Page 104 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Marlin Bay.” His brow scrunched, and he rubbed a hand against his beard in a way that made me wish it were scraping the crook of my neck.

“Hey—stop that. Protocol exists for this reason.”

He huffed and scowled, which was also sexy, but put his hands in his pockets. “Where the fuck is Marlin Bay?” He pulled out his phone.

“Oh. Or Head? Marlin Head? I thought everything here was a Bally—Ballybofey, Ballyclare, Ballycastle—but this one wasn’t a Bally, it was a fish head.”

“Malin Head?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Nobody likes a pedant, Tadhg.”

“Not Malin Head. That cannot be what you’re telling me.”

Then he was angry.

“Well, I’m going back to bed. Wake me up when your pout-fest is over.”

“Maya.” He grabbed my shoulders. “Was it Malin Head?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

He pulled his phone out and dialed, but no one answered. “That bastard! Getting you to come over here and do his dirty work for him. What is he playing at? The cheek of it! Un-fucking-believable.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Malin Head is eight hours from here. Probably ten with petrol and food.”

“Oh. Long day, then.”

“It’s the most northern point in all of fecking Ireland, is what it fucking is. He literally could not have sent us farther. We should have left hours ago. And he wants us back in Cork by Thursday? Is he trying to kill us? Or make us kill each other?”

WE LEFT IN a rush, and Tadhg was in a sour mood. The audiobook, however, seemed to calm him. So soothing, all that bloodshed.

By the time we’d stopped in Limerick for lunch and a doggy walk, he seemed resigned to his fate. Jackie, as promised, had emailed Tadhg the nonrefundable B&B reservation, and the time and location of my next date, eight a.m. with a groundskeeper at Glenveagh Castle, which piqued my interest, despite the cold and cruel time of morning. Would it still be dark? Surely no one woke before eight a.m. by choice.

Tadhg and I ate some tasty wraps on a park bench, and talked about what was going on with the flame wars and who was going to die next, then he had a play with Finn, running around together after a ball and playfighting, which included a roll in the grass, which I wouldn’t have minded myself. Then we were back in the Jeep to hunker down for the next long stretch.

I didn’t mind Tadhg’s mood, as it didn’t seem to be directed at me, and though we spoke little enough in the car, I knitted and enjoyed the views, my newfound extra legroom, and the audiobook.

Tadhg was fun to listen with, gasping in all the appropriate places, making little comments and predictions as we went, and sometimes pressing pause so we could have a quick tirade about what was going on in the story. I loved how much he seemed to be enjoying it. That was a good thing, as I hadn’t yet mentioned that this audiobook was twenty-two hours long and the first in a trilogy. Whoops! Sorry not sorry.

By the time we stopped for dinner that evening in Donegal Town, Tadhg was tired of driving, so we gave ourselves an hour and a half to just take a break from the drive and have a tasty meal that didn’t need to be handheld in foil.

“So, why is it that you don’t eat lamb? I thought you were a sheep farmer—shouldn’t that be all you eat?”

Tadhg’s lips tightened and he gave me a little scowl. “I just don’t, that’s all.”

“You don’t like the taste?

“Guess not.”

“You guess not? That’s very noncommittal for someone who thinks only of his next meal.”

He shrugged.

“What are you hiding? Is there, like . . . something I should know? From a sheep farmer to a conscious consumer? Is there an online petition I need to sign?”

“Nothing like that. They have a good life, wandering all around the countryside. I wouldn’t be involved with it if I thought it was unethical. It’s a good meat for people to choose. Nothing wrong with it.”