“No. The bloke who drives it just went inside to use the loo. I’m watching it for him, in exchange for that cig you made me toss.” He paused. “Are you looking for a ride?”

Nan nodded. “Someone was supposed to meet me here, but I think he may have left. My plane was late.”

“Husband?”

“No,” Nan said.

“Fiancé?”

“No!”

“Boyfriend, then.”

“No, just a ride.”

“Well, then, my day has just taken a turn for the better. I’d be happy to give you a ride. I was supposed to pick up some old lady and drive her to Ballykirk, but she never showed.”

Nan gasped. “That’s where I want to go! What a coinci-” She stopped, then regarded him suspiciously. “Are you Riley Quinn?”

The grin faded and he raked his hand through his hair. “Oh, shite,” he muttered. “I’ve stuck my foot in it now. You’d be Nan Galvin?”

“I would be her,” Nan said. He assumed she was an old woman? What had she ever said or done that had given him that impression? “You were supposed to wait at baggage claim with a sign.”

He held out his hands and shrugged. “I figured I’d recognize you when you came out. But you’re not old. I expected some lady with white hair and spectacles and sensible shoes.”

“Why, because I’m a librarian? That’s just silly stereotyping and I-”

“No,” he interrupted. “Well, partly. But there were…clues. You sounded old.”

“We’ve never spoken. We’ve only emailed. How could you possibly guess my age from a few emails?”

“I don’t know. You write old. And you just seemed so…”

“So what?”

“So…prissy. Not in a bad way, mind you. Your spelling was perfect and your emails were so organized and precise.”

“They were not!” In truth, they probably were. Nan prided herself on proper grammar and spelling. It was a professional responsibility that spilled into her personal life.