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Róisín turned to fix Niall and Cordelia with a serious look. “I’m telling you both now – brace yourselves. You two are the talk of Kilronan. Aoife put that video up on one of them SnapFaces or what have you.”

“Didn’t think you’d be one for looking at social media,” Niall said.

“I’m not! But the prodigal son and the American girl, well, that’s a fine story for Kilronan to be chewing on.”

“Hey, Niall, speaking of social media . . .” Cordelia took her phone out of her pocket. “I’m going to start posting on my Instagram again. And there’s one picture I really want to put up first. It’s a little nerve-racking, sharing my work after so long. But this one is, um, pretty special to me.”

“All right,” Niall said, a bit confused.

“Would you be okay with this?” she asked, holding up her phone.

It was a photograph of him at the Black Fort, in profile, his arm arcing in a half circle as he cast a stone over the cliffs, the smoke-grey clouds swirling behind him. For a moment, Niall was speechless. The picture truly encapsulated the timelessness of the cliffs, and he suddenly felt like he was right back there, on that day. It made his chest ache in a way he could only describe as homesickness – as if Cordelia had been able to capture exactly what he loved about not just Dún Duchathair, but Inishmore itself.

“Wow,” he said. “Cordelia, that’s . . . that’s stunning.”

“I won’t put it up if you feel uncomfortable,” she said quickly. “I know you don’t like having your picture taken.”

“I may be changing my mind about that,” Niall admitted.

Cordelia’s whole face brightened. “Really?”

“Well, I have been told I make a good – ”

“Don’t say it,” she said, pinching his lips together and grinning. “Okay. I’ll do it.” She took a deep breath like she was about to plunge from the cliffs themselves.

“This is really hard for you, isn’t it,” Niall said.

Her mouth twisted, the little dent forming between her brows. “I stopped posting when Dad died. And then the first thing I did post, maybe like a year after his death, went nowhere. It was just a bland shot from inside my local café – nothing interesting or moving about it. But I attached so much importance to other people liking it, you know? All those clicks, all those little hearts, the constant pings telling me someone thought I had value. And you know people on the internet, it’s brutal. No one liked my new stuff and people had to tell me why they didn’t like it, and it just made me doubt myself and my work even more than I already did. But I’ve turned off my notifications. I want to post this because it’s a beautiful and meaningful picture of someone who is beautiful and meaningful to me.” She glanced at him shyly. “It’s not about getting likes from strangers. It’s about sharing my art.”

Niall had never been called beautiful or meaningful before. Cordelia saw things in him he’d never seen in himself. The sensation ballooned in his chest – he felt the exact same about her. She was beautiful and meaningful and so much more.

He leaned in and kissed her softly.

“Oi! No kissing in my cart,” Róisín called.

“Christ, d’you have eyes in the back of your head?” Niall said.

Cordelia busied herself preparing to post the picture. She titled it Niall at the Black Fort and added some hashtags about Inishmore and street photography. Then she took a breath, her face screwed up in fear and anticipation, and hit the post button.

“There,” she said, exhaling in a rush. “I did it!”

“Congratulations,” Niall said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her temple. His chest swelled with pride. He hoped those stupid people on Instagram appreciated how incredible she was, how much love and care went into her photography.

“All right,” Cordelia said, putting her phone away and rubbing her hands together. “Bring on the hookers.”

Niall laughed.

They spent the morning and most of the afternoon at the harbour.

They couldn’t have asked for better weather for the last day of Pátrún. There was music on the docks and a warm breeze in the air. The red sails of the hookers dotted the water, which was serenely periwinkle today. Cordelia flitted about, standing on the stone wall surrounding the harbour or crouching by the musicians to get a shot of some kids dancing a céilí, a traditional Irish folk dance. But she would always return to him, to hold his hand, or kiss his cheek, or just be near him.

They did seem to be something of a celebrity couple, as Róisín had warned. Even those who weren’t from Kilronan smiled knowingly or patted Niall on the back or wished them well. When it came time for the Guinness race, Niall declined to participate – he’d had enough racing for this season. But he helped his father pour out the beers.

“What’s this all about?” Cordelia asked, as she snapped some pictures of the two of them. “Drinking as much Guinness as fast as you can?”

“No,” Eoin said emphatically. “See these trays here?” Cordelia nodded. “Each runner gets a tray and a full pint and they’ve got to balance it using only one hand. They race up the road to where we’ve set the finish line. Fiona’s up there now.”

“Oh fun!” Cordelia exclaimed. “I’m going to go check it out.”