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He’d settle their questions soon enough, but for now, he was going to enjoy this ride with Maisie.

Well, he was going to enjoy it as much as he could, what with his backside growing numb from discomfort. Who made these seats, anyway? They must have the smallest rear ends known to man.

He shifted again, and a grunt slipped past his lips.

“You doing alright over there?” Maisie asked.

She made riding and sitting on the seats appear effortless, her cheeks rosy and smile unending.

“Oh, aye. Just wonderin’ who created this torture device they call a bicycle seat.”

She let out a bubbly laugh. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

He motioned to her bunched-up dress, the adorable bustle still sticking out behind her. “This comin’ from the woman sittin’ on a comfy bunny’s tail.”

“I’m not sitting on it. It’s clearly above the seat.” Then she raised her chin with a feigned air of superiority. “I’m just choosing not to complain.”

“Complainin’ helps me cope, I’ll have you know.”

“You could always turn back if you need to,” she said next. “I’m sure Eamon would love the company. He was giving you plenty of chances to back out before.”

Blasted fella. He’d blown Finn’s cover alright. “Ach, I know, but what sort of tour guide would I be if I let one of me own passengers ride ’round the island alone?”

“Anything for those good reviews, right?”

“Aye, that’s right,” he said with heart. “Cause I’m a Norn Irishman, and Norn Irishmen put in the work to get what we rightly deserve. Unless we’re too knackered. Or peckish. Or it’s rainin’ out.”

She smiled with amusement, facing forward again. Boys a dear, she was pretty. That little dimple that appeared just above the end of her curved lip. Her gorgeous hair and up-turned nose. Her joyful spirits despite the cold air.

He’d wondered if he was coming on too strongly, what with his flirting and coming out there with her today. But each time he teased her, Maisie responded in-turn, which only encouraged him to continue.

He hadn’t been pulling his friends’ legs. He really could see himself considering a relationship with Maisie—if she didn’t live halfway round the world, that is. Which was exactly why he was laying on the charm so thickly. She’d be gone in two weeks, and she’d take his wee crush with her. Then he’d be left to himself again, continuing with the most important job he had—which was keeping his job.

Because as tempted as he was to throw caution to the wind and imagine some sort of future with this lovely American morsel, he was determined to do right by his family and make a sensible decision for the first time in his life. He owed his family that much. Anyway, he’d known her for exactly two days, and that was definitely not long enough to make any lasting decisions.

Over the next two weeks, though, he’d enjoy his time flirting with this absolute treasure.

“So when you’re not riding bikes,” Maisie said, breaking through his thoughts, “which I’m sure I can safely assume you never do⁠—”

“That’d be correct,” Finn interrupted.

“—what do you usually do while on the island?”

“I stay in the warmth of the Puffin’s Perch on a cushioned chair with a cuppa. You know, with folks who move at more of me own pace.”

“Ah, so, like, Pearl, Joyce, and Renee.”

He tapped the side of his nose. “Right you are, Maisie King.”

Funny enough, Finn had been spending that morning with those very women. Then after having a bant with them—and that blasted Trifle who still did not like him—he’d attempted to speak with the Waterstones. Mrs. Waterstone was as welcoming as a wet doormat and her husband, who’d managed to lower his phone for a few minutes, had gone on and on about how much better their Virgin Voyage cruise had been when compared to Finn’s tour. Needless to say, Finn had broken away to chat with the Beauchênes quickly after that.

A few minutes in with the French couple, and he’d spotted Maisie renting a bike, so he’d made his excuses and rushed out to catch her before she left. At that point, he’d spent enough time with the others on the bus to not feel badly focusing on her again.

She was a lovely thing to focus on, too. More than his aching backside.

He adjusted his rear with another grunt. That needle seat would be the death of him, so it would.

“Is it really that uncomfortable?” Maisie asked as he shifted again. “Or are you just not used to physical activity?”