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There wasn’t any point in talking to Daphne about the bus driver now. While Maisie was glad to have received a reason why he couldn’t date her—that didn’t have to do with him not wanting to—waking up to that knowledge this morning had made her all the more upset.

Once again, her dreams were restricted, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“All right ladies and gents,” Finn said as he zipped along a curved road that hugged the bottom of a cliffside. “We’ve nearly arrived at Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. I hope you’re all excited for the thrill this location brings.”

Maisie closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to go back down. She’d been dreading today for months.

“I thought to tell you all a few facts about the site in our final minutes before arrival,” Finn continued. “The bridge itself stretches across the sea from the mainland to a small island of Carrickarede. The Irish words are Carraig a’ Ráid, which means “rock of the castin’.”

Maisie tried not to listen to his words. All this talk of heights was making her sick to her stomach. Daphne had said she’d force Maisie across, but now that her aunt wasn’t there, Maisie would be spending the morning in the café instead. She wasn’t even going to look at the bridge.

“The bridge is twenty meters, or sixty-six feet long,” he continued. “And it hangs thirty meters—or ninety-eight feet—above the sea and the rocks below. The bridge has been replaced a number of times to make it safer for tourists, so you can see Rathlin Island and parts of Scotland from it. And, good news, the weather has agreed to finally cooperate with us today, so you’ll be able to see for miles. You won’t want to be missin’ any part of this.”

Maisie winced. Sure, she’d miss out on the view and arguably one of the biggest attractions Northern Ireland was known for, but at least the café would be sure to keep her safe from dangling over ninety-eight feet of certain death. Anyway, she’d be able to work at the café, and that would be much more productive.

Her wince shifted to a cringe. She was starting to sound like Daphne.

Before long, Finn parked the bus, and the passengers filed out. Maisie was one of the last to leave, walking past Finn without a word as he answered some questions the Taylors had.

She paused a few feet away from Bob, looking around her at the sights from the parking lot. Maybe she’d see if she could spot the island from where she was. Then she wouldn’t even feel badly about missing out on the rope bridge. That wasn’t putting work first, was it?

And yet, with no luck at finding that specific view, she stifled a sigh and turned toward the café. Her feet sputtered to a halt, however, when she spotted Finn headed toward the café, as well, just a few feet ahead of her.

She planted her white shoes firmly in the soft grass below.

The day before, Finn had told her she didn’t owe him an ice cream, but she’d purchased one from Ice Cream Girl anyway and had delivered it to Finn as they’d boarded the bus a few minutes later.

“You won,” she’d stated simply.

And that was the last word they’d spoken to each other since.

She was fine with it. The last thing she wanted was for them to break any rules. He could lose his job, and she could get kicked off the tour.

But what about after the tour?

That question continued to pop up in her mind frequently, but she readily set it aside each time. The truth of the matter was that she lived in the States, and he lived in the UK. A relationship couldn’t exist with three thousand miles between them.

That reality settled in on her once again as she watched him disappear into the café. Things would be much easier if Maisie didn’t go in there at all.

But then, what was she to do?

She glanced at the pathway the passengers from Bob and countless other tourists walked along, the gray path curving with the land, tufts of overgrown grass bordering the walkway with lush blades.

Maybe a walk would do her good. Not all the way to the bridge, but just far enough to clear her mind. That was better than sitting in a café, right? Then she would be avoiding Finn and avoiding becoming like Daphne.

Win, win.

And yet, as she walked, she didn’t feel like she was winning—in her present circumstances, in her decisions…at life. She was perpetually behind, perpetually longing for something she could never have.

With a heavy heart, she allowed her eyes to take in the stunning views, grateful at least for the distraction they provided her until she rounded a bend on the pathway and Carrick-a-Rede stretched out before her.

From her viewpoint, she could see the whole of the rope bridge—and the water below—and her lungs seemed to stick to her ribs, stopping her breathing.

The bridge looked…spectacular.

Maisie pulled back, her own thoughts surprising her. It didn’t look spectacular; it looked terrifying. Wooden planks to walk across, fishnet rope to form a see-through barrier on both sides, the whole bridge swaying slightly in the wind. Tourist after tourist trekked across with vice grips around the rope, pausing in the center to take photos before reaching the attached island on the other side.

Maisie caught sight of the English women looking up at her from the entrance of the bridge, waving her down to walk across. Her heart leapt, as if longing to join them, but she shook her head, signaling for the women to go on without her.