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And his eyes. They were nothing short of mesmerizing. There seemed to be endless shades to them, reflecting his mood. There was that startling blue that flashed like sapphires when he’d talked about his ex and then brightened to aquamarine when he thanked her for what she’d said to his father. They were intensely cerulean when he was cooking and a gentle azure when he teased her about photographing him. She had taken a couple of pictures of his face, leaning over the potatoes in utter concentration. She hadn’t looked at them yet, though.

“Right, that’s it.” Róisín threw down the bunch of carrots she’d pulled up from the garden and stormed over to Cordelia. “At this rate, I may as well teach Brigid to brush herself. What has gotten into you, child? Has the púca come and taken your shape in the night?”

Cordelia gave her a wry look – the púca was a mischief-making shapeshifter of Irish legend that Róisín had told her about. Every rural county had one. The bench beside Róisín’s front door was for the púca, Cordelia had been informed. A good púca always sits on the right, apparently, but the bad ones like the left. The way Róisín told it, she and Inishmore’s púca were old friends.

“No,” Cordelia said. “But if I was the púca, I wouldn’t tell you, would I?”

Róisín chuckled. “I’ve taught you well.” She peered up into Cordelia’s eyes. “Ah, you’re no púca, you’re too mopey. What’s on your mind? Spit it out now.”

“I’m going to the Black Fort with Niall this afternoon,” Cordelia said in a rush. “I was meant to go with Alison but she’s gone in to Galway so Niall said he’d take me and I said yes.”

Róisín stared at her for a long moment. “And?”

Cordelia shrugged and went back to brushing. “I don’t know.” She tried to come up with something to say that wasn’t He laughs now or I think his eyes are kind of beautiful and it makes me nervous. “He’s a little intimidating.”

Róisín let out a loud belly laugh. “Miss New York City intimidated by Niall bloody O’Connor? Well I never. Come on, girl, let’s get Brigid hooked up then.”

“Hooked up?”

“I’ll take you both to Dún Dúchathair in the trap,” Róisín said.

“We aren’t meant to go until two.”

“What, you think Niall’s got some more pressing business to attend to today than spending time with a lovely girl at a bleak and wondrous ruin? No, he’ll be sitting at home staring at his phone, same as you. Young people these days and their phones.” She clucked her tongue and headed over to the shed to get Brigid’s tack. “You stay right there, ya damn carrots, I’ll be back for you in a wee minute!” She saw Cordelia still hovering by the horse. “What are you waiting for? I didn’t show you how to tack up Brigid just to do it all meself.”

And so ten minutes later, Cordelia found herself bouncing in the cart beside Róisín as they rode up to the white house. Róisín, without bothering to get down, shouted, “Oi! Niall O’Connor! We’ve come to fetch you to Dún Dúchathair, now get your lazy arse out here so we can make it before those clouds turn to rain.”

Cordelia heard footsteps inside and then the door was thrown open. Niall stood there, bemused, with Colin right behind him, grinning.

“All right, Róisín,” he called.

“Morning, Colin. Fine day for a trip to the Black Fort, is it not?”

“It’s a grand morning,” Colin said, glancing up at the greyish cloud cover overhead. Niall was hurriedly pulling on a white cable knit sweater – as he lifted it over his head, his T-shirt rode up to expose a line of skin above the waist of his jeans. Cordelia blushed so hard her eyes stung and she looked down, fiddling with her camera. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t like she’d never seen a man’s stomach before. She hated how easily she blushed. Liz told her it was charming, but Cordelia found it mortifying.

“We were set to meet at two, Róisín,” Niall said, grabbing his jacket.

“She told me as much. But no need to put off to the afternoon what can be done in the morning.”

“Let me guess,” Niall said to Cordelia. “She gave you no choice.”

“None whatsoever,” Cordelia replied.

He smiled and Cordelia felt an odd jerky sensation, a tightening in her shoulders combined with a looseness in her chest. Niall went to climb into the back of the cart and Róisín said, “Get your bike, you daft bastard. I’m only driving you there, not back. Got things to do.”

Niall shook his head, then went to get his bike from under a tarp on the side of the house. He lifted it into the back of the cart alongside Cordelia’s bike, then climbed up.

“All right, I’m in. Enough of your harping. Let’s get a move on.”

“Is that any way to talk to your elders?” Róisín said as she cracked the reins and Brigid made a slow circle back to Cottage Road.

“Eh, you’re not that old.”

Róisín cackled. “Damn right, boyo.”

Cordelia was glad that Niall seemed totally chill about this. She’d been worried he might turn back into the dour man she’d first met. Brigid clopped through the center of Kilronan and Róisín greeted everyone with her customary blunt manner, sometimes speaking in English, sometimes in Irish. They passed the Aran Sweater Market and started down a road that skirted the harbour, seaweed gathering in great slimy bunches around the jagged stony shore. The ocean was a melancholy blue today, and on the far side of the harbour Cordelia could see clusters of houses, white and mauve and pale yellow; behind them rose the gentle hills of Inishmore, green grass divided up by endless stone walls.

They reached a fork in the road and began to climb up into the hills. Sheep watched them with impassive eyes. The stone walls weren’t like the ones surrounding Cordelia’s cottage – those were thin smooth stones laid flat, one on top of the other. These ones had enormous craggy rocks at their base with smaller stones piled on top haphazardly so that some were standing on end while others were tilted at angles. It made the tops of the walls as uneven and rolling as the hills surrounding them.