yet."
"Or you could say you're just a good driver." Gail couldn't help logically refuting everything he said. She bit her tongue, hoping she wasn't being too annoying.
Flynn only teased her with a look up and down. "You'll have to make that judgment for yourself."
The car sped along the lonely road. With the sun setting, the tourists had gone home. Gail crossed her legs under her skirt, trying to look nonchalant. "Where are we going, by the way?"
"The Blue Flipper. It's a great Scottish pub on the outskirts of Inverness." When he pronounced the name, it sounded more like "flippa," but Gail was getting used to his accent.
"They don't serve dolphin, do they?"
Flynn shook his head and smiled. "Only a marine biologist would wonder."
They pulled into a small parking lot full of old cars and pickup trucks. A red brick building with charming black awnings interspersed with hanging pots of ivy sat against a field. A single, gnarly tree that looked as old as time cast a shadow on the long grass. In front of the tavern, a sign hung on a pole with the words The Blue Flipper painted in sky blue, framed inside of a shark fin.
"It's perfect." Gail collected her purse while Flynn turned the engine off.
"I've been coming here since I turned sixteen." He raised an eyebrow. "And maybe a few times before that."
Gail wasn't about to delve into his younger shenanigans. He was already a little off-the-deep-end for her. She rolled her eyes. "Come on. We've got a lot to talk about."
The inside of the pub had a nice dining area framed by a bar stretching across the back wall. Golden lights shaped like conch shells hung down, illuminating rows of amber, green, and blue bottles. Old fish netting hung from the ceiling. A few older men with the look of weatherworn sailors sat at the bar, and a couple picking at a basket of fries sat at a table by a fireplace on the right.
The hostess, an older woman with a motherly face, gave them a warm smile. "Bar, table, or booth?"
"Booth." Gail didn't want the older men checking her out. Why she'd opted for such a tight sweater and heels, she had no idea. Well, she had an idea, but it wasn't a good one.
They followed the hostess to a booth on the left. She handed them two leather-bound menus. "The specials are clam chowder and swordfish on the grill. Care for a drink?"
Flynn opened his menu and set it up on his lap, looking way more casual and comfortable on a first date â if this was a date, which it was not â than Gail could ever be. "I'll have an Orkney Skullsplitter."
Gail choked on her breath. She wasn't picking that one.
The hostess turned to her, "And you, missy?"
She fidgeted with her menu, flapping the pages around until she found the drinks in the back. Not wanting to seem too incompetent, she picked the first one that stood out. "I'll have an Innis and Gunn."
"Right it is. I'll come back in a jiffy." As the woman left, Gail hoped she hadn't picked a strong beer, or she'd be telling Flynn every embarrassing aspect of her life by the end of the night.
Flynn greedily tapped his wide, callused boatman's fingers on the table. "So, tell me what you found in that library that I've been missing all these years."
Gail set the menu down. This talk was too heavy for food browsing. "I searched all the Loch Ness monster â 'Nessie' files â and I didn't find anything I hadn't already researched elsewhere. You were right about that."
"I've only been there a thousand times." Flynn leaned back and rolled his eyes. "So many, the librarians think I'm some sort of loony."
"I'm sure." Gail unfolded her napkin. Loony is right. But maybe she liked loonies. "So, I started looking at other logs. You know, stuff a marine biologist would notice: fisherman's logs, climate, water levels, etc."
He leaned forward. "You've got my attention. Go on."
Gail leaned forward as well, like this information was top secret and they were some kind of government spies. Or maybe she just wanted to be closer
"Or you could say you're just a good driver." Gail couldn't help logically refuting everything he said. She bit her tongue, hoping she wasn't being too annoying.
Flynn only teased her with a look up and down. "You'll have to make that judgment for yourself."
The car sped along the lonely road. With the sun setting, the tourists had gone home. Gail crossed her legs under her skirt, trying to look nonchalant. "Where are we going, by the way?"
"The Blue Flipper. It's a great Scottish pub on the outskirts of Inverness." When he pronounced the name, it sounded more like "flippa," but Gail was getting used to his accent.
"They don't serve dolphin, do they?"
Flynn shook his head and smiled. "Only a marine biologist would wonder."
They pulled into a small parking lot full of old cars and pickup trucks. A red brick building with charming black awnings interspersed with hanging pots of ivy sat against a field. A single, gnarly tree that looked as old as time cast a shadow on the long grass. In front of the tavern, a sign hung on a pole with the words The Blue Flipper painted in sky blue, framed inside of a shark fin.
"It's perfect." Gail collected her purse while Flynn turned the engine off.
"I've been coming here since I turned sixteen." He raised an eyebrow. "And maybe a few times before that."
Gail wasn't about to delve into his younger shenanigans. He was already a little off-the-deep-end for her. She rolled her eyes. "Come on. We've got a lot to talk about."
The inside of the pub had a nice dining area framed by a bar stretching across the back wall. Golden lights shaped like conch shells hung down, illuminating rows of amber, green, and blue bottles. Old fish netting hung from the ceiling. A few older men with the look of weatherworn sailors sat at the bar, and a couple picking at a basket of fries sat at a table by a fireplace on the right.
The hostess, an older woman with a motherly face, gave them a warm smile. "Bar, table, or booth?"
"Booth." Gail didn't want the older men checking her out. Why she'd opted for such a tight sweater and heels, she had no idea. Well, she had an idea, but it wasn't a good one.
They followed the hostess to a booth on the left. She handed them two leather-bound menus. "The specials are clam chowder and swordfish on the grill. Care for a drink?"
Flynn opened his menu and set it up on his lap, looking way more casual and comfortable on a first date â if this was a date, which it was not â than Gail could ever be. "I'll have an Orkney Skullsplitter."
Gail choked on her breath. She wasn't picking that one.
The hostess turned to her, "And you, missy?"
She fidgeted with her menu, flapping the pages around until she found the drinks in the back. Not wanting to seem too incompetent, she picked the first one that stood out. "I'll have an Innis and Gunn."
"Right it is. I'll come back in a jiffy." As the woman left, Gail hoped she hadn't picked a strong beer, or she'd be telling Flynn every embarrassing aspect of her life by the end of the night.
Flynn greedily tapped his wide, callused boatman's fingers on the table. "So, tell me what you found in that library that I've been missing all these years."
Gail set the menu down. This talk was too heavy for food browsing. "I searched all the Loch Ness monster â 'Nessie' files â and I didn't find anything I hadn't already researched elsewhere. You were right about that."
"I've only been there a thousand times." Flynn leaned back and rolled his eyes. "So many, the librarians think I'm some sort of loony."
"I'm sure." Gail unfolded her napkin. Loony is right. But maybe she liked loonies. "So, I started looking at other logs. You know, stuff a marine biologist would notice: fisherman's logs, climate, water levels, etc."
He leaned forward. "You've got my attention. Go on."
Gail leaned forward as well, like this information was top secret and they were some kind of government spies. Or maybe she just wanted to be closer
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