Page 65 of The Irish Goodbye

She left them alone. Niall poured another pint as his father wiped down the trays.

“So,” Owen said at last. “You and the American, eh?”

Niall supposed he should have been ready for this. “Her name’s Cordelia, Da.”

“I know her name.”

Niall bit back a retort. He didn’t want to fight with his father about Cordelia. It didn’t much matter what Owen thought about her one way or the other.

“Never thought I’d see the day a stranger would come into my house and tell me how to love my son,” Owen said after a pause. Niall stopped pouring.

“Are you still mad about that?”

“I wasn’t mad then and I’m not mad now,” Owen said. “Don’t be giving me that look, it’s true. Not mad—that’s not the right word. I was taken aback, sure.” He put down the tray he was cleaning and sighed. “I know I’ve been hard on you, Niall. But you’ve got to know that when you left, well, to me it felt like you was slapping me in the face. That you looked down on all I did and all I’d worked for—this place, this town, this island, all of it. O’Connor’s … it’s in my blood and bones. It’s a part of the family. And it felt to me like you were spitting on it.”

“Da, I wasn’t—”

“Let me finish, now.” Owen held up a hand. “You’re a right talented young lad. And I think I didn’t want to admit that because it made me feel like I was a poor bumbling sod who only knew how to make a stew. But it isn’t about me, is it? You’re my son. You’re my only child. And what that Amer—what Cordelia said that night, well, it’s been ringing in my ears ever since.”

Owen clapped Niall on the shoulder and pinned him with his gaze. “I’m proud of you, Niall. I’m proud of the man you’ve become. I’m proud of you going and trying t’do your own thing in Dublin and I’m proud that you came back when you needed help. And you’re a damned fine chef. Damned fine. So I thought, you know, perhaps you could come up with a few more things we might be putting on the menu.”

Niall thought he might have to physically pick his jaw up off the floor.

“Da,” he said, bewildered.

“I’m not offering you the crown jewels.” Owen flushed and picked the tray back up. “Will you be adding more dishes to the menu or no?”

“I will,” Niall said quickly, eager to seize the moment before it passed. “I’d love to.”

“All right then.”

Niall finished pouring the last pint and set it down beside the others. “It was you, you know,” he said quietly.

“It was me what?”

“Who first inspired me to start cooking. I remember coming in here, following you around the kitchen like a shadow, watching you make the chowder or steam the mussels. You had this confidence, like you were in command. The way you’d mince and simmer and boil and stir and then suddenly there was a meal all ready to be eaten. It was like magic.” He finally glanced up at Owen. “You’re the reason I started cooking in the first place, Da.”

Owen swallowed hard. “Well,” he said. “I didn’t rightly know that.”

“How’s it coming along in here?” Colin said, bursting through the doors.

“Hold your damn horses, Colin Doyle, or today I’ll be dumping you in Kilronan Harbor,” Owen said.

Colin raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I am never going to live that down, am I.”

“Nope,” Niall said cheerfully. “Call the lads in, the pints are ready.”

Cordelia was waiting for him outside. “Your dad didn’t seem to want me around. I think he seriously hates me.”

“He doesn’t, in fact,” Niall said and then he told her what had transpired after she left.

“Niall, that’s amazing!” she said. “I mean, duh, your food is insanely delicious, but I’m so glad your father is finally acknowledging that.”

Niall wrapped her up in his arms. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Roger, look, it’s that cute couple from the race yesterday!” an American tourist exclaimed to her husband as they walked past. “You guys are adorable!”

“Róisín wasn’t exaggerating,” Cordelia said as Darragh appeared behind them.