Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
But the kiss never came.
Finn pulled back, and Maisie opened her eyes with a drooping sensation in her heart and a sinking in her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, regret filling his eyes.
“It’s okay,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for almost kissing her or not kissing her.
She blinked, gently pulling her hand from his as she drew back. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “That would definitely be against the rules…”
Her words faded away as he shook his head.
“I’m not apologizin’ for nearly breakin’ the rules,” he said, pulling his eyebrows together. “I’m beggin’ forgiveness for nearly kissin’ you in me mammy’s loo…while you’re wearin’ me mammy’s pinny.”
She looked down at the apron, then around her in the bathroom, as if only now just realizing what had nearly happened and where. A small laugh bubbled up inside of her.
“Least romantic place ever,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You just had me flustered, what with all your starin’.”
“I wasn’t staring,” she lied, still distracted with his words.
He hadn’t apologized for almost kissing her, then. Did that mean he’d try again somewhere more romantic?
“Oh, aye. Then I’m not starin’ now,” he countered.
His eyes delved into hers, so much so that she wanted to jump toward him and demand a kiss in his mom’s bathroom.
Fortunately, he looked away, apparently determined to not allow anything to happen now. “Let’s get you back to the kitchen ’fore me ma comes in search o’ you. She’ll tell me off for keepin’ you.”
Maisie nodded, disappointed at the notion of not having Finn’s attention solely on herself again, but she felt instantly better when he took her hand and secured it in his own, holding it the entire way down the stairs and into the kitchen, until Niamh assigned Maisie to her next task—Finn’s grandma having finally been escorted out of the kitchen.
Maisie didn’t know if Niamh noticed her bandage or not, but she didn’t mention it as she and Maisie worked together to finish the stew—even though Maisie’s thoughts were focused solely on Finn and the hope that just because the bathroom hadn’t been romantic enough, they’d find someplace that was.
The traditional stew and wheaten bread turned out to be one of the most delicious meals of Maisie’s life. As the large group of friends and family crowded around in the small front room hours later, compliments abounded for Niamh’s and Maisie’s work until the final bowl had been polished clean.
Along with the incredible food, Maisie had heartily enjoyed the conversation. Finn’s friends were as hilarious to listen to today as they had been the night before, and his grandparents were a crack-up, even if she could hardly understand a single word they said .
Before long, the evening wound down, and the clouds parted for a moment to allow a shaft of golden light to beam through the front window of the home, brightening the space with warmth.
Maisie glanced out the window, the curtains having been pulled back to reveal the dark clouds behind the sunshine. But just beyond the thick trees across the street shone a glowing double rainbow above the sea
“We’ve got to see that one up close,” Finn said, leaning toward her as he saw the rainbow himself. “Fancy a wee dander to work off that food?”
He winked, and Maisie nodded, standing with Finn as he told his family where they were headed.
“Oh, now that sounds lovely,” Cedric said, moving to stand, as well. “You wouldn’t mind if I joined you, would you, Finn?”
Finn walked straight past him, nudging him with his shoulder so Cedric fell back against the couch and into Graham, both men laughing.
“I would mind very much, thank you,” Finn said, then he motioned Maisie to precede him from the room.
The group laughed again, Cedric more than anyone.
“Eejit,” Finn mumbled light-heartedly, snagging a few Fifteens on his way out, then he and Maisie left the room to don their rain jackets and shoes before stepping out into the nippy air.
“How are you holdin’ up with me mad family?” Finn asked as they walked down the sidewalk.
“They’re amazing,” she said sincerely, tucking her hands into her coat pockets to ward off the cold air biting at her fingers. “So welcoming and friendly. And that stew was everything.”
“I did tell you it would be.”
They continued on their way, munching on Fifteens and weaving through alleys and across streets before reaching the sea. The rainbow had long since disappeared, though she’d hardly noticed as they meandered across the firm sand alongside the retreating tide.
Their conversation lingered around his family, how fortunate he’d been to grow up this close to the sea, and how his friends were a riot to be around, but no mention of his conversation with his dad returned.
Maisie was tempted again to bring it up, but she wanted to respect his privacy, so she set it aside again, instead dwelling on the here-and-now—and most definitely trying not to think of how much more romantic a walk on the beach was than standing in a bathroom.
Before long, they reached a little layby, a bench propped up on cement that had been vacated only recently by another couple.
She followed Finn toward it, and he sat down beside her, a mere inch between them. If she shifted even slightly, her legs would press against his. Dare she make contact? Or should she focus more on the fact that she was willfully ignoring that the two of them kissing would one-billion-percent be against the rules of the tour if dating was, too?
Before she could decide what to dwell on more, Finn spoke.
“Have you added the stew to your book, then?”
“No, I haven’t had the chance. But it’s gonna be a full five stars, I can tell you that much.”
“As it should be. You’ve got the book with you now, don’t you?”
Her hand unconsciously went to her large jacket pocket where her pink pig notebook resided. “Yeah.”
“Then why don’t you make an entry now? We’ve got a minute.”
He’d offered so casually—too casually—that Maisie looked up at him with suspicion.
“And,” he continued, refusing to meet her gaze, “if you just so happen to allow me a peek inside the journal, I certainly wouldn’t say no.”
The very idea of Finn seeing what was inside her food journal—specifically an entry that wasn’t even food related at all—was so horrifying, that Maisie couldn’t even laugh at his trickery.
She slipped her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers protectively over the binding. “Why do you want to see it anyway? There’s nothing exciting about what I write.”
“I’m only curious, like,” he responded. “I fancy knowin’ more ’bout what foods you like and what foods you don’t.” He paused, tipping his head toward her as his leg pressed against hers. “Case I ever take you somewhere finer than me ma’s kitchen.”
His words and touch caused a pleasant, hazy fog to roll out across her mind. She could no longer form full thoughts. At least she didn’t think she could. That was the only explanation as to why her fingers began to loosen around her journal.
Maybe she could show him just a peek of it. After all, if it helped him take her out on a date, how could she deny him that?
“You promise you won’t make fun of me?”
“I’d never do that.”
She already knew that was the truth. Slowly, she pulled out the small notebook and stared down at the cover.
“You and pigs,” he mumbled.
She laughed. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”
“That wasn’t makin’ fun. I was simply observin’ somethin’ adorable about you.”
That was the final key to unlock her hesitation—his calling her adorable.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll add your mom’s stew, show you a few pages, then we’ll be done, okay?”
He nodded in silence, clearly pleased that his coercion had worked.
With careful fingers—knowing exactly where Finn’s page was due to the number of times she’d nearly ripped it out before convincing herself each time to leave it in—she opened to an empty page and filled in the entry for his mother’s stew.
“I love how you lay out the information,” Finn commented as he watched her write.
“Thank you,” she said, still in a haze, her thigh nearly numb from where his leg still pressed against her .
As she finished, Finn convinced her to see more of the book, so she started at the beginning, all the while remaining keenly aware of exactly what page his own entry was on.
The sun slowly faded, but the streetlamp positioned behind the bench clicked on, shining above them with a warm, orange glow. Finn asked her questions about what country she had the most fun in and which food she’d make herself at home, and as she answered, he casually raised his arm to rest behind her on the bench.
Her heart pounded against her chest. His proximity, the smell of his cologne, and the delightfully magic haze rolled all the heavier around her.
The sea gently waved toward them, and the clouds thickened above them, but she continued to be distracted from the cold due to Finn’s strong body pressing gently against hers as they perused through the pages.
“Alright, now, goosebumps,” he said, pointing down to another page they’d come across with it checked. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she attempted to focus. “I just get goosebumps when I eat really great food.”
He stared down at her. She couldn’t look up at him due to their closeness, or she’d stare a little too longingly at his lips.
“Really?” he asked. “You really get goosebumps?”
“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know why. It’s just always been that way. I looked it up once because I didn’t know anyone else who had it, but it’s like a chemical reaction is taking place in my body. When the food is really good, I just react that way. Like, some people get goosebumps with stirring music or art, I get it with food. So it’s become kinda like a test for myself.”
“That’s amazin’,” he said, a smile on his voice.
She continued moving through the pages, but as Northern Ireland’s section loomed ever closer, so did her nerves. She had to be super careful now. Crazy careful. Focused and attentive.
But as he leaned closer to point at something else on another page, and remained that close to her, her concentration dulled.
“Well,” she said, reaching the first page from Northern Ireland, not daring to go further, “that’s it, mostly.”
“Naw, you can’t stop there,” he protested. “We’ve just reached me own country.”
Maisie hesitated, but if she denied him seeing those pages further, he’d only wonder all the more what she was hiding.
Slowly, she turned the pages one by one, then with careful fingers, gathered two pages at once and flipped them together to reveal the food she’d eaten after the traffic stop and before Dunluce.
“You skipped a page,” he stated devotedly.
Maisie froze, all the magical fog from before disappearing into the air. “Oh, that one was empty.”
He stared at her, his eyes burning a hole in her temple. “Are you havin’ a laugh? I can see the ink through the page right there.”
He tapped on the paper, and she splayed out a hand across it in case he caught his name, even backwards.
“Um…” What could she say? “It was just a page I was doodling on, that’s all.”
He didn’t respond for a minute. “Why do I have a feelin’ that you’re not bein’ truthful with me right now, Maisie King?” he asked, his knowing voice close to her ear.
There was no way around this. She was going to have to be upfront or straight-up lie, and lying just wasn’t her.
“It…is a page I’m not willing to show you.”