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“Oh, aye. And the nightlife’s craic, too. Are you goin’ to any of the local pubs tonight?”

Maisie pulled in her lips. “No, I’m headed straight to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“Ach, naw. You’re a wee doll. Too young to turn in so early.”

“I guess I feel older than I look,” she joked.

The assistant pulled her luggage from around the corner, the wheels rumbling along the wooden floors as he delivered them to Maisie.

“Thank you,” she said, then accepted the key extended to her from Mrs. Campbell.

“Have a lovely stay,” Mrs. Campbell said with a smile. “And if you change your mind ’bout sleepin’, there’s cracker food and a new band every hour at the Boatswain’s Bar. Not too far from here, neither.”

“Maybe I’ll get a second wind and check it out,” Maisie said, then after another grateful nod, she pulled her belongings with her to her room on the second floor, having zero intention of going to the pub at all.

The only thing she wanted to do in that moment was go to bed so she could finally rest her mind from racing toward Finn. If she fell asleep early, that was one day closer to finally seeing him again.

She entered her room, slipping off her shoes and lifting her suitcase onto the foldable luggage holder before flopping onto her bed, not even having the energy to unzip her bags.

She closed her eyes, resting her arm on her brow as she drew in steadying breaths. At this rate, she wasn’t even going to be able to get dressed for bed before falling asleep.

And yet, moments before drifting off into pleasant slumber, Mrs. Campbell’s words popped up in her mind like a specter appearing from thin air.

“Too young to turn in so early.”

Maisie tried to ignore the thought, shifting to her side and pulling on the unconscious blanket of sleep she’d almost been greeted with before, but as she tossed and turned, she finally admitted defeat, and her eyes pinged open.

With a sigh of deflation instead of exhaustion, Maisie rose from her bed and headed for her suitcase. A bit of unpacking was dull enough to put her back to sleep.

But when the flashing of cars’ lights lit up the base of the nearby curtains, she wandered to the window, peering down at the street filled with cars and sidewalks dotted with pedestrians.

The image was serene, orange light reflected on the wet roads, raindrops glistening in the air just below the lamps. Nearby shop lights had dimmed, having already closed for the night, though cars on the street still drove as they splayed out water from their tires, their splashing nearly reaching the sidewalk where couples and groups of laughing ladies walked past the hotel.

“Too young to turn in so early.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Maisie had lived with Daphne for so long that she’d naturally fallen into her aunt’s habits, becoming an early-to-bed person instead of the night owl she’d been before. Of course, Maisie had only ever gotten into bed early. Typically, she’d still stay up late, working until she fell asleep from boredom.

Even during this trip, Maisie would go to bed around nine every night just to be ready to wake up with Daphne to work.

But then, Daphne wasn’t there, was she?

Maisie glanced down at her phone screen. Quarter to nine. What was that pub Mrs. Campbell had suggested, Boatswain’s Bar? She had to admit, the prospect of food that evening wasn’t a huge pull, what with how full she was on mediocre meals, but the live Irish music was a driving factor.

And having something to distract her from Finn? That was even better.

After a quick change of clothes, Maisie pulled on her raincoat and headed downstairs.

“Ach, you changed your mind,” Mrs. Campbell stated with delight.

“Yep, you managed to convince me,” Maisie said with a smile, then she headed outside, calling Dad as she made her way to the pub.

While he wasn’t happy with her walking alone at night, he was glad she’d called him, so he stayed on the line with her until she reached the pub—hanging up only after she’d sworn to call him again when she was on her way back to the hotel.

Saying goodbye to her dad, Maisie slipped her phone in the pocket of her dress, then stepped into the comforting warmth of the pub, instantly greeted by warm lights hanging low from the ceilings and black and white photos scattered across dark walls.

One end of the pub held a bar with a large, “Fish and Chips” sign glowing orange above it, while the other side boasted an elevated stage, a group of guys setting up mic stands and plugging in their instruments as they got ready to sing.

Maisie weaved her way through the teeming pub toward the bar, wading through the smell of Guinness and damp wood and pursuing the occasional whiff of malt vinegar and chips—the scent convincing her that she wasn’t really that full after all.