Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Day Six
“Ced’s probably already finished, hasn’t he?” Matthew asked, panting next to Finn as they ran down the streets of Belfast together.
“No doubt,” Finn said, his lungs burning as they ran. He definitely should’ve trained for this more than he had. “The man has more energy than the bleedin’ sun itself.”
Matthew let out a short blast of air in a sort of laugh.
Cedric had broken away from them a few short minutes into the race, then Graham next. Eventually, even Winnie had even left to sprint ahead, leaving Matthew and Finn to linger near the back.
Neither of them minded. They usually brought up the rear. It allowed them to speak a bit more.
“How’s Ced’s leg been?” Finn asked. “Last I heard he was gearin’ up to play again.”
“Yeah, he is. But he’s pushing it too hard. His physiotherapist says he’ll be ready for his first match soon, and Cedric’s said he’s prepared, but I don’t know. It’s too risky.”
Finn shook his head, worry marring his brow. Cedric’s entire life revolved around football, so when he’d injured himself playing for Habergham FC, having to sit out the rest of last season, it had killed him. He was dying to get back out onto the pitch, but if he got out there too early, he’d risk injuring himself permanently.
But Finn knew Cedric couldn’t handle waiting. The man lived for the sport—and he lived for the celebrity status he’d achieved because of it. Unfortunately, when he’d been injured, his fans had turned on him. Now that there was the chance of him returning partway through this season—potentially even playing for England at the World Cup—Cedric couldn’t help himself.
“I don’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t play anymore,” Finn said. “The last seven months have been torture for him. But a career-endin’ injury would end more than just his career.”
Matthew grimaced. “We just need to keep him anchored. That energy makes him fly too close to that sun sometimes.”
Finn couldn’t help but agree. Cedric had always been the most ambitious of their friend group. Ambitious, though caring. He felt deeper than most of them. He and Finn had always connected due to both of their poor upbringings, but in the last few years, Cedric had gotten a slightly swollen head. Hopefully that swelling wouldn’t cause him to make poor decisions.
They continued running, people on the side cheering them on and handing out cups of water at various stations. As they passed by a café, Finn’s eyes roved around the people standing outside the door, though Maisie wasn’t one of them.
The only thing sustaining him right now was the mere thought of seeing her tonight.
“Why are you smiling?” Matthew asked.
Finn looked at his mate, only then realizing a smile was, indeed, on his face. “Just lookin’ forward to the race bein’ done,” he lied.
“And seeing Maisie,” Matthew stated.
“That, too.”
Matthew laughed. “Winnie’s excited to see her, too.”
Finn had heard all about how much they’d loved Maisie when he’d returned from walking her to her hotel.
“Marry her,” Winnie had said .
Finn hadn’t been able to respond. He was too overcome with worry about if he was doing the right thing. In the moment, walking her home, he’d been unable to stop himself from inviting her to his ma’s house. She needed to taste the stew. It was for her job.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Truth be told, he just wanted the excuse to see her again, and he figured going to his folks’ house would be the safest bet.
Still, he couldn’t help but worry that what he was doing would get him into trouble. He wasn’t on duty. There was nothing about the rules that dictated he couldn’t bring a passenger to his parents’ home. But what if he was making the wrong choice again? What if his stupid decision making would lead to him losing his job and risking the livelihood of his family?
“Are you nervous for her to meet your parents?” Matthew asked, sweat dripping down his temples.
“She’ll make a cracker impression. They’ll have no problem fallin’ for her.”
“Like you?”
Finn glanced at him sidelong. “I’m not denyin’ it.”
“Then you plan on staying in contact with her after the tour?”
Finn hesitated. “I want to. If things turn out for me da, I’ll get to.”
“How are they holding up?” Matthew asked. “Your parents.”
Finn had told his friends that he was supporting his parents at the moment. Each one of them had volunteered their own funds, but there was no chance Finn would accept the charity—nor would Da. He did appreciate the offers, though.
“They’re alright.”
“And you?”
He shrugged. “Same. Happy to help them, ’course.”
What he hadn’t told his friends was how he was going to lose his flat if he didn’t get this bonus and how, if he lost this job, his parents would lose their home .
“The offer still stands, you know,” Matthew said. “From all of us.”
Finn nodded his gratitude, but he’d have to be dying to accept it.
“It’ll be fine,” Finn said. “I’ll be gettin’ this bonus, and me job is payin’ well enough.”
Matthew fell silent for a minute, and Finn knew it wasn’t due to their heavy running.
“This thing with Maisie,” Matthew began a minute later. “You’re not worried about it getting you into trouble?”
“Why should it?” Finn asked casually, though his stomach grew unsettled. “You know me and followin’ rules. It never suited.”
“No,” Matthew agreed. “But I know deep down you care about your family—and I think, Maisie, too.”
Finn nodded. “I do. But don’t worry ’bout me. If I get into trouble, it’ll just take a wee bit of charm, and it’ll be right.”
Matthew shook his head. “Well, I wish you all the luck. If it runs out, you know where to find your friends.”
Finn wanted to thank him, share with him how much that meant to him, but a nod and a look sufficed for their friendship.
The two of them continued through the streets, then, and Maisie’s image in Finn’s eye dangled before him like a carrot in front of a donkey.
How he hoped he was smarter than that donkey.
Maisie sat in the Uber five minutes away from Finn’s parents’ house, her head spinning. What on earth was she doing?
She’d called her mom and dad that afternoon—their morning—and told them what she was doing and all that had happened. While they were still slightly concerned with her traveling alone, they trusted her, which was more than could be said of Daphne—who still hadn’t responded back to Maisie.
Her silence was part of the reason Maisie had pushed herself to go to Finn’s parents’ house. She wanted to show her aunt that even though Daphne had fallen silent—either because she really couldn’t handle anything right now or because she was trying to guilt trip Maisie—Maisie wasn’t going to be stopped from living her real dreams.
Even if, at the very notion of disappointing Daphne, her insides roiled.
To calm the torrential storm inside of her, Maisie looked out the window as the shops shifted to houses, knowing she was drawing close. Her stomach tossed now for a different reason—a much more pleasant reason.
Finn had offered to pick her up, but she figured an Uber would be the better bet to ensure they kept as many rules as possible.
Her phone buzzed, and she looked down at her text from Dad, smiling as she read over his words.
Dad
I know you’re going to be safe there and I trust you but just make sure to Violet I’m texting Maisie just a second sorry I’m voice to texting and don’t know how to turn it off anyway just make sure to call us if you ever need anything and tell this Finn guy that if he tries anything your daddy’s a cattle rancher and I’ll do to him what we do to our ornery bulls that will strike the fear of Heaven within him anyway just know that we love you so much and are so proud of you and can’t wait to see you love you bye dad.
Maisie’s spirits instantly perked. Her parents were truly the best. Focusing on their support, she silenced any future texts from Daphne, then drew a deep breath as the car pulled to a stop in front of a quaint, terraced house .
Thanking the driver, she stepped out of the car, then stood on the sidewalk as he drove away, her stomach jostling with nerves as she faced the house.
It was a lovely little home—ivy crawling up one side of it, orange brick covering the top half, and white stucco framing the bottom windows. Mid-height hedges lined the small pathway leading toward the dark, wooden door, and potted flowers on the porch sprouted in pink and purple bursts of color.
The large bay window at the front jutted forth from the rest of the house, while white curtains were drawn inside to prevent any sight indoors, though the glass reflected the gray skies above.
Maisie couldn’t help but smile. The whole image reflected nothing less than the love and respect the O’Meara’s held for their home.
She took a step toward the house, reaching for the small wrought-iron gate in front of her, and just as she swung it forward, Finn appeared, opening the front door with a broad smile.
Her heart sputtered like a car out of fuel, then returned in full force to take her breath away at the sight of him.
Before coming here, she’d spent forever getting ready, ensuring every lock of hair was curled to perfection, that her shoes were spotless, and that her dress was unwrinkled.
Now, seeing Finn with his flat cap off, his hair thick and wavy, a green cable-knit cardigan across his chest, and scruff sprawling along his jaw, she was glad she spent the time she did.
Because Finn was perfect.
“You made it,” he said, closing the door behind him before stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking down to meet her.
“Yeah,” she said, slightly breathless as he approached.
He held open the gate to the small front yard. “Come on in, then,” he said.
“Thank you,” she managed, stepping through the gate and catching his earthy cologne on the way .
She looked up at the house again, just to avoid staring at him for longer.
“It’s not much,” Finn said, coming up to stand beside her, “but it works for us.”
She shook her head. “I think it’s perfect.”
His eyes fell on her, but she didn’t dare look at him with how close he stood. She was already weak-willed enough with him.
He led the way forward, then, and as they entered the house, Maisie was welcomed with the scent of warm bread as laughter reached around the corner where she removed her shoes with Finn in the coatroom.
She chewed anxiously at her lower lip, Finn taking her jacket and hanging it up for her.
“Are you ready?” Finn asked, pausing.
Between the knowledge of meeting Finn’s parents and grandparents and spending further time with his friends while still trying to impress each one of them—meanwhile continually ignoring the desire she had to jump into Finn’s arms and plant a humongous kiss on his lips—she didn’t think she’d ever be ready.
But she nodded all the same and allowed him to show her the rest of the way into the house.
Rounding the corner into the O’Meara’s family room was like stepping back in time. A glass door cabinet filled with porcelain figurines of bunnies took up space at one end, while a hearth—white and broad, with bird statues and glass jars of boiled sweets—took up the other.
She stepped across the maroon, geometric-patterned carpet, eying the photos scattered across nearly every inch of the wall beside her.
Maisie had never felt so comfortable in a new space before. The room was simply home.
“Maisie!” Finn’s friends greeted her.
Cedric, Matthew, and Winnie were squished together on a single, pink and green floral couch, while Graham was seated on the floor beside them.
She smiled in response, then looked to the other side of the room as Finn introduced her to his grandparents, who were seated on the loveseat. Both of them had thick, gray hair, though his grandma’s was curled, just covering gold drop earrings. They greeted her politely with nods, and Maisie smiled in response.
Finn’s father was next as he stood from his hard-backed chair beside the grandparents and moved toward Maisie with an outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Maisie,” he said, his accent thicker than Finn’s.
“You, too,” she said in response.
“Do you mind answerin’, Maisie, were you born in a barn?”
Maisie paused. Had she heard him correctly? “What was that?”
“Da,” Finn said, his voice sounding almost like a warning. He looked at Maisie. “You’ll get used to him.”
Maisie still hadn’t caught on, but when she found Mr. O’Meara’s eyes focused on the door still open behind them, finally, she understood.
She’d accidentally left the door open, but only by an inch.
Her cheeks threatened to warm, but she reminded herself that this was Finn’s dad, and if they were alike, he was merely joking.
“Sorry about that,” she said lightly, moving to close the door. “I wasn’t born in a barn, but I was raised on a ranch. You should count yourself lucky that I didn’t bring in muddy boots and pigs with me like I used to at home.”
Mr. O’Meara chuckled, and the look in his eye told her she’d responded in exactly the manner he’d hoped.
Finn was certainly his father’s son.
“Ma, where are you?” Finn called out.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” called a voice from the room next to theirs.
Sure enough, in the next moment, a round woman came into the room with a happy smile and warm eyes. A frilly apron covered her front as she stuck out her arms toward Maisie .
“Move over, son,” she said, then she pulled Maisie in for a warm embrace. “Ah, you’ve finally arrived!”
Maisie returned the hug in an instant, though she had to admit, she was slightly taken aback. The British weren’t exactly known for their hugs.
“My Finny’s told me all ’bout you,” the woman said, pulling back with another smile. “I’m chuffed you came. Call me Niamh.”
Maisie had to read the woman’s lips to understand her. Neev. That’s what she’d said. How had Maisie ever thought Finn’s accent was thick?
“Well, I couldn’t say no to the chance of cooking with you,” Maisie responded. “Finn has gone on and on about your cooking. I’m dying to try it out myself.”
“Ach, the wee dear. He’s not completely useless, then,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “He only moans ’bout me cookin’ to me face.”
“I’ve got to keep you humble somehow, Ma,” Finn returned.
Niamh brushed her son’s comment away, then whisked Maisie across the living room carpet. “You stay in here, now, Finny Boy. I’ll have none of your cheek in me kitchen.” She looked at Maisie. “He’s always sneakin’ me food and givin’ suggestions where suggestions aren’t welcome.” She gave a roll of her eyes. “Maisie and I’ll get straight to work.”
Maisie looked over her shoulder at Finn, who gave her a shrug and a look that said, “You chose this,” before she was pulled around the corner.
The kitchen was just as homey as the front room, yellow-white cabinets, floral patterned wallpaper, spice racks across limited countertops, and striped rugs on the simple tile floor. Dusky light shone in from a window above the kitchen sink, sending an overall cozy atmosphere across the entire kitchen.
Maisie didn’t have time to look at much else as Niamh put her straight to work. She launched into an explanation of how to make her stew, and Maisie did her best to listen, though she was slightly distracted by Finn’s voice as it drifted toward her from the other room.
“Naw, it’s illegal to take and eat a pheasant you’ve run over yourself,” he was saying, “but if someone else hits it first, you can pick it up.”
“Which is why I follow ’round Niamh when she drives,” Mr. O’Meara joked. “Saves us money, so she does.”
Maisie smiled, loving the similarity between father and son. But when Niamh asked her to do something, Maisie had to apologize for not understanding her again.
“Ach, don’t apologize,” Niamh said, handing over a frilly half apron for Maisie to wear. “I know me accent’s thick, love. Just tell me to slow down whenever you hear me rushin’. Would you give me a helpin’ hand with yon carrots now?”
Maisie hadn’t even managed to tie the apron around her waist yet, so she rushed forward and started on peeling the carrots as Niamh rattled off more ingredients for the stew.
“Now some people serve it with beef, but that’s not real stew, like,” she continued. “It’s got to be made with lamb.”
Maisie nodded her understanding as the two of them continued chopping up carrots, onions, and potatoes. At one point, Niamh asked Maisie about her culinary training, so Maisie shared with her all she could, all the while Niamh listened and praised accordingly.
Before long, their conversation shifted to the vegetable soup at Doherty’s.
“Finn told me you were hopin’ to use it for your menu,” Niamh said, putting the chunky potatoes into a large pot. “Have you heard back from her, yet?”
“I have. We’ve started emailing each other a bit since Finn spoke with her.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll be havin’ tea with her next week, so I’ll push her along,” Niamh said. “She’s quite busy, like, but I’m sure she’ll love workin’ with you. ”
“I hope so. I just don’t want her to feel pressured into agreeing if she doesn’t want to.”
Niamh scoffed. “Ach, naw. She won’t. Although, you shouldn’t be feelin’ that way either to use this stew in your grand restaurant, alright? Just know that I’ll hold it against you forever if you don’t.”
She winked, and Maisie laughed, though something within her was already telling her that this stew would be perfect for the restaurant.
After thirty minutes of chopping away and chatting even more, Maisie was asked to pull out more veggies from the fridge, but as she approached, her eyes caught sight of the photos on the doors, and she took a minute to look at them closer.
There were a few of Finn’s parents, one of Niamh and a far younger version of Finn’s grandma, then a few more of Finn as a boy.
Maisie smiled, seeing him standing with his hands in his pockets, smiling tight-lipped into the camera. The photo was old and blurry, but the location of the Dark Hedges was unmistakable. Then, right next to it, Maisie found the photo she’d taken of Finn only a week prior at the same location.
“Finn told me you took that,” Niamh said, coming up to stand behind her. “He gave it to me this mornin’ after their run. I wanted to thank you meself for it, as it’s been so long since I’ve got an updated photo of him.”
“He definitely took some convincing,” Maisie mused.
“Aye.” Niamh’s voice lowered as she continued, her eyes still on the photograph. “Finny feels so deeply, but he doesn’t like to show it. He’s just a lovely, lovely boy.” Her features sobered. “He had such a troubled childhood. Never really fit in with anyone ’til he found those boys at Eton, then that was cut short.” She shook her head, blinking and seeming to come out of her deep thoughts. “Anyway, he’s found his place in the world now, hasn’t he? We couldn’t be happier for him, even if we do miss him.”
Maisie recalled Finn’s words at the causeway, how he’d been unable to cope being away from home. While Finn had seen it as a weakness, Maisie had seen it as a strength. It just went to show how deeply he loved.
“You know,” Niamh began in a whisper, “you’re the first girl Finny’s brought home.”
Her heart warmed. That’s what his friends had said last night, too.
“I know all about the nonsense on his bus and the rules that’re enforced,” Niamh continued, “but I’m glad he made it possible for you to come.” She smiled. “I can see how special you must be for him to bring you here.”
Maisie returned the woman’s smile, and though Niamh went back to work, Maisie found it even more difficult to focus.
Had Finn never brought another woman home because he couldn’t commit like Fiadh had mentioned—or because he’d never found anyone worthy? Did that mean Maisie was ?
Placing fresh parsley on the cutting board next, Maisie distractedly chopped before Finn wandered into the kitchen, and she lost all hope of concentrating altogether.
“Are you two not done yet?” he asked. “Will you stop faffin’ ’round and make the stew already? I’m starved, like.”
“Ach, you’re always hungry, boyo,” Niamh said with a shake of her head, looking at Maisie. “He ate me out of house and home, and there’s only one of ’im. Not like you’d be able to tell. Boy’s as thin as a chip from O’Manigan’s Chippy.” She faced Finn again as Maisie laughed, and Finn pulled on a look of hurt from his ma. “Now you go on out o’ this kitchen with that kind a talk, and give me head peace, you cheeky wee lad.”
“I dunno, Ma, I think I need to stay in here and lend me expertise.” He winked at Maisie, which made her nearly miss the parsley she was still chopping.
He moved toward the stove and took a long sniff at the pot. “Ach, that smells grand, so it does. I might even say it smells better than when you cook it alone, Ma.”
Maisie shook her head in amusement, but Niamh pulled out a spoon and swatted Finn just below his shoulder. “You do me head in, boyo,” she grumbled, though her eyes twinkled.
She turned her back for a moment, moving to the fridge, and Finn held up a finger to his lips, signaling for Maisie to be silent before he took a sip of the stew from the spoon.
“I saw that,” came a voice from the kitchen door, Finn’s grandma joining them.
Finn pulled on a look of innocence as his mom shot a condemning stare at him.
“I did nothin’,” he said, raising his hands and walking backwards.
“You get out o’ here, or I’ll get you again,” Niamh warned, waving the spoon at him.
“It’s nothin’ I haven’t felt before,” Finn said.
Finn’s grandma slipped past them both and headed directly for the stew. “How’re you cuttin’ the spuds, Niamh?”
“Same as I always cut ’em, Mammy,” Niamh said with an impatient blink. “In nice, hearty chunks. Now why don’t you go back in with Da?”
Her mom clearly ignored her. “Naw, those are too small, girl. Ya have to cut ’em bigger. They breathe better in the water and have a nice crunch to them.”
“Spuds aren’t supposed to have a crunch to ’em, Mammy. ’Specially in stew,” Niamh continued.
Finn came to stand right beside Maisie, his sleeve brushing against her arm as he leaned in, whispering, “They’re gonna start kickin’ off. They always do when they cook together. Da’s gonna be in the doghouse now because his job is to keep Granny out of the kitchen.”
Maisie smiled, finding the whole argument funny, though she was struggling to focus now due to his proximity.
“Are you sayin’ you know better than your own mammy, child?” his granny continued, her accent so thick, Maisie was still trying to keep up with their conversation.
When the grandma looked at Maisie next, she focused on reading her lips to better understand her. “What do you say? Are spuds nicer with a crunch or not in a stew?”
“Mammy, don’t bring the poor girl into this,” Niamh said, still cutting the potatoes how she wished.
“Go on, child,” his grandma pressed.
Maisie stared between the women as they looked at her expectantly, then looked at Finn for aid.
He shook his head. “Keep me out of it.”
“Well,” she began carefully, “I can’t say because I’ve honestly never had authentic Northern Irish stew before.”
That had fortunately been the correct answer.
The women nodded, then took to arguing again as Grandma O’Meara tried to take over the cutting.
“Fine answer,” Finn said with a look of approval.
“No thanks to you,” she countered.
“Finny,” Niamh said. “Why don’t you take your granny back to your friends and have her show ’em your old photo albums.”
“Ach, no, Ma,” Finn protested. “No one wants to see those. ’Sides, I think Granny needs to stay in here and help. I like a bit o’ crunch in me spuds.”
“’Course you do,” Granny said with a kiss on his cheek. “That’s ’cause you take after me own side o’ the family. Your ma’s too much like your granda.” She looked at Maisie then. “Our Finny is the cleverest. You know, he went to Eton, he did.”
Maisie smiled. “Yes, I’ve heard.”
“Aye, such a clever lad,” his granny continued wistfully. Then she went back to cutting—or attempting to take over cutting—the potatoes.
Maisie smiled at Finn, knowing that must feel nice to have his granny dote on him, but the light in his eyes dimmed. Had it been the mention of Eton?
“Maisie?” Niamh said, moving toward them. “How’s the parsley comin’?”
“Finished,” Maisie said, raising up the cutting board .
“Fine, fine. Now you can peel more carrots. I don’t think we have enough just yet.”
“You don’t need to peel the carrots,” came another grumble from Finn’s granny. “Never did when I was a child.”
“I know, Mammy, I know.”
She turned her back on her mom and looked at Maisie, mouthing out, “Peel them,” to Maisie, who hid her smile and nodded.
As she peeled the carrots away from his grandma’s eyes, Maisie looked at Finn, who’d appeared more serene than before, though the smile on his features had returned.
“What?” she asked softly.
“Nothin’,” he said.
She eyed him suspiciously, wondering what it was he’d been thinking of until Mr. O’Meara appeared in the doorway next.
“Smells beezer, love,” he said.
“Ach, Dom,” Niamh said. “You’ve come to fine Mammy, right?”
She gave him a look of pleading.
Mr. O’Meara nodded. “Aye, I just need to speak with Finn for a minute.”
Once again, Finn’s smile faltered, and he and his father exchanged uneasy glances before Finn gave Maisie a departing smile, then followed his dad out of the room.
Maisie stared after them, instantly feeling the tension shared between the two. The women still argued near the stove, apparently unaware of what had just transpired, but Maisie looked to the doorway they’d disappeared through, still wondering at the sudden shift.
Her thoughts strayed too deeply, however, as in the next moment, she missed the carrot with the peeler and snagged the tip of her thumb’s knuckle instead.
She gave a quick gasp, the peeler and carrot falling from her stunned hands to the floor.
“Alright, love?” Niamh asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” Maisie said swiftly, bending down to pick up the peeler and the carrot. “Just dropped them. I’ll get a new one.”
Niamh didn’t respond, her attention already on her mom who was attempting to hide the salt so Niamh wouldn’t use it in the stew.
Maisie grimaced, looking at the blood pooling from the sliced skin of her thumb. What a rookie mistake.
She looked around, too embarrassed to admit what she’d done as she found a paper towel. While the women argued, Maisie wrapped up her finger to stop the bleeding, then sanitized the cutting board and peeler before grabbing another carrot and checking her wound again.
With the blood still spilling forth, she chewed on her lower lip. This needed a bit more attention.
“Can I use your bathroom, Niamh?” she asked, gently inserting her comment between the women’s words.
“’Course, love. Up the stairs. Toilet’s the first door on your right.”
Maisie nodded her gratitude, then left the kitchen, holding the paper towel securely around her thumb as she walked up the stairs. She only hoped she could get the bleeding to stop before anyone noticed her stupid mistake.