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Driving Maisie Crazy

Page 8

by Deborah M. Hathaway

He rested one hand on the back of his seat, the other propped on his hip. Both were ringless.

“I am,” he clarified, and she smiled.

Silence followed, and she told herself to get going, to join the others on the tour, but her feet remained rooted to the dark rubber floor of the bus, and her mouth remained—apparently—sealed shut.

Fortunately, he seemed far more comfortable than she did. “So do you know what you’re wantin’ to do here? Or are you waitin’ for a recommendation?”

She looked beyond him, finding most individuals having already started toward the wooden post labeled “Cranny Falls.”

“Oh, um…” She hesitated. “I think I’ll try to do everything, but I would love it if you could recommend something from the café. Your favorite dish, maybe?”

“Oh, aye,” he said at once. “The vegetable soup is me favorite. Best thing on the menu.”

Excitement rushed through her. Tasting new foods was her absolute favorite thing in the world.

“Vegetable soup,” she said, pretending to log it away, though she’d already researched the menu and had decided on ordering it weeks ago.

Finn leaned in slightly toward her, and Maisie read his lips to understand him better—which wasn’t an unpleasant thing to stare at in the slightest. “And if you want to make it cracker, ask for a Belfast Bap. Mrs. Doherty always sets aside a few for the locals, but she’ll give them out if requested. You can’t have vegetable soup without it.”

Maisie nodded eagerly, grateful for the tip.

“Oh, and another word of advice,” he said. “Eat after the falls. Otherwise you might not make it due to your belly bein’ as big as a wee whale.”

She laughed at the imagery his words had caused—and how his accent had made them sound even funnier. “It’s that delicious, is it?”

“Ach, aye,” he groaned with his hand to his stomach. “Next to me ma’s food, it’s the best in all Norn Iron.”

Norn Iron. Norn Iron. What was that?

Finn must have seen the confused look on her face, as he clarified, “Northern Ireland.”

“Ah, of course,” she said. “Well, I can’t wait to try it out, then.”

“You’ll have to let me know how you like it,” he said. “Or if it’s too bland for your salty, American tastebuds.”

He ended with a wink, and if she hadn’t had her wits about her, she would’ve just fallen over right there.

Little did this guy know about the months of traveling she’d done and the hundreds of dishes of foreign foods—none of them salty or American—that she’d tried over that time.

Still, he didn’t need to know her life history.

“If it’s too bland, I’ll be sure to blame you for hyping it up too much,” she said.

He gave a single laugh in return, and their eyes connected, lingering just a moment as a palpable energy sparked between them.

Cranny Falls. She was supposed to be headed to Cranny Falls.

Clearing her throat, she looked away. “Well, thanks again for the recommendation. I guess I better leave now so I’m not late coming back.”

“You wouldn’t want that, now,” he replied.

He stepped to the side, allowing her a wider passage, and she gave a little wave as she walked past him and down the steps of the bus.

The cold air and rain overhead instantly greeted her, so she threw up her hood and popped open her umbrella.

“Are you goin’ to the falls first, then?” Finn called after her.

She turned around to face him. “Yeah, I think so.”