Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Maisie left behind the white houses and small streets of Carnlough with Finn, reaching the wooden sign labeled “Cranny Falls” within a matter of minutes.
A few passengers from the bus walked a good distance ahead of them, including the three older women who had been seated in the front rows. They still held their black umbrellas overhead, despite the rain having briefly paused in its descent.
Maisie had ultimately lowered her own umbrella, as well as the hood of her jacket. She was ready to feel that crisp, Irish wind running its fingers through her hair—if only to have a distraction from the tour guide walking beside her.
She spoke with Finn for a moment about how far away the falls were and how easy the walk was as they transitioned to a thin dirt pathway. Brambles towered on both sides of them, the branches and leaves as thick as the weaves of Finn’s tight-knit sweater.
He’d pushed his sleeves halfway up his forearms, despite the crisp chill on the wind, and the ridges of his muscles shifted as he tucked his hands into his pockets.
Maisie did her best to pay closer attention to the beauty around her instead of focusing on Finn, but his earthy cologne, flat cap, and angled jawline were unfortunately winning a very half-hearted battle of wills at the moment.
“This your first time in Norn Iron, then?” he asked Maisie as they continued.
She nodded. “Yep, first time.”
“Right, so,” he began, “you were packin’ to come here, listin’ all the things you need, knowin’ it rains nearly two hundred days out of the year on our island, and you think to yourself, ‘Oh, aye. I don’t need anythin’ useful like wellies. Naw, I’ll just bring me wee, white, paper-thin trainers to tramp through the mud and rain for two weeks. It’ll be class.’”
Maisie stared at him. She’d only understood about half of what he’d said, but when his eyes focused on her feet, the stark white of her shoes contrasting with the already muddy soles, she pieced two and two together.
She could have easily taken offense at his words. He was basically calling her silly for her shoe choice. But the second she saw that distinct look of pure amusement on his face, she knew, just like before on the bus with her butty, he enjoyed a good tease as much as she did.
“That was more or less my thought process,” she said. “Though I’ll admit, there were far less ‘wees’ involved.”
He grinned. “Now I’ve gotta know the truth. What were you thinkin’ wearin’ those?”
“They’re just the shoes I always wear,” she answered with a shrug. “I never leave home without my Kiziks.”
“Are you speakin’ Greek again?”
“Kiziks,” she repeated. “You know, they’re the hands-free shoes.”
He looked at her blankly.
“They slip on without using your hands,” she explained. She stopped on the pathway, demonstrating the process, though careful to keep the mud on the lower half of the soles. “See? Super convenient. ”
“There’s a fine line between convenience and laziness.”
She laughed. “I’ll have you know, these shoes are the reason I wasn’t five minutes later than what I already was this morning.”
He peered down at her. “It takes you five whole minutes to get your trainers on?” He blew out a whistle. “No wonder you need them shoes.”
Once again, she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. Was he always this funny?
“Don’t knock them ’til you try them,” she warned. “They’ll change your life.”
“You Americans never fail to surprise me,” he said with a shake of his head, his eyes still shining. “Always fixin’ problems we never knew needed fixin’.”
“You’re welcome,” she stated, and this time, he laughed.
“Well, whether they’re sensible or not,” he said, “that white’ll never be the same again after my country’s done with ’em.”
She merely smiled. Little did he know that she had two more pairs exactly like this in her suitcase that she scrubbed each time they were sullied. She wasn’t about to let that little quirk of hers come out, though. Didn’t want him thinking she was crazy or anything.
“So what part of the states do you come from?” he asked as the trail opened up, revealing wider gray skies and a green, sloping landscape. “Somewhere I take it that doesn’t get much rain or mud?”
“I’m from North Dakota,” she replied. “So we get plenty of rain and mud— and snow.”
“Ooh, North Dakota,” Finn said with an impressed look. “I’ve never had one of your sort on me tour before. I see South Dakota all the bleedin’ time, but North? Naw. You lot mustn’t get out much.”
His teasing would definitely bug the heck out of Daphne—her aunt didn’t have the time for such nonsense—but not Maisie.
No, she could see herself being driven crazy by him in a different way entirely, though, because right now, she was reveling in his attention.
“No,” she corrected. “Our state’s just so incredible, no one feels the need to go anywhere else.”
He raised his eyebrows, giving her an impressed look before making an invisible “one” in the air with his finger. “Point, Maisie,” he said, then he tucked his hand back into his pocket.
She simply grinned.
Was he getting to know her better because he wanted to or because that was just part of the job? Now that she thought about it, was it breaking the rules for him as a tour guide to be alone with her? Finn hardly seemed bothered by it.
Despite the number of tours Maisie had been on over the last few months, she admittedly knew very little about the policies of each one. Then again, she’d never really had to worry about any of that until now, what with Daphne being with her twenty-four-seven, ensuring they did everything by the book.
Would Finn get into trouble? Could Maisie get kicked off the tour? No, that would be ridiculous. They were just talking, anyway. And really, Finn didn’t seem the type of guy for her to have to be concerned with. Other than his flirting, she supposed. But that was perfectly harmless. And the three English ladies were just ahead of them on the trail. There was probably nothing to worry about.
“So if you love North Dakota so much,” Finn continued, interrupting her thoughts, “that raises the question, what made you finally leave your precious home?”
“Well, I’m kinda in between homes right now. I live half the time in North Dakota with my mom and dad on their ranch, then the other half, I live with my aunt in Boston.”
Was she talking too much? She felt like she was. But then, Finn didn’t look bored.
“Boston,” he repeated. “So me statement about the taxes in the harbor was dead on.”
“It absolutely was. ”
“And your aunt is the one who didn’t make it to the bus this mornin’?”
“Yep.”
“I reckon she doesn’t have them Kizik shoes.”
Maisie laughed, shaking her head. “Actually, she doesn’t. But she couldn’t come because of some business stuff she was dealing with. She’ll be with me tomorrow, though.”
“Shame she missed today, so it is,” he responded. “At least she’ll get to see Carrick-a-Rede on Thursday though. That’s the best bit of the tour, like.”
At the mention of the small island—and the rickety rope bridge that connected it to the mainland—Maisie’s smile fell, and a wave of nerves rushed through her insides. That was the one part of the tour with which she hadn’t been thrilled.
She didn’t like heights. She didn’t like them at all. Of course, no one would make her cross the rope bridge if she didn’t want to, but she knew Daphne would continue to press it until she relented. Her aunt was always overly persuasive.
“You’ve got to live a little, Maisie,” she always said.
But Maisie did live. With her two white Kiziks planted firmly on solid ground.
“You don’t agree with me?” Finn asked, interpreting her silence.
“Oh, um…” She scrambled for something else to say. “No, I can see why the rope bridge would be your favorite, but the best part of every tour for me is the food I get to eat.”
His lips pulled into a wide grin. “A woman after me own heart.”
Maisie nearly forgot how to walk.
“Excuse me, Mr. O’Meara, is it?”
Maisie looked up in surprise. She’d been so carried away with her conversation with Finn, she hadn’t noticed that they’d caught up with the three women ahead of them.
Their umbrellas had finally been popped down, though each of them still wore their spotted Rain-mates—transparent headscarves used to protect their hair from the nonexistent rain.
“’Bout ye, ladies,” Finn greeted, stopping before them. “Please, call me Finn.”
Maisie stopped alongside them with Finn, though she hesitated. Should she allow the women some time alone with him, as well? After all, it was a group tour he led, not a solo one.
Before she could leave, however, Finn shifted his standing, his body narrowing the gap between the footpath and the mud at the side of it, preventing any chance for Maisie to leave.
Oh, darn.
“Finn,” the tallest of the ladies began, her English accent crisp and proper. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Joyce Punchard, and these lovely ladies are my dear friends. Pearl Birkenhead”—she motioned to the one nearest her who wore red lipstick and held a shining black handbag—“and Renee Talbot.”
Renee held a shock of fur in her arms that Maisie assumed was a fluffy, white muff, only to discover a foxlike face and two blinking black eyes staring back at her. The dog had to be a service animal or companion of some sort to have been allowed on the tour, right?
“And this here is Trifle,” Renee said with a soft voice, giving the dog a little scratch on its head.
Her accent was just as proper as Joyce’s, though her voice was much quieter.
“Yes, of course,” Joyce said, “we mustn’t forget Trifle.”
How Maisie hadn’t noticed there had been a dog onboard was beyond her. And yet, when Finn spoke again, she knew the reason—she’d been a tad preoccupied with the bus driver.
“Pleasure,” Finn said. Then he turned to Maisie. “This is Maisie King.”
Maisie thought this very considerate until he added on in a quieter voice, “You know, the straggler who wouldn’t share her bacon butty. ”
She scoffed at his playful words. “I’d finished it before I had the chance,” she lied.
He gave her a knowing look, but Maisie turned away to exchange pleasantries with the women.
“So what can I do for you, ladies?” Finn asked.
“We were hoping you could answer something for us,” Joyce began. “Have you ever seen a four-leaf clover, or are they merely tales you tell gullible travelers?”
Maisie turned to Finn, his eyes already taking on a teasing tint.
“Ach, aye, they exist,” he said. “And I’ve seen plenty of ’em.”
Maisie loved watching him talk—the attractive way his jaw shifted forward, the manner in which his lips pursed depending on the word he spoke. It was mesmerizing.
“You see, Joyce?” Pearl said, smiling triumphantly. “I did tell you.”
Joyce’s lips thinned. “Pearl, that proves nothing.” She turned to Maisie and Finn. “My friend here believes she saw one, but I’m still not convinced it wasn’t simply a shamrock and nothing more.”
“It wasn’t a shamrock,” Pearl insisted. “Do you think I cannot count to four?”
”I’m certain you can, darling,” Joyce returned, “but I have read that four-leaf clovers only occur every one in ten thousand. It would be nearly impossible for you to have seen one.”
“Pardoning the fact that I did ,” Pearl said.
Renee simply stroked her dog with a pleasant smile as her friends argued.
“Whatever it was you found,” Finn began, interrupting the argument, “be it shamrock or four-leaf clover, you can count yourself lucky. Every leaf represents somethin’. Faith, love, and hope. Findin’ a fourth is known to bring you good fortune, as the fourth leaf represents luck. However…” He paused, rummaging around in his pants’ pocket, “accordin’ to me gran, three-leaf clovers are better because they represent the Holy Trinity. She gi ves me one at the start of every journey and insists I keep it with me.”
From his pocket, he pulled out a small plastic bag holding a slightly wilted three-leaf clover, raising it higher for Maisie and the other women to see.
“She claims it keeps me honest, but I’ve never seen any evidence of that.” He glanced at Maisie and delivered a wink.
Maisie wasn’t sure how to respond—to the wink and to the fact that Finn dutifully carried around a token from his grandma in his pocket. Could this guy be any sweeter?
“Perhaps I ought to do that for my own grandson,” Joyce mumbled. “That boy has been through more Sunday school teachers than we can count.”
“Trifle, no,” Renee whispered, interrupting the conversation. She looked up at the eyes on her and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what has gotten into her.”
Maisie wasn’t certain why Renee was apologizing, but when she heard the faintest growl coming from the dog, she stared at the fluffy white creature, too.
“She just hasn’t been herself all day,” Renee said, her wrinkled brow wrinkling further, “from the moment we stepped on the bus.”
“You worry too much, Renee,” Joyce said. “I’m sure she just needs time to adjust.”
But Renee shook her head. “No. No, something is upsetting her.”
“Maybe a good walk in the mud would do her right,” Finn suggested.
Renee looked positively aghast at the very idea. “Oh, no. Trifle dislikes getting her white coat dirty.”
“Perhaps she ought to take a few pointers from Maisie here,” Finn offered next. “I reckon she knows how to be rid of a mud stain.”
He tossed her a teasing smile over his shoulder as he approached the dog. “Right. Now, Trifle. Houl yer whisht, will you?”
He reached forward, moving to pet the dog’s fluffy coat, but Trifle’s growling grew louder, and Finn pulled back. Instantly, Trifle quieted down.
Finn eyed the dog. “I don’t know how I feel about that,” he mumbled.
“Trifle,” Renee gently chastised, “that is no way to treat the man who was kind enough to allow you on his bus.” She looked up apologetically at Finn. “I really am so sorry. I’m sure she’ll be fine now. She was just startled. You can try to pet her again.”
But as Finn moved forward, once more, Trifle growled.
Finn frowned. “Right, it can’t be just me.” He motioned for Maisie to try. “Go on, you.”
The last thing Maisie wanted was to be growled at by a dog, but at this rate, she would do whatever Finn asked her to do.
She moved forward and, with Renee’s encouraging nod, pet Trifle. Not only did the dog cease her growls, but she also gave Maisie an affectionate lick on her fingertips.
Maisie looked back at Finn with an innocent expression. “You know, Finn, I think it is just you.”
Finn pulled his lips into a thin line. “How very unoriginal. An English dog not likin’ a Norn Irishman.”
Everyone laughed, and as Finn’s eyes met Maisie’s, lingering a moment longer than on anyone else, her breath caught in her throat.
Yeah, this Finn was a flirt. And Maisie was falling for it hard.
The last half of the walk to Cranny Falls was as enjoyable as the first half, the addition of the English ladies and Trifle—who hadn’t stopped growling at Finn whenever he was in her line of sight—being the cause.
For Maisie, being alone on this trip was a difficult line to tread. She didn’t want anyone to feel obligated to walk with her, nor did she want to impose on anyone else’s vacation. But she couldn’t deny how grateful she was to have made new friends to walk with and to share in the enjoyment of the beauty around her.
As they traveled higher up the trail, the grass shifted to an even deeper shade of green, and the slivers of limestone rocks bulging from the ground soon disappeared as cliffs, towering trees, and a slow, babbling brook took their places.
The rain had picked up again, and Maisie lifted her umbrella just as Finn was pulled aside by the couple who had been seated next to Maisie on the bus—their German accents thick as they asked Finn for details about the waterfall.
The second Finn left her side, disappointment pulled at her spirits, but she quickly sent the feeling away. As much as she’d enjoyed the company of those around her, she wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity she had now to be by herself. To have time to think, to feel, to breathe in and process where she was.
So that was exactly what she was going to do.
The waterfall was an oasis within an oasis. Bright green bracken hung over the cliff face in long, thick fronds, and trees of hazel, wych elm, and ash perfectly framed the forty-foot falls. From the top, the water spilled down the dark stone in multiple layers like white silk wafting in a breeze. The streams accumulated in a dark pool at the base of the falls, the water as rich and shadowed as a black pearl.
Maisie had seen some truly remarkable things over the summer. The Eiffel Tower. The Sagrada Familia. The Neuschwanstein Castle. The Colosseum. Even the Running of the Bulls.
And yet, out of all of those marvelous locations, all the noise and excitement and chaos and tourists had her heart yearning for peace and quiet—the peace and quiet she now felt so poignantly that tears pricked her eyes.
“Nothin’ quite like it, is there?” Finn spoke beside her, staring at the falls himself.
Maisie blinked away her tears. “No,” she said softly. “It’s stunning.”
Finn glanced at her sidelong, and when their eyes met, Maisie had a funny feeling that this last leg of her journey was going to be the highlight of her European trip.
First, she just needed to figure out if flirting with the tour guide was allowed. She could only pray that it was.