I shrugged a second time. “To be honest, it’s not the first fight I’ve been in and definitely wasn’t the worst.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Is that supposed to be charming?”

The song ended, and a new, slower one started. For half a second, I thought she might pull away, but when she didn’t move, I tightened my arms around her waist and looked down into her face. “That depends. Do you find it more charming when guys tell you what you want to hear or tell you the truth?”

“It has to be one or the other?”

“It doesn’t have to be, but it usually is.”

I’d finally succeeded in coaxing out a smile. “I guess, if I have to choose, I’d go with the truth, even if it’s not always what I want to hear.”

I smiled. “Good choice.”

Spencer dropped her face and relaxed into my arms, resting her cheek against my chest as we swayed together to the haunting melody of a tin whistle. The warmth of her face soaked through my shirt to the skin beneath. Her hair smelled faintly of honey and vanilla. I couldn’t help pressing my face to the top of her head and inhaling deeply. Breathing her in.

Another song ended, and I felt her pull away just a little. I scrambled to find a reason why I wouldn’t let her go. “It’s getting a little close in here.” I pulled on the top button of my shirt to make my point. “Do you want to go outside? Get some fresh air?”

Spencer gave me a long look. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth—no doubt a nervous habit, but an adorable one. Still, it meant she was wary about being alone with me, which didn’t do much for my cause. I adopted a mask of casual indifference. After another few seconds of silence from Spencer, I shrugged and moved my foot as if I were about to walk away.

“Anyway, thank you for the dance,” I said. I flashed a grin and stepped around her.

“Hold on.” She caught my hand. “I’ll come with you.”

This time I let her lead the way. We weaved through the party and toward the back of the house, passing through a formal dining room. Spencer took in the mounting piles of trash that littered the table with a frown as we reached a pair of French doors, and she pulled on one of the brass handles to open it.

We emerged onto a stone patio where a handful of guests had come to enjoy the warm night air. Despite the heat, a fire crackled inside a clay chiminea on the patio. Another nod to the Celtic holiday, I guessed, though I wasn’t sure why they’d even bothered trying to mimic the bonfires usually associate with Lúnasa in this heat.

A welcome breeze blew through the trees surrounding the backyard of the OIA house. It lifted the wide strand of ribbon that cinched the waist of Spencer’s dress, and I caught it in one hand, ran my thumb across its silky surface, and then let it unfurl from my fingers. The breeze set it to its rippling dance again, and I took her hand. We descended the stone steps that led down from the patio and followed a path through the backyard to a mercifully deserted courtyard hidden behind a circle of hedges. Spencer pulled her hand from mine and walked to a wooden swing set off to one side. I pushed both hands deep into the pockets of my shorts and followed after her. I held the swing still and waited for her to get situated before I sat beside her. She rested her hand beside her leg and gripped the swing’s edge. I did the same, careful to leave a small distance between our fingers.

“So,” she said after a long moment. “Is your family still in New Orleans?”

I nodded, grateful for the question. She seemed so nervous that I’d started to worry my usual talents wouldn’t be much use in winning her over. “My mam and my older brother are both there,” I answered, neglecting to mention the entire village of Travelers who were mostly distant relatives in one way or another.

She arched a questioning eyebrow. “Your ‘mam’?”

Dammit. I cast about for an explanation, then simply decided on the truth. “She’s Irish—my mother. I mean—actually-from-Ireland Irish. It’s just what we call her.”

“That’s cool. Have you ever been?”

“To Ireland?”

“Yeah.”

“No, but she keeps threatening to take us.” I laughed. “She says every Irishman needs to see the ‘land of saints and scholars’ at least once before he dies. I’m sure she’d say the same thing for Irishwomen, too, of course.” I bumped my shoulder into hers the way Kay had done.

Spencer smiled. “I’d like to go someday for sure. OIA has a program that allows you to study at Trinity College for a semester. I’ve thought about applying, but the idea of being on my own in Dublin for a semester is a little scary.”

“Yeah, being away from home can be rough.” I’d only been gone for a few days, and already I missed Maggie, Jimmy Boy, and the dogs.

“I’m surprised you knew I was Irish. With a last name like Costello, most people assume I’m Italian.”

“Well, you’re in OIA, so I just guessed.” I left out the fact that Costello was a pretty common Traveler name. There were at least two dozen of them back home—probably even related to her, though they’d never claimed Tommy as far as I’d ever heard. Of course, they wouldn’t, given what he’d done.

She grinned, and it quickly brought my attention back to the present moment. “So what does yer mam do?” she asked, affecting a convincing Irish brogue.

“Oh, a bit o’ this, a bit o’ that.” I mimicked Maggie’s airy, lilting speech. “She’s a diviner. She reads tarot cards and tea leaves for the tourists and for the locals who believe in that sort of thing.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Many women in the Village came to Maggie to learn how a particular season of traveling might work out or to get assurance that a marriage arrangement would lead to a happy life for a child, but for now, it served my purpose for Spencer to imagine her as one of the fortunetellers in New Orleans’ Jackson Square.

Spencer fixed me with a curious smile. I guessed it sounded a little strange given how normal her upbringing must’ve been. But if she thought badly of my family or me, she didn’t say so. “Sometimes I wouldn’t mind knowing what my future holds,” she admitted.

I took the opening. I turned her hand so her palm faced upward and scrutinized it for several silent moments. With the index finger of my free hand, I traced a line that traversed the pale surface of her palm. Her slight shiver at my touch was encouraging, to say the least.

“Well, now…” I continued my Maggie impersonation. “What do we have here, lass? It seems you have a bright future indeed.” I glanced up at her through my lashes. She stared at her hand enveloped in mine. “I see you in an abandoned courtyard, and…what’s this?” I looked at her again, pleased to see she’d leaned in a hair closer in anticipation of what I’d say next. “You appear to be getting very close to a handsome young stranger.”

She laughed but pulled away. I registered a fleeting sense of disappointment at the sudden emptiness of my hand but smiled at her anyway.

“I certainly hope your mom is better than you because, as far as fortune telling goes, that was pretty weak.”

“What can I say? I guess the only thing she passed on to me was her eyes.”

“Then I think you got the better end of the deal,” Spencer said.

I wanted to kiss her then, but after her experience with the drunk in the alcove, I wasn’t sure how she’d react. Instead I dropped my eyes, pretending to be embarrassed by the compliment.

“So what about your mom?” I asked. I was honestly curious. Pop hadn’t known who Tommy had taken up with after he’d left the Village, but Spencer was born soon after, so there had to have been someone.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She shrugged. “I know she was a waitress, but she took off right after I was born, so it’s just been my dad and me.”

“Same here,” I said. “With my dad, I mean. He died before I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her expression pained. She squeezed my hand, and I was surprised by the genuine rush of affection. If anyone else had told me Tommy Costello had been left alone with a baby girl to raise on his own, I would’ve been glad to hear it. Sitting in the dark holding Spencer’s hand, I just felt bad for her.