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Laughter trickled through the group, and Finn finally lowered the intercom. To Maisie’s delight, his eyes finally found hers again, and the shining mirth in his dark gaze was all it took to send her heart happily skipping along.

She would definitely be leaving a review for him, but it certainly wasn’t because of his fish.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Daphne was still on a call when Maisie got to the hotel early that evening, but her aunt managed to break away for a minute so the two of them could grab a bite to eat.

Of course, that didn’t mean she was off her phone entirely. As they sat across from each other at a small table in the Celtic Rug, the walls of the pub dark and brown and the light dimly shining, Daphne continued to respond to texts and emails from her legal counsel, financial advisors, and finalized investors.

This was nothing new. Throughout their entire trip, she had always been on-call. Frankly, it sounded like a nightmare, dealing with the ins and outs of starting up a restaurant. Maisie would far prefer her own end of the deal—tucking into this food right now.

She stared down at the mussel soup that had been placed before her, drawing in a hearty whiff before writing down a few initial thoughts in her little pink notebook. After another minute, she finally took a spoonful, then closed her eyes to allow her tastebuds to savor and explore the different tastes and textures on her tongue.

There was definitely a hint of garlic in this soup. And celery and tomatoes. And…mmm, yes. Orange zest.

She nodded, approving of her own thoughts, then she opened her eyes and took another bite before jotting down a few more notes.

She lowered her pen, taking a few more soft sips of the soup. It was good…but she certainly wasn’t getting any goosebumps from it.

A sigh from Daphne broke through Maisie’s analysis. Her aunt shook her head and set her phone face down next to her untouched seafood platter filled with chips, shrimp, mussels, salmon, and lemons.

“Okay,” Daphne breathed, splaying out her hands above the table to settle her thoughts, her red nails glinting even in the low light. “I think I’ve appeased them all long enough to break away for a few minutes.” She shook her head again, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun, unmoving. She blinked hard, as if clearing a pathway in her mind so she could be present. Finally, her brown eyes settled on Maisie’s. “Now. Tell me all about your day.”

Maisie smiled. She could literally see Daphne’s attention shift from business to leisure. No one—no one—focused better on one thing at a time than Daphne.

Between bites of mussel soup, Maisie shared a detailed recap of her day, Daphne listening intently as she picked at her platter, stopping only when Maisie mentioned eating at Doherty’s.

“I’m so upset I didn’t have time to stop there,” Daphne said. “Did you get enough notes?” She motioned to Maisie’s notebook with a tip of her head.

“Oh, yeah. More than enough.”

With anyone else, Maisie would’ve been embarrassed to admit the notes she’d written down, but Daphne—like Mom and Dad—had always encouraged Maisie’s desire to record the food she ate.

Some people kept personal journals. Others kept book journals. Maisie kept a food journal. This notebook—pink with little pigs on the top of it to match her car organizer—had been gifted by her parents to use around Europe, and she’d nearly filled the entire thing. It was already one of her most prized possessions.

If the notebook was purely for work, she wouldn’t feel so weird about it. But more often than not, the notes were simply taken for fun.

“Did you see the notes I sent?” she asked Daphne.

“Yeah, but I didn’t have a lot of time to read them. I’ll definitely look at them soon, though.” She took a sip of her water. “Your day was a success, then?”

“Absolutely,” Maisie responded. “Only thing that would’ve made it better was if you’d been there.”

Daphne grimaced. “I know. I’m so sorry for all this mess. Were you alone the entire time?” Concern creased her brow.

That was another thing Maisie loved about her aunt—her inner feelings were always outwardly displayed.

“Oh, no,” Maisie responded. “I wasn’t alone at all. Not really. There were so many people on the bus who were super nice and made me feel really welcomed.”

Specifically the bus driver, but Daphne didn’t need to hear about Finn.

After being literally left at the altar at twenty-five, Daphne had a strained relationship with love and men in general. Maisie had always wanted a family of her own, but as her life slowly started to resemble Daphne’s—not being jilted, but in her remaining single—they had naturally gravitated toward each other.

The problem was that they had grown so used to each other’s company, that when Maisie did go out with someone, Daphne would do everything in her power to try to appear the supportive aunt, all the while being unable to hide the panic in her eyes. As much as she claimed loving the single life—and as much as she claimed wanting Maisie to find love—Maisie knew that Daphne would never be happy alone.

This always left Maisie feeling almost responsible for Daphne’s happiness, not to mention guilty when she did go out. To keep the peace, she just stopped sharing about her love life, or lack thereof, altogether. It was just as well. Everything fizzled out in the end anyway—and so would her flirting with Finn.

“I’m so happy to hear that you weren’t alone,” Daphne said, relief spreading across her features. “I was thinking about you constantly. And I’m so excited you found that new soup. You think it’ll be a staple for the menu, then?”