisín said.

“And how would you be knowing that?” Niall asked.

“The púca told me,” Róisín said, winking at Cordelia. “All right, no, it was Fiona. So.” She turned to fix him with a stern look. “What are you makin’ then? And will you be needing any taste testers, because I’m happy to offer my services.”

Niall laughed and Cordelia peeked over her shoulder. He had one knee up on the bench, his forearm resting on it, and he bounced with the roll of the cart’s wheels, his black hair tousled by the wind. The road stretched out behind him, a thin black line among grass that was lushly green even in the drab light. His eyes looked navy today.

She couldn’t help herself – she lifted her camera and took a picture. He shot her a wry grin and she captured that too before lowering the camera and returning the smile.

“Force of habit,” she said.

“Enough pictures, I mean to talk about food,” Róisín said.

“I haven’t sorted that out yet,” Niall replied.

“Well, you’d better get on it. You know your father will be expecting nothing less than absolute perfection. But not too fancy. Nothing that’ll scare the pants off the likes of Darragh O’Grady. But it must be good enough to impress the tourists.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“No. Most important, you must be making something I like.”

“You like everything I cook.”

Róisín waved her hand. “I didn’t much care for whatever that was you did with colcannon.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “That’s because you have a bizarre resentment against kale.”

“Why’s it got to be so chewy?” Róisín demanded. “And it tastes like grass. No thank you. It’s fine for Brigid, not for people.”

“I like kale,” Cordelia volunteered.

“See?” Niall said.

“She’s American. Besides, have you seen her kitchen? Cheese and chocolate, this one lives on. I think I saw one lonely egg in a carton. No meat. No potatoes. I’d give her some of me carrots but she wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

“Hey,” Cordelia said. “I have apples.”

“Oh, she’s got apples. You hear that, Niall?”

“I heard it.”

“What’s an apple going to do for you? Can’t make a dinner out of apples and chocolate.”

Cordelia made a silent vow never to tell Róisín about her obsession with fifty-cent ramen packets. The road climbed higher and she could smell the salty tang of the ocean and hear the crashing of waves in the distance. The clouds were growing heavier, pressing down toward the earth like thick curls of smoke.

They rolled to a stop in front of a faded wooden sign written in Irish. Niall hopped down and took the bikes out of the back. Cordelia had almost forgotten that Róisín wasn’t coming to the fort with them and that soon it would be her and Niall alone together.

She climbed from the cart on trembling legs and reminded herself that this was no different than hanging out with Alison or Colin. She worried at her hair, then at her camera strap, and then fiddled with the buttons on her jacket until she realized she was doing everything she could not to look at Niall, and that didn’t really go along with her whole I’m not nervous mantra.

When she turned back, Róisín was watching her carefully.

“All right, lass,” she said. “I’ll see you at the house.” Then she clucked her tongue and Brigid trotted forward. Cordelia’s heart leaped to her throat and fluttered there like a moth. Niall stood with a bike on either side of him, looking almost as apprehensive as she felt. He was probably realizing they were going to be alone together too. Maybe he was regretting this. Maybe she should clarify that he didn’t need to feel awkward because she certainly didn’t feel awkward, not in the slight –