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Finn shifted his feet. He didn’t like posing for photos. With a group, sure. But alone? Ach, it was too awkward. Too exposing, like he was standing inside a glass cage at a zoo with everyone watching him, figuring out his darkest secrets and deepest feelings.

But Maisie was clearly not giving in. “You know your mom would love it,” she coaxed.

That was the truth. Ma was always asking for an updated photo of him. The only ones she had recently were ones of his mates or ones that she’d taken herself.

“I just don’t like havin’ photos taken of meself,” he said. “That’s all.”

A fleeting thought came of how he’d be fine if Maisie posed with him, but he readily set the image aside. Taking a photo with her might give others the wrong idea about them.

Maisie regarded him silently for a minute, then folded her arms. “You know, normally I don’t push people to do something that makes them uncomfortable. But the very fact that you had me sing in front of everyone on Bob is kinda making me not want to back down.”

Finn didn’t know if it was her use of the name “Bob” or the cheeky glint in her eye, but he found his determination wavering.

Still, he pressed his lips together before responding. “You do know how stubborn a Norn Irishman can be, love, don’t you?”

He used the word “love” platonically, of course.

“I’m aware,” she responded. “I’ll have you know, though, that my great-great”—she paused, counting on her fingers before continuing—“great-grandparents were born in Antrim, so that same stubborn streak has been festering in my blood for centuries.”

He couldn’t help but smile. She was too adorable.

She tossed her head toward the trees. “Come on, Mr. O’Meara. Do this wee photo for your ma, and I’ll stop bugging you.”

He made to shake his head again, but when she reached forward, wrapping her fingers around his forearm and gently urging him toward the center of the tree-covered avenue, his resolve fully unraveled. Like a lovesick schoolboy, he did exactly as he was told, his age-old, stubborn Irish pride melting into a puddle at his feet.

As soon as he was situated in the middle of the street, she released her hold on him. He didn’t even bother attempting to retreat, his body still reeling from her touch.

“There we go,” she said with an encouraging nod as she pulled out her own phone. “I’ll use mine since I don’t think you’d give me yours.” She gave him a knowing smile, then looked down at her phone as she pointed it at him. “Now go on and give me a big ole grin.”

He stood awkwardly in front of her, unsure of what to do, how to stand, how to even smile.

“Wow,” she said.

“What?”

“You’re really bad at this.”

He pulled back. “I do have feelin’s. As you trod all over them.” He waved his hand dramatically in front of him.

Maisie laughed. “I’m sorry, but look at this.”

She took a few steps toward him and held up her phone for him to see. He grimaced at the sight of the discomfort written across his features.

“You see?” he began. “That’s why I hate havin’ photos taken of meself.”

Maisie, however, was undeterred. “No, you just need some coaching, that’s all.” She backed up again, holding up the phone once more. “Okay, first off, think of something that makes you happy. Like your mom.”

Finn did his best to think of Ma, but with Maisie’s eyes glued to his features, he couldn’t focus much on anything.

She pulled her lips to one side. “If I had a son, and he made that face when he thought of me, I’d be wondering what in the world I did to him.”

She had a point. The eyes of a few other tourists not from their group settled on him, and he nodded uncomfortably at them.

“Maybe you could just take the photo already,” he mumbled to Maisie.

“Nope. You gotta loosen up a little.”

“I am loose,” he said rigidly.