Page 14 of The Irish Goodbye

“I’d love that,” she said. “Thank you.”

Fiona clapped her hands together. “Grand! Dinner’s at six thirty. Róisín can take you down in the cart, I imagine. Or the walk is easy enough as long as the weather holds.” She turned to the dog. “Now come on, Pocket, I’ve got to be getting these clothes off the line before the rain comes.”

“Is it going to rain?” Cordelia asked, looking up. The sky was cloudy but not particularly threatening.

Fiona patted her thigh. “Got two screws in this knee,” she said. “It always aches before the rain.”

Cordelia wished she’d brought her rain jacket. She said goodbye to Fiona and Pocket and carried on down to the center of town.

She didn’t know any other restaurant besides O’Connor’s and, jerk-face bartenders notwithstanding, it really was a nice place. And the mussels had been fantastic.

So she gathered her courage and pushed her way through the doors, instinctively glancing at the bar for any sign of black hair or blue eyes. But there was only a cheerful middle-aged woman with curly red hair pouring some drinks for a couple of tourists. Cordelia exhaled with relief and took a seat at a free table.

The bar had great lighting. If I had my camera, she thought with a grumble, I could be taking pictures right now. I wonder where those tourists are from. Maybe they’d let me shoot them. Give a fresh start to my Instagram.

She hadn’t posted anything or even looked at her feed in a month. A detox, she’d told Liz, but the truth was she was too scared. She was tired of the negative comments, tired of feeling like she’d lost her spark. But now she’d give anything to feel the gentle weight of her camera slung across her chest.

She ordered a beet salad from the woman, who introduced herself as Shauna and definitely knew who Cordelia was already. Cordelia took out her true crime book and sipped a club soda while she waited for her food, losing herself in the Keddie Cabin murders. Liz had tried to insist that she bring some light beach reads, but to Cordelia true crime was a beach read.

A group of young American men came in and sat at the bar. Cordelia cringed—they were loud and obnoxious, ordering whiskey shots and high-fiving. It was people like them that gave American tourists a bad name.

The door opened again, letting in a gust of chilly air, and Cordelia froze when she saw the tall, lean form of Niall O’Connor striding into the room.

Shit, she thought as he caught sight of her. Niall’s cold blue eyes widened a fraction, then Shauna appeared at the table with Cordelia’s food.

“Here’s your salad, dearie,” she said. “Oh, Niall!” she called. “This here is Cordelia from New York. She’s staying up—”

“I know,” Niall said as he strode past them, behind the bar, and through the swinging kitchen doors.

“Don’t mind him,” Shauna said. “He’s going through a bit of a rough patch.”

“It’s fine,” Cordelia said primly because she did not care one bit if Niall freaking O’Connor was nice to her or not. She picked at her salad, and when she looked back at the bar, Niall was pouring more shots for the loud Americans and glaring at the whiskey bottle like it had personally offended him. How could someone radiate so much fury and not spontaneously combust? Cordelia could feel the tension rolling off him all the way across the room.

She was halfway through her meal when her phone began to ring with a call from her mother. Usually when her mom called, Cordelia was overcome with a sinking dread, but today she rushed to answer. The homesickness was really starting to get to her, and she found herself eager to hear her mother’s voice.

“Hello? Cordie? Hello?”

“Hi, Mom!” Cordelia said with an enthusiasm that probably surprised them both. “How’s it going? What time is it there?”