Free The Cork Contingency by R.J. Griffith

checklist, get a committee.”
    “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being methodical.” She dropped her hand and started walking again.
    “If we were all created the same, Meggy, the world would be a boring place to live.” His tenor voice smoothed the wrinkles in her mood.
    Margaret felt the truth in his words.
    “Hey, we’re here.”
    The sign above the doors read, “Cork Butter Museum.”
    Margaret snapped a picture of the building and strode past him to a set of towering cardinal doors.
    Closed for Maintenance.
    “They must have installed the lamps too low,” she said. “Quick! Call the guards. Tell them to bring lots of toast.” Margaret chortled.
    “Be careful the guards might be churning with emotion and come out to paddle you.”
    “We better leave before we get arrested for telling bad jokes.”
    “Do you want to catch a bus to our next stop?” he asked.
    Margaret looked skyward. The patchy clouds didn’t look threatening, but she knew better than to assume the weather would hold. “Do you think it will rain on us?”
    “Not until later.”
    “Let’s keep walking.” Margaret ignored the twinge at the back of her heel and walked on.
    Donnell stopped her in front of a large row of buildings.
    Cork English Market.
    “I couldn’t have you come to Cork and not see the market. There’s a lot of history here.”
    Margaret took a picture of the entryway sign. They walked through the archway into the market. Its vaulted ceiling reached up to the second floor. Each booth sold its own produce or product. It reminded Margaret of an indoor farmers market she visited a few years before.
    “The English Market started in 1788 and eventually catered only to the wealthy. During the Great Famine of 1845 the majority of the potatoes suffered blight. While the country starved, the English market sold healthy potatoes to the rich.”
    Margaret spied a booth selling chocolate in the far right hand corner.
    “Two fires and many years later, it’s a highlight of Cork with much better prices, I might add.”
    “Donnell! Hey, Donnell!” a voice called from behind a booth.
    Margaret nudged Donnell’s arm. “I think someone is waving at you.”
     
     
     
     

10
     
    “O’Shay!” Donnell waved back. “Excuse me, bird, I’ll only be a minute.”
    “No problem.” I’m just going to check out the chocolate.
    The chocolate seller’s booth boasted lit glass cases filled with truffles, chocolate-covered nuts, chocolate-covered marshmallows, and even chocolate-covered fruit. Tall chocolate bunnies stood against the wall and stared out at visitors passing by.
    Margaret browsed the glass case, trying to pick a favorite. She gazed over at Donnell, still deep in conversation, and admired his profile. She snapped a picture of him talking to his friend. He still hasn’t given me a price for this tour. I’ll ask him in the car.
    “That yer fella?” The teenager held out a sample tray. Her auburn hair sat at the nape of her neck, pulled into a ponytail.
    Margaret took a sample and popped it into her mouth. The creamy caramel square melted onto her tongue and left her craving more.
    “Like, he’s fla.”
    Margaret had no idea what fla meant. “Thanks for the sample,” she said, backing away from the girl. She bumped into someone standing behind her. “Excuse me. Oh, it’s you, Donnell.”
    “You’re beginning to make this a habit, Meggy.” He ignored the leering girl behind the chocolate counter and grasped her hand.
    When they were well beyond the booth Margaret asked, “What’s fla? Like if I said that you’re fla.”
    “Handsome.” There was that dimple again. It only showed up when his smile grew broad enough. Then it was chased away again. “Meggy, we need talk about…” He ran his free hand through his hair. “um…catching the bus.”
    She narrowed her eyes.
    He checked his watch and frowned. “You ready to bolt?” He pulled her back toward the door.
    Her feet made an unladylike clomping