Page 39 of The Irish Goodbye

“Sorry,” she said, when he looked at her again. “No photos. I remember.”

“Oh, go on then,” he said. “I don’t mind. Oi, Colin, make yourself useful and play us some tunes.”

“Right on it, brother,” he said and disappeared, his footsteps going up the stairs. Cordelia lifted the camera again and the shutter clicked as she took a few shots in quick succession.

“Do I still make a good subject?” Niall asked.

Cordelia blushed so hard her ears turned red. “I was shooting the potatoes,” she said primly.

Niall laughed. She’d never imagined such a relaxed sound could come from his throat. He was the complete opposite of the man she’d bumped into on the docks. She got up off her stool and walked over to see what exactly he was doing.

“These are called hasselback potatoes,” he explained. “They were first created in a Swedish tavern and they’ll look gorgeous once they’re done. I’m making small slices crosswise, like little incisions, very very thin. Only cutting about two-thirds through so that the potato stays together. See?”

Cordelia nodded. She snapped a few pictures as he sliced—his hands were large and strong, his forearms surprisingly muscular. Well, maybe not surprisingly—she hadn’t ever really thought about his forearms one way or another before. But now, standing so close to him, she was deeply aware of the broad set of his shoulders, the curve of his biceps beneath the button-down, the black hairs exposed where the undone buttons gave a peek of his chest before the apron covered it.

She stepped back to get a full shot of him leaning over the countertop and then, feeling a bit awkward, she took a picture of Pocket sniffing around by the sink.

“So what made you get into cooking?” she asked.

“My da,” he replied, placing the finished potato on a baking sheet and taking a sip of his drink before starting on the next one. “If you can believe it. Visiting him in the kitchen at O’Connor’s and watching him run the show. Learning how to properly season things and the right way to use a knife. He taught me everything I know about cooking. But after a while I wanted to try making something myself. Got ideas about how certain flavors might mix together, or how different spices would suit different proteins. Not all of them worked. Mam was a good sport about it. So was Colin—we lived together in Dublin when he was going to university.”

“Where did you go to school?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” Niall said. “No money to speak of and no inclination really. I worked. Probably worked in half the pubs in Dublin. First collecting glasses, then as a bartender, then I got a job in the kitchens and worked my way up until I was running one myself. But it was someone else’s kitchen and I was serving someone else’s menu, always making the same thing—lamb stew, fish and chips, colcannon—”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’s like mashed potatoes with herbs and cream and cabbage,” he said. “Anyways, then I met, um, Deirdre.”

Silence fell, and for a moment Niall focused very hard on the potatoes. Cordelia searched around for another subject. She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. But she’d never known Niall’s ex’s name. It was weird hearing it—like it made her real, somehow, instead of a picture in the paper and a figure from a gossip story.

“You don’t … have to talk about …” she stammered.

“No, it’s all right. Can’t go avoiding her forever.” Niall picked up the final potato and began to slice. “It was Deirdre who encouraged me to start my own place. It was a dream I’d always had but never thought I could actually realize. She said we’d go in on it together, that I had the skills, the talent, and the discipline, and she had the connections. I’d saved up quite a bit of money at that point and she had—well, her family’s rich, so money wasn’t ever a problem on her side. We found a business partner through her dad. Thought he was the perfect fit.”

His mouth twisted and his eyes darkened. Cordelia felt a flash of anger toward this woman she’d never met. She didn’t just break his heart—she built up his dream and then broke that too.

“I meant to thank you,” Niall said softly.

She blinked. “For what?”

“For all that you said to my da. He’s gone quiet, which is unusual for him, but not unwelcome. It’s been a bit of a relief actually. And he’s letting me cook something for Pátrún. Never thought I’d live to see the day me da actually asked me to cook something. So. Thanks for that.”

“Oh,” Cordelia said, her throat swelling up. “I …”

The kitchen suddenly felt very warm and Niall seemed very close. Cordelia jumped when something touched her leg, but it was only Pocket.

“Sometimes I don’t think before I speak,” she said, turning to get her drink, needing an excuse to look away from those aquamarine eyes.

“It serves you well.”

“Ha,” she said, remembering her fight with Toby. “Not always. I can really put my foot in my mouth.”

She turned to see Niall looking at her curiously, but before he could ask, there was a knock on the door.

“Bloody hell, what is this, visiting day?” he said as Colin called, “I’ll get it!”

They heard footsteps running down the stairs, then voices coming up from the living room. Cordelia turned to see Alison enter the kitchen, a bottle of red wine in one hand and a chocolate cake in the other.