The Irish Goodbye

by Amy Ewing

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; Holiday Romance; Romantic Comedy; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

It’s hate-at-first-sight when a jilted Irish chef returns home to Inishmore and immediately clashes with a mouthy American tourist.

This steamy romance novel by New York Times bestselling author Amy Ewing is perfect for fans of Abby Jimenez and Tessa Bailey.

Cordelia James was once at the top of her game—a renowned street photographer with a massive social media following, gallery showings in Chelsea, and a lucrative book deal. But after the sudden death of her father, Cordelia can barely force herself to leave her apartment. That is, until she sees an ad for a summer gig at a cozy cottage on Ireland’s picturesque Inishmore island. Cordelia is on a plane before she can talk herself out of it.

The moment she steps off the boat, she crashes—literally—into Niall O’Connor, a grumpy local who’s just returned home to Inishmore from Dublin. Niall is nursing a broken heart and trying to patch up a broken life, and he has no time for posh American tourists. The more Cordelia’s and Niall’s paths cross, the more they make each other’s lives hell. But as with all rivalries, their hatred is about to reach a tipping point—and it’s going to heat up their cool coastal nights.

Featuring a lovable band of quirky supporting characters, The Irish Goodbye is a steamy, emotionally gripping tale of love, passion, art, food, and finding where you belong.

Release date: June 4, 2024

Publisher: Alcove Press

Print pages: 336

Sample

The bus ride was less pleasant than the train, with lots of lurching and sharp turns. They drove through simple Irish suburbs, on roads that seemed too narrow to hold such a large vehicle.
 
The clouds had officially won the tug-of-war by the time she reached the ferry; she boarded the boat alongside a tall man with jet-black hair and blue eyes, talking in a low, irritated voice on his phone. Cordelia caught the words “I said I’d do it, Da, isn’t that enough?” before he walked up to the next level. Her heart pinched—what she wouldn’t give to have an argument with her father again or hear his voice over the phone. She found a seat and stared out across the rolling waves, slate-gray and gloomy blue.
 
The ferry ride was an hour and Cordelia got herself another coffee from the little café on board. The jet lag was setting in, her eyelids drooping, her brain turning to mush. She hoped she wouldn’t be expected to do anything grandma or cleaning related today. A light rain began to fall, leaving a pretty pattern across the waves, but by the time the ferry had pulled into the dock at Kilronan Harbor, it had faded to a gentle mist.
 
Cordelia’s heart kicked up a notch as she got her bag and waited in line to disembark. Alison had said she would pick her up, and as she walked down the gangplank, Cordelia saw the same black-haired man descending from the upper deck, still on his phone.
 
She stepped down onto the concrete pier and headed toward the lot full of cars. Kilronan was the largest town on the island, but that wasn’t saying much. There were several brightly painted houses surrounding the harbor, squares of yellow and pink. She saw a big stone building with large white letters declaring it the Aran Sweater Market.
 
The harbor was as picturesque as she’d hoped it would be— and bustling with people. See, Liz? Cordelia thought smugly. This was perfect. Two old women were chatting outside the market while a small brown dog sniffed at the entranceway. A young man was leaning against the pink house smoking a cigarette.
 
Her fingertips tingling with excitement, she reached into her bag to take her camera out. This was the moment. Her photography was about to change, she could feel it.
 
As she was lifting the strap to secure the camera around her neck, she stepped six inches to her left to get the exact right framing of the two market women. But she was so excited by the pros- pect of the photograph that she didn’t look where she was going, and she collided with the person behind her. She watched in horror, like an out-of-body experience, as her camera jolted out of her hands and clattered onto the concrete, rolling once, twice, and then coming to a stop, face down on the cement.
 
“Watch it,” the black-haired man muttered as he pushed past, barely even glancing at her, his stupid phone glued to his ear.
 
For a second Cordelia was too stunned to speak. She found her breath and shouted, “Hey!” but he was already gone, vanished into the crowds now streaming from the ferry. Cordelia dove to protect her most precious possession from the feet of a hundred tourists, cradling it gently like a baby bird.
 
She turned it over. Her heart stuttered, and the world shrank in her vision, pinpricks of light making her dizzy.
 
The lens was cracked.
 
She brought it to her eye, not caring what she was pointing it at, desperate to know it was okay. But no matter how she adjusted the aperture, the camera wouldn’t focus. Everything was blurry, formless.
 
Her camera was ruined.
 
***
 
Niall O’Connor did not want to fucking be here.
 
He was already in a black mood when some dumb tourist stepped right in front of him in the middle of the bloody walkway to take a picture of the stupid sweater market—an American, probably, they were always stopping in inconvenient places to take the most inane pictures. Her elbow jammed into his ribs and he muttered a terse, “Watch it,” and kept talking to Colin.
 
“Yeah, I’m just off the ferry, mate,” he said to his best friend. “Where are you?”
 
In response he heard a car horn honk and saw Colin waving at him with that big dopey grin of his. Niall sighed. At least Colin would be here for the summer as well. Niall didn’t think he would have been able to handle this forced homecoming otherwise. He was already missing Dublin, and his favorite pub, and the crowded streets, and the walk down Grafton Street in the mornings to—
 
His thoughts glanced off the memory like a stone skipping over smooth water, skittering away toward safer shores.
 
He should have stopped taking that walk a month ago, but apparently he was a closeted masochist. What a fun personality trait to discover at the ripe old age of thirty-one. After weeks of Niall ignoring phone calls and sleeping during the day and watching far too much reality television while eating far too much takeaway, Colin had stepped in and staged an intervention. What was the word he’d used to describe Niall’s behavior? Self-indulgent? Toxic? Insane?
 
You’re off your fucking head is what he’d said. Out of his mind, more like it. But how else was he supposed to react? Niall had lost everything—his plans, his dreams, his future, the love of his life—all in one fell swoop. He’d been crushed and then trampled and then sliced into bits like chum. He was surprised no one had thrown him overboard on the ferry to feed the gulls.
 
He passed Alison Murphy on his way to Colin’s car. She was peering into the crowds, looking for someone.
 
“How’s it going, Alison?” he said.
 
Her eyes went wide before she quickly smoothed out her expression. “Hiya, Niall,” she said.
 
His stomach twisted—she knew. They all knew, everyone on this godforsaken island knew his whole story by now. Thanks, Da, he thought bitterly. Though maybe it was better he wouldn’t have to sort out a way to tell people. That would have been torture. He could just imagine it.
 
Hey Niall, how’s that fancy pub in Dublin coming along?
 
Oh well, you’d have to ask my former business partner and my cheating ex-fiancée. They’re having a go of it together now, cut me out completely. Lost my whole investment and life savings to boot. They’d been carrying on behind my back for months, apparently. Anyway, cheers, thanks for asking!
 
“Picking up a new lodger?” he asked before she could make some trite comment about hanging in there or keeping his chin up.
 
“Got someone taking the cottage for the summer,” she said. “The whole summer?” Niall asked.
 
Alison nodded.
 
Who in the world would want to stay on Inishmore for the entire summer? They’d go bored out of their mind. If Niall could have gone anywhere else, he would have. But his father needed help with the pub—or at least, that’s what his mother had said. Niall didn’t really think his father wanted him home at all, and if he did, it was only so he could rub Niall’s nose in his failures. Too big for his boots was one of Owen O’Connor’s favorite sayings when it came to talking about his son. As if wanting to start a gastropub with elevated Irish fare was somehow the equivalent of opening a Michelin starred restaurant.
 
But his mother was far craftier, and she’d done the one thing that could make coming home with his tail between his legs palatable—she’d hired his best friend to be the musical entertainment at O’Connor’s for the summer. The pub had been in the family for generations and while good beer and a hearty meal were its blood, music was its beating heart. And Colin was exactly the sort of happy-go-lucky, see-where-the-wind-takes-him kind of guy to accept her offer instead of making a go of touring the cities.
 
“I need someone to keep an eye on Gran,” Alison explained. “Since I’ll be busy at the Leeside.”
 
Jesus. Niall didn’t envy that poor sod, whoever they were. He loved Róisín dearly but Alison’s grandmother was a prickly old codger who didn’t take shite from anybody. He couldn’t imagine who would be willing to spend a whole summer looking after her. Alison must have sugarcoated the deal quite a bit. Or flat out lied. He bet she hadn’t told Róisín a damned thing about it—Róisín would be furious thinking of Alison hiring someone to watch her like a nanny.
 
The thought almost made Niall smile. He’d have to stop by Róisín’s house later and see what she thought of the arrangement. He bet she’d have a few choice opinions to share.
 
He had only taken another handful of steps before he was engulfed in one of Colin Doyle’s famous bear hugs. Colin was a lean, lanky guy but he did everything with so much enthusiasm it could feel like he was twice his actual size. Niall felt himself relax for the first time in far too long. For weeks there’d been an iron spring in his chest winding tighter and tighter, keeping him from breaking into pieces.
 
“Good to see you,” he said gruffly.
 
Colin released him and patted his shoulder. “You look shite. Come on, let’s get you home and unpacked.”