Page 60 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“If by ‘old nanny’ you mean I have enough brains to not want to climb into a sea cave with a soul-destroying banshee like yourself, then I suppose I am.”

“Let’s not pretend you have a soul to destroy. Anyway, Orla and Bill said they go often, and they assured us that the tide will have come and gone this morning already. It’ll be fine.”

“The news said that we might be getting some weather coming this way.”

“Might. Just like you might unclench your butt cheeks and stop scowling long enough to enjoy a slice of cake, but that’s not likely either.”

My phone rang. I’d had three calls the day before from completely random men, and one early that morning. What was even worse than answering calls from random old farmers who had exactly zero information about me while they tried to assess my marriageability over the phone in a five-minute phone call, one might ask? Doing it in front of Tadhg. That’s what.

I dug through my bag with dread, the way one might put their hand in a garbage disposal that they’d triple-checked was off.

Perhaps it would be Jackie answering my text from earlier and we’d have a lovely little chat?

Unknown number. Double damn!

I considered not answering, but with a vision of Jackie smiling his adorable smile in my mind’s eye, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d promised him I’d give the system a real try.

“Are you going to answer that? That ringtone is doing my head in.”

“Pfft. Everybody loves the NeverEnding Story soundtrack.”

“I will crash this car and kill us both.”

“Fine! Dammit!” I allowed myself one second to grimace, then pressed answer. “Hello?”

“Is this Maryanne?”

Shit in my shoe. “I guess so.”

“Jackie Kelly gave me your number.” I’ll bet he also told you that I look exactly like Blake Lively. “I’m called Derek.”

“How nice. Nice to, you know . . . meet you. Or whatever.” My eyes flashed up to Tadhg’s rearview and, of course, his eyes flashed at mine. But they had the amused crinkle of crow’s-feet instead of their typical furrow. He was already loving this. And I was already hating it.

“Good, good.”

“Yeah.” Oh God. He doesn’t know what to say either.

“So. Is that an accent I hear, Maryanne?”

Sure. Why not? I guess I can be Maryanne. “It is, actually. I’m from San Francisco.”

“SanFran.”

Or howbout no? “Sure.” Ew.

“Have you seen, um . . . Friends the TV show?”

“Uhh. Yeah, sure. I’ve seen Friends. Why?”

“That’s in San Francisco.”

“Uhh . . . I think it’s New York, actually.”

“Na. It’s definitely SanFran.”

I am going to individually pluck every one of my hairs out and then run naked through the streets screaming. “Let’s move on.”

“So ye live here now, then?”