Page 21 of Niall

She shook her head. “Please. For me, then.”

I sighed and relented. “A couple of things.”

She clapped her hands. “Awesome.”

We went shopping then headed upstairs to meet Finn and Niall for a late lunch. The pub was warm and welcoming, another large fireplace roaring in the corner, heavy wooden tables and comfy bench seats everywhere. Finn was waiting, and a few moments after we sat down, Niall strode in, his eyes instantly finding mine. I swore his shoulders relaxed as soon as he saw me.

I know mine did.

He sat on the chair next to me, leaning over and speaking quietly. “All right, mo mhuirnín?”

“I’m fine. I had a good morning with Una.”

“Great.”

Finn highly recommended the Irish stew and brown bread, so we all ordered it. The meat was fork-tender, the vegetables delicious, and the gravy rich and thick. Perfect to soak up with the warm bread. Finn shared stories of the hotel and a few from growing up in Ireland. Niall joined in, the two of them kibitzing and teasing. It made me laugh more than once, and I enjoyed myself.

“One time, Niall and I were about eight, I think,” Finn said with a grin. “Our neighbor, who no one liked, had a pile of manure delivered for his garden.”

Niall snickered. “Old man Murtagh.”

Finn chuckled. “We snuck out that night and pelted his house with the manure, thinking it would be funny. We thought we’d do it in the dark and no one would know it was us.”

“And?” Una asked.

“Next morning, Murtagh was yelling outside, and Mum burst into our room, screaming at us and calling us little feckers, chasing us with the wooden spoon, threatening to lock us up,” Niall said, wiping at his eyes. “We kept saying it wasn’t us. But…” He trailed off, laughing too hard to keep talking.

“We never thought about the smell. We washed our hands in the well, but it was on our shoes and bits on our clothes,” Finn explained. “The room stank like shite. So did we.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Mum beat our arses, and then we had to go clean his house.” Finn sighed. “But we got ours in the end.”

“What did you do?”

“We snuck some of the wet manure into his back seat and hid it. He could never get the smell out.”

We all laughed, and Una shook her head. “Poor Roisin.”

I touched Niall’s hand. “Your accent is heavier than Finn’s,” I said. “Most of the time.”

He chuckled, flipping his hand over and squeezing my fingers. “Finn’s been here longer than I have. He’s lost a bit more of the brogue.” He winked at me. “Most of the time?”

I nodded. “When either of you is angry or upset, it’s heavier and you say feck instead of fuck. Or when you’re laughing and talking about Ireland.”

Una grinned. “When Finn is being passionate, it becomes quite pronounced. Very, ah, hard.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her. “Quite,” he said. “Very hard.”

I had to look down, laughing into my napkin at her teasing.

She leaned close. “You’ll have to let me know if you hear a difference.”

I felt my eyes widen. Niall sputtered.

Finn started to laugh.

“Fecker,” Niall muttered.