once. Anyway, there was a character in it…”
“Shooter McGavin,” I say. “I know.”
“Right. So ye know. And he’s an owl, so…”
I laugh. “I take it your dad doesn’t accept the name.”
“Oh no, he gets fully pissed off if I call him Hooter, but hey.” He gestures with his head. “Come on over. Get close. He doesn’t bite. As gentle as a mouse … unless you’re a mouse.”
I do love birds but seeing this one up close is something else. As I tepidly come forward, I can’t take my eyes off of the furry, thick claws that are digging into Padraig’s glove.
“So, birds of prey, huh?” I say. Up close, the owl’s grey feathers are intricately patterned. Beautiful. “Kind of a strange hobby.”
“It’s not uncommon here. A lot of people use them for sport, for hunting. My dad used to, anyway. You know he played rugby but got injured. He was in a bad place after that. My mam suggested he take up falconry since he loved birds so much. It was the best thing for him, really.” He pauses. “Didn’t make him any less of an arse, but it kept him busy. I took part in it from time to time, trying to please him but…” He trails off and shrugs.
“Well, it looks like you know what you’re doing,” I tell him. He’s so confident and comfortable with that owl on his arm. The owl looks as cool as a cucumber, albeit a little sleepy.
“I’m good at faking it,” he says with a wink. “Anyway, I can only handle ol’ Hooter here. The other”—he nods his head at the cages—“he doesn’t accept me as much. He’s a red-tailed hawk, named Clyde. Guess he’s a lot like my dad in that way.”
He frowns, a wash of agitation coming across his brow. “We used to have a kestrel and a barn owl too, but I suppose they got rid of them. I have to wonder what’s going to happen now. Back in the day, when the birds were part of the draw of staying here, both my dad and nan would take care of them, but with the way things are going…”
“If you wanted to show me the ropes, maybe I could help out,” I tell him.
He eyes me, amused. “You do know this isn’t something you can pick up right away. It takes a lot of training and reading.”
“I have nothing to do but train and read. I’m jobless, remember? Maybe I can write about it,” I add, even though writing has been the last thing on my mind since coming here. I had all these grand plans to write articles and freelance and, you know, be responsible, and it’s like the minute I met Padraig, all of that went out the window. He makes me brain dead.
“Well, if you’re that keen on it, I’ll see if I can get the books from Dad. Maybe if he’s feeling up to it, he can teach ye, too. Will do a better job than me, so long as ye don’t mind being called an eeijit every now and then.”
I smile. “I don’t mind if he doesn’t mind.” I rub my lips together for a moment. “Look, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night about how long I’m staying and I’m really sorry I just blurted it out like that without discussing it with you first.”
“It’s fine,” he says as the owl shifts slightly on his glove, his eyes starting to droop. “I’m glad ye said it.”
“Really? That didn’t freak you out?”
“Okay, it freaked me out for a moment, but the truth is … I want ye here, Val. I don’t think I can do this alone. Be here, see him like this, and…”
“And what?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. But honestly, as long as ye want to stay, I’m happy to have ye. And whenever ye want to go, I’ll pay your flight home. And if ye need money while you’re here, I’ll cover ye, and if you’re too proud for me to cover ye, then this place always needs a helping hand.”
“Okay,” I say, hope rising in my chest. It’s in this moment that I realize I have nothing going for me back at home. Nothing at all. And yet I already seem to have everything.
Right in front of me.
Holding an owl.
“Is it weird that I find this both terrifying and sexy?” I ask him, quietly gesturing to Hooter McGavin.
His grin widens. “That’s something I haven’t heard before. Where