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“Ah, Niall is a family name. My da’s grandfather was a Niall and his grandfather before him. Nothing special.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Cordelia asked.

Niall shook his head. “My parents wanted more but … well, me mam had lots of miscarriages. Wasn’t in the cards for them.”

Cordelia paused. “That must have been so hard for her. For both of them.”

“Yeah, she keeps her chin up, but I know she wishes she had a whole brood. My da too. Probably wishes he had a son who was just like him. Never wanting to leave Inishmore, never wanting anything more than to carry on running O’Connor’s.”

“He’s asked you to cook for Pátrún,” Cordelia pointed out, stepping off a stone slab and landing in a deep puddle of mud. “Oof.” She tried to pull her leg out but the mud sucked at her boots. “Oh no, I’m stuck.”

“Here, give me your hand,” Niall said. A shiver ran through her as she placed her hand in his—his palm was rough and warm, his grip firm. As he pulled her out of the muck, she stumbled into his chest. Their faces were so close and her breath caught, transfixed by his aquamarine gaze. She could feel hard muscle beneath his wool sweater and her heart thumped unevenly.

“Thanks,” she said, breathless. Niall released her and she quickly tried to put some space between them. She searched for the thread of the conversation. “What are you thinking of making? Or do you really not know?”

“I really don’t know,” he said, grimacing. “Róisín was right. It’s got to strike the perfect balance.”

“If it’s anything like last night’s dinner, you’ll be fine.”

His face brightened and his eyes shone. She made the mistake of looking directly into them and nearly lost her footing again.

“You liked the meal, then?” he asked.

“Liked it? I had a wet dream about those potatoes. Oh god. Sorry. That was inappropriate.” Her skin prickled as blood rushed to her cheeks, but Niall threw his head back and laughed.

“I think that’s the best review I’ve ever received,” he said. They reached another stone wall, this one the highest yet. Niall easily clambered over it and offered his hand again. Cordelia took it eagerly—she needed the help, she told herself. It was nothing to do with the way his fingers curved around her palm. Nothing at all to do with the feel of his skin against hers.

The wind was picking up and she landed with another wobbly thud.

They’d reached the edge of a vast cliff. The stones had sunk deep into the grass and the shoreline of Inishmore stretched out before her, jutting cliffs in both directions. She felt like she was standing on a puzzle piece waiting to be fitted snugly into a larger picture. The ocean was as smoky as the sky, vast and gray and churning, but at the base of the cliffs the water shone aquamarine, like the eyes of the man standing beside her.

Off to her right rose the ruins of Dún Dúchathair, crumbling walls of black stone. The ones at the back of the fort were larger and higher than others, and at the very front there were a series of half circles, the shapes of long forgotten rooms.

Cordelia had the sensation of stepping into the past, like if she listened close enough she could hear the ancient whispers of this place and learn the secrets it still held. Standing amid the ruins of a fortress built during the Iron Age, Cordelia felt like she’d reached the edge of the world.

And, unlike on Dún Aengus, here they were completely and utterly alone.

13

“D’you like it?” Niall asked.

He didn’t know why he was nervous. He’d been nervous all damn day in fact. He was glad when Róisín showed up early with the trap—he’d spent the morning pacing around the house, checking his phone, and declaring he was going to cancel. He was driving Colin bonkers.

He’d been pretty sure Cordelia regretted letting him shove his way into her plans, though the conversation wasn’t as awkward as he thought it would be. They’d never spent any time alone together, but the more they chatted, the more it felt like hanging out with any other friend. See, Colin? he thought. We’re friends, is all. I can still make friends. He tried very hard not to think about the way his stomach had flipped when he held her hand, so small and soft. Or the feel of her palm on his chest when she’d stumbled into him.

Why did it matter if she loved this spot as much as he did? It didn’t. It wasn’t his spot, after all. It belonged to Inishmore. But it held so many memories for him.

It took Cordelia a moment to answer.

“Oh yes,” she said at last, her voice hushed like she was in church. “I like it very much. I love it, actually.” Niall felt a tug of pride. She glanced at the ruins and then said, “Can I touch them?”

“Course. We aren’t in a museum,” he teased. They walked among the black walls and Cordelia let her palm run over the stones.

“It’s so old,” she murmured. “It has this presence like … I don’t know. Can you feel it? Am I crazy?”

“No,” he said. “I feel it too. I love it here. Used to play in this fort when I was a kid. Pretend I was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, off to vanquish Sauron and all that.”

Cordelia giggled. “Wait, I’m sorry, are you a nerd?”