Page 33 of The Irish Goodbye

She hopped up and started looking through the pictures she’d taken.

“Anything good?” Niall asked, pouring her wine.

“Mm,” she said, distracted. She frowned in concentration and a little crease appeared between her eyebrows.

“You didn’t catch any of me, did you?” he asked.

“No. Why?” She looked up. “Did you want me to? I figured you’d rather not—you seem like the type who hates having his photo taken.”

“Do I now,” he said, surprised to feel a smile on his face and hear a note of teasing in his voice.

She grinned. “I have a sixth sense about these things. When you’re a street photographer, you learn to pick up on people’s vibes.”

“I have vibes, do I?”

“Oh yeah. You’ve got major fuck-off vibes.” Her expression froze but Niall laughed and took another drink.

“That does sound like me. Nowadays at least.” He realized he was veering into dangerous territory—Deirdre territory—and quickly changed course. “What about you? I thought all New Yorkers were meant to give fuck-off vibes as well.”

“For sure,” she said. “I give even better fuck-off vibes than you, if you can believe it.”

“I cannot,” Niall said. “I don’t think there’s ever been a grumpier bastard than me, thank you very much. I am the King of Fuck-Off Vibes. Don’t come for my crown.”

“You’ve never seen me on the D train during rush hour,” Cordelia said, gesturing to herself with a flourish. “Let me tell you, fuck-off vibes abound.”

Niall laughed again and Cordelia giggled. Then she tilted her head thoughtfully.

“It’s a shame,” she said.

“What?”

“You’d make a good subject. The contrast between your hair and eyes. The dimple in your left cheek.” Her eyes flew wide and her face turned bright red, the blush creeping down her neck. “Oh my god. Wow. What a creeper. Sorry. I just … it’s hard to turn it off sometimes. Being a photographer. Looking at things like …” She waved a hand at him, then hid her face in her wineglass.

“Are you saying I should take up modeling then?” Niall asked. He struck a vogue pose and Cordelia nearly spat out her drink.

“I wouldn’t quit your day job just yet,” she said.

“Ouch.”

“Oh please. I saw those girls eye-fucking you over there. Were they American? They looked American. I feel like I’m developing a spidey-sense for my own people now. We can be such cringey tourists, right?”

“You’re not all bad,” he said. “You’ve seemed to fit right in. How did you manage to charm Róisín so quickly?”

“I’m drawing her medicinal plants as illustrations for this book she’s writing.”

“Ah,” Niall said, nodding. “She’s using you for free labor.”

“It’s fine with me. I like listening to her talk. She has this crazy stream of consciousness thing going. Sometimes she talks more to a horsefly than she does to me. But I don’t mind. She’s so unapologetically herself.”

“That she is,” Niall said. “No one more so.”

Cordelia fiddled with the stem of her glass. “I used to think I was like that.”

The sentence hung in the air, but Niall didn’t know if she really wanted to talk about personal things and if she did, if she’d want to talk to him about them. But before he could say anything, she continued.

“It’s been nice to draw again. I think I needed a break. From photography. I needed to remember there are lots of ways to be creative. I needed to remind myself that I’m not just one thing.” She looked at him, half shy, half teasing. “I suppose I should be thanking you. If you hadn’t broken my camera, I might not have gotten the space I needed away from my work.” She fingered the strap around her neck. “It might even be better. Using a new one. One that wasn’t his.”

“His?” Niall asked.