Page 39 of Road Trip
“Very interested,” she said. “It’s why we came here today. The house is lovely, of course, but we”—she gestured at the others in her group—“belong to a spirits club, and on this trip, we’re traveling to some of the lesser-known distillers in Ireland.”
Liam winced at the term “lesser-known.”
“Of course, we’ve been to Glendalough and Tullamore. And Bushmill’s…”
“Bushmill’s,” Liam said with a disdainful sniff. “I suppose it’s all right. For some.”
“We very much enjoyed the sixteen-year single malt Bushmill’s,” Akiko said with a smile.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find we make a product here that can hold its own with those distillers,” he said.
As the tour proceeded through a room with tall stainless steel vats that he described as pot stills, Maeve found her eyes glazing over. She liked whiskey all right, mostly in an old-fashioned, but really, she did not find the process of distilling the stuff particularly fascinating.
Liam, however, was a different matter. She followed dutifully along, trying hard not to stare at him. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he had a burly build that didn’t usually appeal to her. His dark, curly hair was thinning a bit at the front, and she generally wasn’t attracted to men with facial hair, but Liam? There was something magnetic about him, and she couldn’t discount the charm of his accent, or the deep blue eyes.
She caught herself yawning more than once as their guideexplained the distilling and bottling process, and was relieved when he showed them into a small room that he said had once been storage for the estate’s horse-drawn carriage.
Although the walls were made of rough-hewn planks, the stone floor was polished and three large iron lanterns were hung from the high ceiling, illuminating a wall displaying Tarrymore’s four different brands of whiskey, along with an array of cut-glass tumblers and sterling silver cups. All the barware was engraved with the Tarrymore insignia.
A long marble counter ran along the wall in front of the display. Liam stood behind the bar and indicated that the tour group members should seat themselves on the barstools. Four different tumblers were placed at each setting, and Liam quickly went down the line, pouring a finger of whiskey in each glass, explaining as he went about the different taste profiles of each brand.
Maeve politely tasted each variety as he talked of flavors of citrus, pound cake, caramel, and apples.
Toward the end of Liam’s sales pitch a young woman wearing khaki slacks and a burgundy Tarrymore polo shirt slid behind the counter to take the tour members’ purchase orders. Maeve dutifully purchased the smallest bottle on offer, along with a silver shot cup.
She was putting her credit card away when Liam appeared in front of her. He gave her a bemused look. “Not really a big whiskey fan, are you?”
“I like whiskey all right. But mostly in mixed drinks.”
He drew back in mock horror. “Don’t tell me you mix your whiskey with Diet Coke!”
“I’ll drink the occasional old-fashioned, or a Manhattan, but if you want the truth, I mostly drink white wine.”
“A nice Chardonnay with dinner, is that it?”
“Usually.”
He shook his head. “Then why take the time and trouble to do this tour?”
She was too tired to lie. “Honestly? It was the five-euro coupon that came with our ticket for the house tour. Plus, our flight landedin Dublin early this morning. I read that if you make yourself stay awake as late as possible the day of your arrival, the jet lag isn’t as bad.”
“So I’m just a cheap cure for jet lag, is that it, Maeve Dunagin?”
She was taken aback that he remembered her name. And also a little flattered.
“Guilty.”
“Well, you’ve got at least another hour or so of daylight left. What’s next on your agenda?”
“Not sure,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of the rest of the estate, and maybe drive into the village, but I’m terrified I might fall asleep at the wheel. So maybe I’ll just go back to the inn.”
“But it’s a glorious day out there. We don’t get a lot of those in this part of the country. It’d be a dirty shame to just lock yourself up in some dusty hotel room.”
“What do you suggest instead?” Maeve realized it sounded like she was flirting with this stranger, but she found she didn’t care. A little flirting was harmless, wasn’t it?
He looked around the tasting room, which had emptied out while they were chatting.
“I’m supposed to stay here and straighten up a bit. But sod that. Donal, who was supposed to be working today but called in drunk—he can tidy up when he gets in tomorrow.”
