Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Maisie stepped outside of the café forty-five minutes later, her heart, mind, and belly full.
What a meal. What a meal!
Finn had been absolutely correct. That soup had been the best she’d eaten in a long time. The flavor hadn’t been the thing to win her over, either—the Pot-au-feu in France had taken that award already—but it was the care and homemade nature of Mrs. Doherty’s vegetable soup that had clung to her taste buds and her heart, refusing to let go.
She felt like she was a little girl again, having just eaten a meal at her grandparents’ home and was now ready to be tucked in bed with a story and a goodnight kiss to her brow.
What had made the meal even better was the fact that she had eaten without a time limit. Throughout their entire trip, she’d been subjected to Daphne’s sprint-eating. Her aunt treated her meals like business transactions, scarfing down her food like a labrador to a bratwurst—or picking at it like a fussy sparrow—no thought other than the sustenance she was receiving.
Maisie, on the other hand, treated her meals like new friends. She wanted to take the time to get to know each ingredient. To see what they looked like as a whole, to learn the personality they reflected. To smell them and to…
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best analogy. She didn’t exactly like to smell new friends. Although, she had smelled Finn’s cologne. But that had been just happenstance, the subtle, earthy scent swirling around her nose with each cool breeze.
ANYWAY.
The point was that she loved the whole process of eating far more than cooking—and consuming that vegetable soup had been the happiest she’d eaten in a long time. Furthermore, coupled with that recommended Belfast bap, the meal had passed her test—goosebumps trailed up and down her arms only if the food hit home, and boy, did that soup do the trick.
She’d have to tell Finn.
Oh, and Daphne.
Stepping to the side of the café’s doors, Maisie pulled out her phone to send an update to her aunt, wandering toward the path away from the restaurant.
Maisie
Found the first official soup to add to the menu for Northern Ireland! Doherty’s Café served it. Vegetable soup with a Belfast bap. Wow, wow, wow.
She sent a few photos she’d taken, then typed out a follow-up text.
Maisie
I spoke with the owner afterward, Mrs. Doherty. She’s super sweet. I wasn’t sure if I understood everything she said with her accent being crazy thick, but I think she was interested in what we have to offer.
I’ll get in contact with her again as soon as I have the go-ahead from you .
She didn’t have to worry if Daphne would approve. Maisie had been given full rein regarding the menu. She was the one who had initially thought of traveling around Europe to make the restaurant more authentic with actual foods from the countries they visited. She’d also tacked on the idea of including the chefs and owners of the restaurants in a sort of partnership. Trade secrets would be shared and a license would be secured and paid for Maisie to create a menu that involved references to restaurants and chefs around Europe. This way, the food in the restaurant would be more authentic with faces and countries attached, instead of nameless, generic soups and breads.
Most chefs signed the agreement within a few weeks, but there had been a couple who had been more wary of working with people overseas. While Maisie could understand their trepidation, she prayed Mrs. Doherty would agree swiftly.
They needed that soup on the menu.
Maisie
You’ve got to stop by if you haven’t left for Ballycastle yet. You won’t regret it.
Finally, she ended by sending the photo of her journal entry.
As soon as the picture sent, she lowered her phone with a contented smile. Daphne was going to love this development. And now that Maisie had put in some work, she more than earned a little walk to set aside the business aspect of her trip and fully enjoy herself again.
She enjoyed doing this for Daphne. Well, she enjoyed it enough . Eating certainly made it far more enjoyable. But she had other dreams beyond menu creating—dreams she still had to sort through—so she would make the best of this while she could.
Glancing down at her watch, she noted the time. She still had a solid twenty minutes before needing to head back to the bus. Just enough time for a quick walk down to the sea .
“Quick walk” was, of course, used generously, as her warm, full stomach did nothing but encourage her to take her time, enjoy the sights, and relish in the beauty around her.
The harbor was the definition of peaceful. Rain blanketed the area with blurred, gray clouds, and droplets faintly clicked against the stone pathway she walked on.
This sight was different from the sea she’d observed in Spain and Italy. The water there had been unbelievably turquoise, sunshine glinting off the surface in blinding rays of diamond white. She had devoured the sight and lingered whenever possible, feeling energized at the spectacle.
She had to admit, however, that while she loved the brilliance of it all, her eyes had become too easily strained and her body too often overheated by the sun.
But here, things moved at a slower pace. The lights, the sounds, the smells. Even the very air was cooler. Quieter. Softer. It was strengthening instead of energizing. Soothing instead of stimulating.
The muted lighting naturally urged her to take slower, deeper breaths, the gray clouds lending their slow movements to her, as if they wished her to take her time, too.
So with the soup that had warmed her belly and her soul, and the air that was cooling her cheeks and her fingertips, she reveled in the moment she now had to just…be.
And yet, all too soon, time crept up behind her like a thief.
With a sigh, she turned her back to the sea and made her way toward the bus. The only thought that comforted her was the idea of seeing Finn again. Could she spot him now?
She lifted her gaze down the long road to where the bus was parked in a large parking area outside of Doherty’s. Finn was nowhere in sight, though the bus was there in all of its burnt orange glory, a line of people filing into it.
Her stomach turned uncomfortably. Those passengers lining up had to be early, right? She didn’t want to make them wait again—and she really didn’t want to do whatever Finn had in mind to make stragglers pay for their tardiness.
And yet, a quick glance at her watch confirmed that it was exactly two minutes before one—and she was at least five minutes from the bus.
Ignoring the gray skies’ whispers to slow down and her full stomach protesting her swift movements, Maisie sprint-walked forward, keeping her eye on the line of passengers as it grew shorter and shorter until finally, she crossed the last street and flew to the bus.
Breathless, she reached the bottom of it, only then noting a woman speaking with Finn at the top step. With zero space to maneuver around her, Maisie had no choice but to wait at the bottom of the doors to be allowed on.
She had yet to see Finn’s face. Maybe he hadn’t seen her come late then.
She drew settling breaths and eyed the side of the bus where an oversized map of the sites they were visiting splayed out across the side of it. She focused hard on the drawings of each location, attempting not to listen to the conversation taking place before her, though the words slipped past her attempts and settled right in her ears.
“I just didn’t think a dog would be allowed on this tour,” the woman said, her hands on her hips. Her accent was as American as they came, and she wore her dark, shoulder-length hair straight and simple. “I would’ve chosen a different company, had I known.”
“I do understand your frustration, Mrs. Waterstone,” Finn said, his deep voice trailing around the woman toward Maisie. “But do you have any allergies to dogs?”
“No, I just don’t like them.”
Finn didn’t respond for a minute. Maisie would have given anything to see his expression.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he finally said. “If the dog becomes an issue, I’ll handle it directly.”
“I just think it was really unprofessional that we weren’t told beforehand that we’d be subjected to this,” she stated, her head wagging back and forth as she spoke.
Maisie glanced at the windows along the bus, though she couldn’t see anything past the glinting, tinted glass. She hoped Renee wasn’t hearing this. Maisie wouldn’t want the woman to feel badly.
“Ach, aye,” Finn responded. “But there’s a wee clause on our website right where you book your tickets that says service animals, companion animals, and emotional support animals are allowed if they’ve got proper clearance. I can vouch for Trifle havin’ special permission from Nirbt as an emotional support animal to?—”
“Emotional support animal,” Mrs. Waterstone interrupted with a scoff. “That’s just an excuse to not have to pay a dogsitter.”
Maisie looked away to hide her frown. It really wasn’t her place to judge, especially because she could understand Mrs. Waterstone’s perspective. Maisie wasn’t really a dog person herself. She preferred pigs.
But Trifle hadn’t barked, shed, or peed on the bus once. In fact, as far as dogs went…she basically wasn’t one. Renee had cared for her pet perfectly.
What Maisie was upset about was Mrs. Waterstone’s lack of respect for Renee and her need for a companion animal. Who was she to decide another person’s needs when they differed from her own?
Obviously, Finn didn’t approve of where the conversation was headed either, as in the next moment, he stood from his seat and spoke with a tone that clearly revealed they were done.
“Thanks, Mrs. Waterstone,” Finn said, his head still not visible to Maisie. “I’ll be sure to pass on your feedback to me employer. If you’d be kind enough to take your seat, we’ve more passengers keen to get out of this rain and hop on the bus.”
Mrs. Waterstone delivered an audible sigh, then trudged down the center aisle without looking back at Maisie, muttering to herself. “Dogs and babies. What’s next, birds?”
Finn’s expression was one of barely restrained annoyance, but when he glanced down at Maisie, he raised a brow. “Well, well, well,” he began, sitting back down on his seat, “look who’s late again, like.”
Maisie was already shaking her head. She took off the hood of her raincoat as she entered the bus, stopping on the second step so the two were eye-level. “What are you talking about? I was here on time. You just couldn’t see me.”
He narrowed his eyes, and she pulled on her best innocent smile.
“Away on. If that isn’t the bake of a liar, I don’t know what is,” he stated.
“Bake?” He couldn’t be referring to food, right?
“Face,” he explained. “Or mouth, if you’d rather. Just a different way to say I know that lies are comin’ out of you. I saw you the minute you arrived late .”
She laughed. “Fine, I was barely three minutes past. But you’ve got to give me another chance. I didn’t know about your rule until after my first time on the bus, so the least you could do is let this one slide. Also…” She paused, leaning forward, “it’s basically your fault that I’m late this time.”
He pulled back. “How’d you work that out, then?”
“If it hadn’t been for your suggestion to get the vegetable soup, I wouldn’t have needed to walk off my super full belly.”
His eyes brightened. “You liked it, did you?”
She sighed, looking up to the top of the bus with a hand to her chest. “It was perfection.”
Maisie looked at him again, his lips curved at the corners as he spoke. “All right, you’ve made your point.” He raised a finger in the air. “You’ve earned one chance. But that’s it, mind. Next time, you’ll be payin’.”
“Deal.”
He tossed his head toward the seats with a feigned look of warning, and Maisie dutifully obeyed with a barely restrained grin.
As she strode down the aisle, she smiled apologetically to the other passengers she walked by. Most of them smiled in return, the English ladies, the German couple next to her, and the young parents from Austria at the back with the baby girl between them. But when Maisie reached Mrs. Waterstone—her husband sitting beside her and staring down at his phone—the woman tightened her lips and looked away, clearly annoyed with Maisie’s tardiness, even though Mrs. Waterstone had contributed to it.
Maisie had a mind to suggest the vegetable soup to her. A warm meal would have whipped that cold expression off her face faster than she could say, “Trifle.”
Instead, however, Maisie just walked past and found her seat, her smile still intact. After twenty-eight years of life, she had come to realize being offended and holding onto grudges simply wasn’t worth the misery. Everyone had a story, everyone had reasons for their behavior, so Maisie did her best not to judge.
Anyway, she didn’t want to waste her time and energy on trying to change people she couldn’t change. She’d much rather focus all her efforts on Finn—listening to him, playing with him.
Flirting with him.
Heaven knew that was much more enjoyable anyway.