Page 10 of The Irish Goodbye

“Do you like wine?” Alison asked, inserting herself in to smooth things over. “They’ve got a good cabernet here.”

The woman sniffed. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Niall, this is Cordelia James. She’s the one I told you is staying at the cottage for the summer. Cordelia, this is Niall O’Connor.”

Cordelia blinked. “As in O’Connor’s O’Connor?”

Niall spread his hands out wide, his teeth gritted into a bad imitation of a smile. “The one and only. I’ll get that wine.” Then he hurried down to the opposite end of the bar before Cordelia could insult him again.

Colin finished his set and joined him.

“Sweet mother of Mary, what did you do to make that American so upset?”

“We bumped into each other coming off the ferry and she dropped her camera and it broke. It was pricey, apparently. And my apology was shite, so I’ve been told.” Niall couldn’t believe someone would spend so much on a camera when an iPhone would work just as well.

Colin whistled. “You better give her free drinks all night.”

“That’s the plan.”

“She’s easy on the eyes, though, isn’t she,” Colin said, casting an appreciative glance in the direction of the two women.

“You think everyone is easy on the eyes,” Niall said. He meant that literally—Colin was bi, and though he’d never had a serious relationship, he’d certainly slept his way through half the population of Dublin, both male and female.

“Don’t be such a prude, Niall. You’ve had your heart torn out, yes, but you’re not dead. At some point, you’re going to have to get back on that horse.”

“When I do, it won’t be with an American who called me an arsehole twice in the span of ten seconds,” Niall snapped.

“Okay, okay, fair enough. Why’s she talking with Alison?”

“She’s the one who’s taken the cottage.”

“Oh grand!” Colin said brightly, then adjusted his expression when he saw Niall’s face. “Right, not grand.”

“Let’s hope she finds another place to have dinner after tonight,” Niall said. “Darragh and the others were already giving me those looks and innuendos, and Seamus was being an outright tool. Look at poor Niall, can’t keep a woman. Poor Niall, couldn’t get his pub started. Poor Niall, can’t keep his fucking father’s customers happy. I don’t need more fuel added to that fire.”

“Poor Niall needs to get laid, I think.” Colin raised an eyebrow at the look on Niall’s face. “What? That’d shut Seamus up right quick.”

“Niall!” His father’s voice came bellowing from the kitchen.

Niall clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply through his nose. “Be right there,” he called, taking the two wineglasses over to Alison and the angry American. He slammed them down harder than he should have and some wine slipped over the top of one. “Sorry,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “Be back in a few to take your order.”

“Take your time!” Alison called after him. He could feel Cordelia’s glare like a dagger between his shoulder blades as he stalked off to the kitchen.

His father was ladling seafood chowder from a huge pot on the stove into two glazed crock bowls. “Get these to table twelve,” he said brusquely. “And what was the temperature on that steak for table five? You’ve got to write this stuff down, Niall. Where’s your head at?”

Back in Dublin, where I should be opening my own pub and marrying Deirdre, Niall thought acidly. But he just grabbed the soup bowls and muttered, “Sorry, Da.” When it came to his father, Niall had long ago learned it was easier to give in than to fight. Owen always won anyway.

He left the kitchen and saw Alison and Cordelia deep in conversation over their wine. Cordelia’s eyes flitted to him briefly—she was pretty, he supposed, in an American sort of way. Big hazel eyes, honey-blonde hair, creamy skin that flushed pink at her cheekbones. But he knew all about her kind of tourist from working at various pubs in Dublin. Americans were self-entitled and demanding and loud, and this one seemed worse than any other he’d ever met. He gave her a glare worthy of the one she’d given him and went to deliver the soup to the waiting table.

“His fiancée cheated on him with his business partner?” Cordelia said, probably a little too loudly. She couldn’t help herself—it was such wild gossip, like something out of a movie.

Alison gave a solemn nod and took a sip of wine. “Such a dreadful thing. He left the island when he was eighteen and never looked back. His father’s a bit hard on him, always has been. It was the talk of Kilronan when news came that he was opening his own place in Dublin. But then a month ago, it all fell to pieces. So he’s come home for the summer.”

“That’s so sad,” Cordelia said. Niall came bursting through the kitchen doors with two bowls of soup and she shot him what she hoped was a more sympathetic look. He glared at her. “Jeez, is he always such a jerk?”

Alison chuckled. “He’s always had a giant chip on his shoulder, if that’s what you mean. We were friends all the way up through secondary school—not many year-rounders on the island and even fewer kids. Colin, he’s over there with his guitar—oi, Colin!” She waved the musician over. “The three of us grew up together. When we got older and Niall started working in the pub, the tourist girls would be falling all over themselves blushing and laughing and batting their eyelashes. He’s a fine thing.”

“Talking about me again, are you?” Colin said, coming up and throwing his arm around Alison’s shoulders as she introduced them.