Driving Maisie Crazy (Men of the Isles #2)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Day One
Belfast, Northern Ireland
Stragglers—there was always at least one on every tour. To most bus drivers, they were a minor inconvenience. To Finn O’Meara, they were an unavoidable annoyance.
He simply didn’t understand why people just couldn’t get to the bus on time. Was it really that difficult?
“Sorry for the delay, folks,” he said into his intercom, his voice transferring down the bus in a tinny echo. “I’m sure our final passenger will arrive any minute now.”
Sure . That wasn’t the right word for it. Perhaps ‘hope’ would be better.
No one responded to his weak promise. A few passengers spoke quietly to their seatmates, while others peered silently out the slightly tinted windows. One woman looked at her watch, then sighed loudly before muttering something to her husband.
Finn grimaced. This did not bode well for the trip.
He lowered his intercom and peered down at his phone, the text conversation he’d had with his boss, Joshua, still staring back at him on the screen.
Joshua
One person cancelled for the day. Daphne Parker. Maisie King should be there soon, though.
I know how you hate waiting. But please don’t leave any passengers behind this time.
Finn
I’m not making any promises.
A smile tugged at his lips. He’d never really left behind a passenger. Although he’d been tempted once or twice. And last year, he may or may not have driven away from Giant’s Causeway without his full tour on board, but that was neither here nor there. He would say, however, that nearly leaving that wee couple from Luxembourg in the visitor’s center had done the job. They hadn’t been late to his bus again, so…
Joshua didn’t need to worry about that happening again, though. Finn needed to receive decent feedback from his passengers this time around, and abandoning them at various tourist sites around Northern Ireland would hardly warrant those coveted five-star reviews.
He looked down as another text popped below the rest.
Joshua
You’ll be sorry if you leave this one behind. She’s from the States. Doesn’t look too shabby either, or so I hear.
Honestly, Finn was more drawn to the fact that the woman was from the States than if she was attractive or not. He loved Americans. They were the most fun on trips. Enthusiastic and energetic. Always up for a good time and a laugh.
But they were notorious for being late. At least, that was his experience over the last eight years as a tour guide, three for the company he drove for now, Northern Irish Roving Bus Tours .
He looked out the front window, then down the steps to where his bus’s doors were still wide open. Wide open and completely empty.
Where was that woman?
He rested his arms against the steering wheel and peered out in front of him, treating his eyes to the view of Belfast City Hall in all its Portland stone grandeur.
The tour always started there. It was easy to spot—what with its large structure and green-copper roofing—and certainly easy to get to, situated at the heart of the city. A city that he loved. But a city that he wanted to leave all the same.
Because he was a tour guide. A tour guide who just wanted to do his job but couldn’t because of a supposedly attractive, absolutely late American.
He straightened from his slouched position and scanned the city streets from the mirrors for any sign of her, but once again, he saw no one fitting the description of someone running late.
The later she was, the more restless the other passengers would become. The more restless they became, the more likely they’d be to start off the tour on the wrong foot, throwing off his groove and making him work harder for those five-star reviews. He needed those reviews to get the bonus up for grabs at the end of their fiscal year.
Because this time, the bonus wasn’t just for him.
He stifled a sigh and pulled out his phone to text his friends. He was already behind schedule. He may as well do something semi-productive while waiting for the straggler.
Finn
Wish me luck, mates. Another tour starts this morning. If these folks are as boring as the last, I might just leave ’em stranded in Carnlough this time.
The tour just before this one had been abysmally, mind-numbingly dull. Not a single soul on the bus had laughed at his jokes, joined in with his singing, or responded to his stories. What was the point of doing these things if none of them—himself included—enjoyed it? Usually, he did. But the passengers could make or break a tour.
Especially people who were late.
Cedric
Good luck!
Graham
Best wishes, mate.
Matthew
Maybe YOU should be less boring, Finn.
A laugh pulled out from the back of Finn’s throat. He did enjoy a good joke at his expense.
Matthew
Winnie tells me to apologize for that. I suppose I should.
No apology came, and Finn smiled all the brighter.
Finn
Thanks, lads. And Matthew, tell Winnie thanks for the support. She’s some yoke.
Matthew
She says you’re welcome but doesn’t know how she likes being compared to an egg.
Finn
Does she know how yolk is spelt? There is a difference between yoke and yolk, you know…
Matthew
This is Winnie. I don’t appreciate that, Finn O’Meara. Especially after I came to your defense .
Finn grinned. Matthew had only just started dating Winnie—an American who worked at Matthew’s medieval festival—but already, Finn liked her. She wasn’t afraid of standing up for herself, and that was definitely needed with someone as stubborn as Matthew.
She also got along well with his other mates in the group, Cedric and Graham. The four boys had known each other since their early teens and were kind enough to outsiders, but Winnie had been welcomed with open arms due to how greatly Matthew had fallen for her.
Finn
I’ll apologize to you in person this weekend, Winnie.
Matthew
She’s going to hold you to that. Believe me. She’s as stubborn as a mu…She’s reading over my shoulder. No, I wasn’t going to say “mule.” I was going to say as stubborn as a “much-loved woman.” Which she is. Because I love Winnie. So much.
Cedric
Do you guys need a room?
Matthew
No. She left.
Graham
Best run after her, mate.
Finn
While Matthew’s chasing after his girl again, you lot still planning on Saturday?
Cedric
Wouldn’t miss it.
Graham
Absolutely.
Matthew
I’ll be there. And Winnie, too, if I can catch her.
Finn grinned. He couldn’t wait to see the four of them again. The prospect of spending his time off with them this weekend in Belfast was the only thing getting him through the thought of spending the next two weeks on a bus with a group of people as dull as a rusty two-pence coin.
He made to type out another response but was cut short as harried footsteps tramped up the bus with a swift pattering.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” said an airy voice.
A flash of a lavender dress and waves of blonde curls passed him by before he even had the chance to see the face of the woman who’d entered his bus, dropped her ticket on his lap, and scurried to the seats midway down the aisle.
Without sending the text, Finn turned off his phone, tucked it away in the slot to the right of his seat, and glanced at the ticket. Here was the wee straggler from the States—Maisie King. Interesting that she’d used a printed ticket. Most people simply presented the digital versions emailed to them.
Well, that didn’t matter. He only hoped her late arrival wasn’t a forecast for how she’d be throughout the duration of the tour.
He ticked her name off the now-finalized list, then stood to greet the group of individuals who would be his closest companions over the next two weeks.
“Alright?” he greeted with a friendly smile, tipping his flat cap to them as he scanned the group.
A few of them responded, most of them nodding. Maisie King, who’d chosen her seat halfway down the bus, had her head ducked as she situated her belongings beside her. Was she as attractive as Joshua had said? Finn still had yet to see her full features. Why would she not look up? Was she even aware that he was speaking ?
Ach, well. He didn’t need one hundred percent attention from every single person on the bus. At least, not all the time.
“The name’s Finn O’Meara,” he continued. “I’ll be your tour guide and bus driver for this trip. I was born and raised in a wee town by the sea just north of here called Whitehead where I grew up playin’ footy and singin’. I hope you’re ready to learn a wee bit about my beautiful country and see a wee bit more than a wee bit of gorgeous scenery.”
A few people cracked smiles, and the three older women toward the front of the bus delivered a few chuckles.
Finn would take it.
“I’ve been doin’ this job for eight years now, so I consider meself a wee expert, see,” he continued. “As such, I’ve learned a few things on my travels that’ll help us have a craic each day, and that includes adherin’ to the rules. Number one, come on time.”
He glanced toward Maisie King again, but she continued situating her items, her features still hidden from his view.
Boys a dear, the woman brought a lot with her. Backpacks, pillows, and—what was that, a blanket?
“Number two,” he continued, doing his best not to be too distracted by her fiddling around, “clean up after yourselves. Put your rubbish in the bin up here or at our various stops. Number three, take advantage of the stops we make to use the toilets. I don’t want to have to clean up anyone’s… mess , see.”
He raised his brows accusatorily, and a few more people laughed.
“Number four,” he said, “please remain seated while the bus is movin’. This seems fairly logical, but I can’t tell you how often people try to play musical chairs as I’m barrelin’ sixty down the motorway.” He looked to the older women at the front. “That goes for you, too, ladies.”
To his joy, they laughed again. This group was already leaps and bounds better than the last. Now if he could just get that American’s attention.
“Finally,” he continued, eying the crooked part in the top of her blonde hair, “I know for some of you, me accent can be difficult to understand. It can do your head in, to be sure. So if I’m sayin’ the word ‘wee’ too much or I say somethin’ you don’t understand like, ‘craic’, ‘dander,’ or ‘headbin’, just tell me…And I’ll do me best to help shut your bake and escort you off me bus.” He stuck his thumb over his shoulder toward the door and gave his best feigned menacing look.
The laughter was stronger that time, which thrilled him to bits. Yet, still, nothing from Maisie.
“Right,” he said, “now that’s out of the way, I’d like to officially welcome you to Northern Irish Roving Bus Tours. Or as I like to call us, Nirbt. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the scenery as we drive out of the city and through one of the grandest countries you’ll ever see in your life.”
The group cheered, clapping at his words as he moved to the driver’s seat and readied the bus for departure.
Finn secured his seatbelt with high spirits, shifting the bus into gear and pulling forward in the bus lane after ensuring he was clear. His seat rumbled in response to the loud engine, his ears filling with the sounds that had brought him great joy for the last near-decade.
He had a good feeling about this tour. It was going to be a fantastic two weeks, despite starting late. The only thing that would make his mood even better in this moment was some good, ole Irish music.
He reached forward to turn up the radio, not planning to speak again until the group got settled, but his hand froze on the volume knob when he glanced in the rearview mirror and finally caught sight of her.
The American.
Maisie King stared out the window with a pretty profile, soft pink lips, and dark eyelashes. He’d never seen anyone so perfect. Not in a fake, plastic kind of way either. In a real sort of way. Natural and stunning.
His front wheel ran directly into a curb he hadn’t been looking out for, and the bus lurched up and down in a boisterous fashion. His hand jerked forward at the same time, launching the volume knob forward, and music blasted out across the bus.
Gasps sounded behind him, yelps in unison from the older ladies at the front.
What an eejit he was. Swiftly, he turned the music down, righted the bus, and straightened out his wheels.
Once settled, he reached for the intercom.
“Apologies, folks,” he began, “I thought we were in a pub for a minute there. Startin’ a dance party, see. Don’t worry, though. Won’t happen again.”
He glanced in the mirror, ensuring everyone was well, but to his surprise, the one and only person watching him in the rearview mirror, the one and only person with a broad grin on her lips, was Maisie King.
Their eyes connected, and his heart stuttered.
Instead of looking away and paying attention to the road like a good bus driver, he took the time to smile, his eyes lingering on hers as she smiled in return.
Only then did he finally pull his gaze away to focus on the road—a road that was decidedly less attractive than the lovely American sitting six seats behind him.
Maybe Matthew could give him a pointer or two on how to keep the attention of a lovely woman from the States. His mate seemed to have done fairly well in that regard with Winnie.
Either way, this tour was going to be just fine. And Finn would definitely be messaging the lads about this American. Stragglers had always been the bane of his existence. But this one, perhaps, had been worth the wait.