Page 7 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Don’t make me eat this entire bag on my own.” She had an Irish accent. I guessed she was going home. “What about you over there? You look like you could use a few biscuits as well.” She reached across my lap and shook the bag at the guy in the window seat.

He took his headphones down and grabbed a cookie. “Thanks! I love these—haven’t had them in years.”

“Help yourself!” She settled back, adjusted her seat belt, and returned her focus to me. “So. What are you flying to Ireland for?”

I didn’t really want to have this discussion, I would much rather get back to the sexy Vikings, but I took a moment, straightened a little, and got over myself. Maybe I could learn something.

“Actually, I’m headed to the Matchmaking Festival in Lisdoonvarna. Do you know it?”

Her eyebrows shot up and her face split into a massive grin. “Are you joking me? I used to go every year for the dancing!” She gave me a wink that made me wonder if it was a double entendre. “Lots of good music there.”

“Really? Did you ever meet Jackie Kelly?”

“That old sly fox? You’ll be careful around him, if you know what’s good for you!”

Oh no. My heart sank, and I felt it thunk off every rung of my rib cage on the way down. He was a creep. Oh God.

“Really? What kind of things should I be worried about, exactly?”

“You should worry about him having you off and married by the end of the week, that’s what!”

A surprised laugh shot out of me so loudly that a few people turned around in their seats.

“Are you talking about the Matchmaking Festival?” The man next to me leaned in to join the conversation without invitation. I guess that’s what people do on planes. “That’s where I’m going!”

The woman, who I’d assumed had already reached peak excitement, got several decibels louder. “You don’t say! To Lisdoonvarna as well? What are the chances?”

“Yeah! My buddy is marrying an Irish girl, so he’s having his bachelor party at the festival. I think he’s trying to get us all hitched so he’s not the only one.”

“Well, a strapping lad like yourself should have no trouble. No trouble at all.”

“Ha! Here’s hoping! I’m Chad, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Chad. He reached over me in an unnecessary move to shake hands with the lady as if they were in a business meeting.

“Sheila. And this is . . .”

I looked up at the pause and realized that she was gesturing to me. “Oh. I’m sorry. I’m Maya. Hi.” He put his hand out and I shook it at close range, and then I awkwardly did the same with Sheila.

Then she waggled her eyebrows.

And finally I caught on. Like I could see into the future—I knew exactly what she was about to do. I wished the oxygen mask would drop down and give me some fucking air.

“So, you’re both going to Lisdoonvarna for the festival? It’s almost too good to be true, isn’t it? Maybe you can have a dance when you’re there. You should really exchange numbers!”

I shot a glance up at his face and looked at him for the first time. Goddammit. He was pretty good-looking. Probably a good decade younger than I was, but pretty good-looking nonetheless. Oh God. This whole flight is going to be one endless, excruciating date. I felt trapped. I looked around for the emergency exits.

He laughed and smiled. I wondered if it was a real smile. “Sure! Why not?”

Why not? Maybe because it sounds terrible, Chad. The last thing that you’re going to want when you’re getting wasted on Guinness and flirting with gorgeous Irish women is a forced, awkward guilt drink—or, God forbid, a dance!—because you were emotionally blackmailed for free cookies.

“Oh, no, thank you.”

His smile dropped and I realized that I had been rude. Shit! Fix it!

“I mean . . . I’m just a terrible dancer. I’m, you know . . . just thinking of your feet.” He looked confused. “I mean . . . not thinking of them because I have a foot fetish or anything, I just don’t want to step on them, that’s what I mean.” I laughed uncomfortably and then turned away and stared at the screen, which was flashing up the flight map of how much longer we had to fly as some sick kind of torture.

But, as if forcing two complete strangers to dance together were no big deal, Sheila forged onward before I could press the “call flight attendant” button to feign a medical emergency.