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Maisie watched her for a minute, marveling at Daphne’s strength. If Maisie had to discuss with a lawyer how to convince an investor to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a restaurant that may or may not fail, she wouldn’t even know where to begin.

But Daphne, with her straightened spine and firm tone, didn’t mince words. She instructed Briggs on exactly what needed to occur for them to proceed.

And yet, as Maisie watched her, something else became more apparent. Daphne often spoke of how fulfilling her jobs always were, how she wanted for nothing because of her work. But now, with the stress obvious on her brow and the weariness dimming her eyes, Maisie couldn’t help but wonder, was the pressure of this all worth it? Or was Daphne pouring her heart and soul into this new venture just so she could ignore her sorrow for what had happened to her as a young, hopeful bride?

An unsettling feeling came over Maisie at the notion, and another thought surfaced, one she had tried to bury for years. With such a shallow grave, though, the troubling thought continued to plague her.

Was Maisie doing the same thing as Daphne? Was she using the band-aid of creating a menu and trying new foods—of helping Daphne chase her goals—to fix the fact that she had her own unfulfilled dreams?

Maisie tore her gaze away from Daphne, giving her head a little shake. She wanted to do this with her life. Creating this menu had scratched an itch she’d felt for years—especially after trying and despising being a chef, a caterer, and a café manager. Eating food was her passion, and business was Daphne’s. They were both happy, and she wouldn’t let anything convince her otherwise.

Anyway, this was her first sunset in Northern Ireland, what with their flight getting in too late the night before. She could either spend this gorgeous evening dwelling on disappointments of how her life had turned out so far, or she could finally allow the thoughts to pass her by without injury and focus on being in the here and now instead.

Choosing the latter, Maisie placed more distance between her and Daphne, wandering toward the start of the bridge until she was finally out of earshot from her aunt’s business call.

She rested her arms on the side railing, peering down at the white and black rocks and small tidepools before her eyes trailed out to the sea.

The fading sunshine had caused the pink to shift to purple, the sea mimicking the colors with a grayish tint. The sky still peeked through the clouds, as if it wasn’t quite ready to say goodnight as it gathered in all remaining warmth in preparation for its departure.

Maisie didn’t mind the cold air scraping against her cheeks, nor the bitter wind’s fingertips raking through her hair. Instead, she reveled in it, drawing deep breaths and allowing the environment to wash over her.

This grounding exercise was something she’d practiced her entire life, adhering to it religiously over the last few months in every new location she traveled. It helped her feel connected, not only to herself, but to the very land around her.

In those moments—in this moment—she felt more alive than ever. She could feel the boardwalk beneath her shoes, smell the salty sea on the wind, and hear the waves on the rocks, the wind whistling in her ears, and…the footsteps beneath her?

Instinctively, she looked down to where she’d heard the sound, surprised as a figure emerged from beneath the bridge, his back facing her as he weaved his way around the rocks and across the wet sand. His flat cap was situated securely on his head, and his hands were tucked into his pockets.

Maisie’s heart stumbled. Finn.

She hesitated, biting her lip for the briefest of moments. She had to admit, when she was waiting to be seated at the Celtic Rug—her aunt still heavily occupied by her phone—Maisie had done a little searching on the Northern Irish Roving Bus Tours website. She was anxious to read up on the rules of male tour guides and their female passengers…fraternizing.

As far as she could find in her half-hearted search, there was no rule about guides and passengers speaking—especially while off-duty. So…she had nothing to worry about. Right?

Without settling on an answer, she leaned forward and called out to him. “Hey!”

CHAPTER NINE

Finn paused, looking out at the sea, then over to the streets of Ballycastle. He could’ve sworn he’d heard a voice on the wind, but no one was there. Had he⁠—

“Up here!”

He swung around, distinctly hearing the voice from behind him that time.

His mind took half a second to register who the beauty was standing above him. Full, blonde waves blowing in the wind. Dimples in her cheeks as she smiled down at him.

Excitement rushed through him.

“Hello, there, Maisie,” he greeted, raising his voice to be heard above the sea. “What you doin’ out here, then?”

He wasn’t surprised he hadn’t seen her until now. He’d been too busy focusing on not slipping on the rocks and impaling himself on their pointed ends to see anything else.

“Just enjoying the view,” she responded, leaning her arms against the railing of the bridge.

He narrowed his eyes. “Just exactly how long’ve you been watchin’ me now, Miss King?”

Her lips parted, and she paused. “Oh, I wasn’t…I wasn’t meaning that I…I wasn’t staring at you or anything.”

This was his favorite part about teasing, watching the person scramble to right themselves. It was even more enjoyable watching Maisie do so as her cheeks shone a warm pink.