Page 70 of Road Trip
Maeve felt her face heat. “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly, and walked away feeling blood roaring in her ears.
Liam said something she didn’t hear, gave the couple a curt nod, and joined her a moment later at the table she’d chosen, as far away from Esme Rossington as possible.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“What a nasty old…”
“Cunt?” Liam completed her sentence, and laughed at her shocked expression. “Sorry. We use the word differently over here.”
“I was gonna say bitch, but that works too, considering the local vernacular.”
“Esme Rossington is used to getting her way. No longer uses the title, but still loves to lord it over others when she wants. No filter, she says whatever she likes. I’m sorry she turned on you like that.”
“Not your fault,” Maeve assured him. “What did you say to her after I walked away?”
“I told her I didn’t appreciate her being rude to someone who’sa guest in our village—and I pointed out that neither you nor your sister had pushed your way into the Willow Tree, since this is a public establishment.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“We don’t have to stay here if you’re upset,” he offered. “We could go back to my place…”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Sticks and stones and all that.”
“I’ll get our drinks. Whiskey all right?”
“Fine.”
“Rocks and water?” He did a cartoonish shudder.
“Just another crazy American,” she said.
While Liam was fetching their drinks Maeve watched Esme Rossington and her companion. They appeared to be having a spirited disagreement. At one point he stood, unsteadily, and lurched toward the back of the pub, where she assumed the bathrooms were. Esme paid him no mind, continuing to watch the soccer match and stroking the cocker spaniel’s head.
Liam set two heavy glasses on the tabletop.
“Do you ever get tired of drinking whiskey?” she asked, as he touched his glass briefly against hers.
“Not really. There’s such an amazing variety of flavor profiles and endless distilling techniques.” He tapped his glass with his index finger, and she noticed he wore a heavy gold signet ring on his right hand.
“This whiskey we’re having is actually from a small startup in Galway. The distiller is a fellow I met when I was studying in London. He’s doing interesting things with aromatics.”
Maeve followed Liam’s lead and lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed. She tasted, then wrinkled her nose. “It’s a little strong for me.”
“Heavy on the coffee notes,” Liam said. “That appeals to some. Shall I get you something else, a little less, um, assertive?”
She swirled the liquor in the glass then took another sip. “Actually, maybe I do like it. You’re right about the coffee. Guess that wasn’t something I expected. Maybe this stuff is growing on me.”
“Glad to hear it,” Liam said.
She sipped her drink. “I’ve been meaning to ask since the day we met, how does one become a whiskey maker?”
“All kinds of ways,” Liam said. “But with me, it started with beer. I was at uni, studying chemical engineering, and some mates and I started messing about with home brewing. I got pretty good at it, but never considered it as anything more than a hobby.”
“So you’re an engineer?”
“I’ve a diploma in a cupboard somewhere that says so,” Liam said. “I took a job with a company in Cork, and was bored out of my skull with the work. But it paid too well to quit. And then one day Luke, my oldest brother, called to say our dad was sick. Pancreatic cancer.”
Maeve winced.
