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“If I can’t see the entry, can you at least tell me how you liked ’em? Three, four stars?”

She barked out a short laugh. “There is no way I’m going to tell you the star-rating I’ve given your mother’s food.”

He chuckled. “A wise woman. Because I had every intention of tellin’ her.”

“I know,” she said with a condemning look, to which he responded with another laugh. “Anyway, star-ratings are subjective. More than anything, I’m rating my own response to the food, so I keep them to myself.”

“Makes sense.” He paused. “But I can guarantee that me ma’s stew would earn five stars from you.”

Maisie forgot all about ratings and stars at the mention of the stew. “Your mom cooks?”

“Ach, aye, she cooks. Better than Mrs. Doherty, though you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Is the stew with lamb or beef?” she asked next, slipping her book back into her coat pocket.

“Lamb, ’course. She wouldn’t be caught dead with a cow in her stew.”

Maisie grinned. She’d heard tell of Northern Irish Stew—that they swore by lamb instead of beef. Good to hear that stereotype rang true.

“It sounds amazing,” she said. “I’m convinced we need a Northern Irish stew on the menu, but I haven’t found anywhere that offers one for me to try yet.”

“Well, if you’re ever near Whitehead, I’m sure Ma’d love to have you.”

Maisie nodded her gratitude, though she knew it was more of a polite offer than an actual invitation. She wasn’t sure about going on bike rides, but going to the tour guide’s family house had to be breaking some rule.

And yet, the thought of eating Finn’s Ma’s soup continued to infiltrate her mind as the two of them headed back to the harbor, returning their bikes to Eamon and moving toward the ferry.

“Me rearend’ll never be the same,” Finn grumbled, rubbing at his backside. “Or me legs for that matter. I don’t think I’ll be able to drive this evenin’.”

“Could you drive before? I mean, you ran over a curb within the first few seconds of our trip.”

He turned to face her with a slow blink, and Maisie could only laugh as she unfurled her skirt and allowed it to once more cover her joggers.

“Well,” he said, “thank you for invitin’ me to join you on such a lovely ride, Maisie.”

“You invited yourself, didn’t you?”

“That is beside the point,” he said.

Their smiles mixed for a moment, their stares lingering before Maisie cleared her throat and drew a step away. “Well, I guess I better go use the bathroom before the ferry takes off. I’ll see you around?”

He gave a single nod, tipping his flat cap to her again. “I was serious, by the way.”

She paused. “About what?”

“About you tastin’ me ma’s stew. I’ll find a way to make it happen ’fore you leave back home.”

Maisie nodded, though she didn’t really believe him. “I’ll hold you to it,” she said half-heartedly, but she walked away, knowing very well such a promise couldn’t be kept without breaking a plethora of rules.

Then again, Finn didn’t seem too keen on following any rules, did he?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Maisie reached her hotel room after leaving the ferry, chilled to the bone and thoroughly wet from the rain that had returned in force as they headed back to the mainland.

After peeling off her clothes, she stepped into the hot shower, her limbs regaining their feeling before she got ready for the second time that day.

Taking extra care with her makeup and ensuring her hair was thoroughly dry—though she was sure she’d be soaked again that evening—she bundled up in warm clothes and laid back on her bed, looking around her at the empty room.