Happy Hour (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 19

He too seems to realise the potential connotations of what he just said at the same time as me. He swallows visibly and blushes again.

I decide a change of subject is probably a good idea. Before we both disappear down a rabbit hole of embarrassment and awkwardness.

"So apart from working in the bar, what do you actually do for a living?" I've wondered about this a lot.

"I'm a teacher," he says. "At St Pat's actually." That's our old school.

"Wow, I wasn't expecting that," I say. "Although school would definitely have been more interesting with a teacher who looked like you around."

He looks uncomfortable at my comment and I wonder if I've overstepped some sort of mark. I clear my throat. "So what subject do you teach?"

"Business Management. I did a business degree at uni." I know, I think, remembering my list of facts. "Had no idea what I wanted to do after I graduated so I did a post-grad in teaching." He laughs. "Probably sounds boring but I mostly enjoy it. Although it's virtually impossible to get a cheap holiday during the school holidays, and there's about a 90 percent chance that at least one pupil or teacher from the school will be on my plane."

"Oh Christ, that's a nightmare. Is it weird being back at our old school as a teacher?"

"It was at first; I've been there a few years now though so I got used to it eventually. There's a couple of teachers still around who were there when I was a student but I wasn't exactly ever a troublemaker so they don't remember me. I prefer it that way. "

Chris is continuing to surprise me, I realise. He's not the moody, sullen guy he came across as in previous interactions with him. He's not arrogant; in fact I'm starting to get the impression he's actually a little bit shy. It warms my heart that he was nursing a serious crush on me even before I knew he existed. The more I learn about him, the more I want to know; I'm desperate to creep inside his head and pull out all his innermost thoughts.

He gets us another drink and asks me about my travel blog. That's probably the one part of my life I can blether on about without any self-consciousness or worry that someone might find the subject dull but he does seem really interested.

"Scotland is amazing isn't it?" He rests his chin on his hand and looks thoughtful. "I really didn't appreciate it when I was younger; all I wanted to do was go abroad and get as far away from here as possible."

"I was the same," I nod. "I had no interest in it, had barely went further north than here my whole life. Then I was sick in bed one day and ended up watching all these travel documentaries about Scotland and suddenly realised there was so much I'd missed. I decided as soon as I was feeling better I'd head out on a roadtrip and visit some of the amazing places I'd spotted in the programmes and that was it . . . I was hooked."

"Do you have a favourite spot in Scotland?" Chris asks. He's completely focussed on me, I notice. I've been on dates where the guy is completely distracted by his surroundings or doesn't really seem to be listening (I know, where do I find these eejits? It's one of the many reasons I barely go on dates anymore) but his gaze barely leaves mine.

I don't hesitate. "There's a place up in Torridon that I can't help but keep returning to," I reply. "You drive along this road from the village, it's this winding mountain pass called the Bealach na Gaoithe - the 'pass of the wind'. The views are stunning, you're surrounded by mountains and, and you eventually end up in this quiet little township called Lower Diabaig. There's barely anything there but it just . . . It's so picturesque and so peaceful." I shrug, a bit embarrassed at how much I've gushed. "It's my happy place."

I duck my head and when I look up his hazel eyes are staring straight into mine, a half smile playing at the edges of his lips. "It sounds amazing," he breathes out, his words husky. He seems transfixed and I feel suddenly shy again. "Do you have any photos of it on your phone?"

I nod, fumbling to get my phone out my bag. While I scroll through my picture gallery, my hands trembling, he stands up. "I'll get another round in, then you can show me." He walks away and I take the opportunity to take some deep breaths, try to make myself appear less affected by his presence.

By the time he returns, I've calmed down considerably although nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach and lower. My heart rate rockets back up however when he places my wine in front of me and, rather than settling back opposite me, slides in next to me. I can feel the heat of his body even though he's not touching me.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you over this side," he laughs. "Just thought it made more sense to see your photos."

"It's cool," I choke out.

Unsurprisingly, it is not cool. I'm melting into a puddle of lust at his close proximity. I don't know what cologne he's wearing but it's invading my space and affecting my hormones. I want to jump on him. Or I want him to jump on me. Either way is acceptable right now. I'm seriously struggling to play it cool.

He takes a big gulp of his pint. "Show me this amazing place then."

I flick through my photos, showing him pictures of the mountain pass, a video I got Paige to take on my phone while I drove, the picnic area that looks back over the road.

"This is probably my favourite part of the whole road," I pause at a picture of a bench looking out over the most incredible view. "You wouldn't even know this bench was there when you pull over into this lay-by just before you start descending down towards Lower Diabaig. And then you look over the edge and spot it." I frown. "Of course, every time I visit the bench is falling more and more apart. I don't know if it's the weather conditions or arseholes taking chunks out of it for firewood."

"You're right about the view though," he says, staring at the photo. "It's breathtaking."

I move to a photo of Lower Diabaig. "And here is my happy place."

"Wow. It looks beautiful."

"Sometimes it can feel like you're the only person in the world when you're there," I smile, gazing intently at the photograph. "Like the rest of the world has all dropped off. No worries, no cares."

"I'd like to go," His voice sounds thick all of a sudden. His hand reaches out and brushes against mine and the phone slips out of my grasp and into the table. My breath catches as he turns to me. He swallows, his eyes completely serious.

"You would?" I ask, unable to look away.

He nods. "I want to visit the place where you're at your happiest," he says softly.

He strokes my cheek with his thumb. I feel myself transported back to his house, seventeen years old again and not sure what's about to happen. "Your skin was so soft," he whispers. "I always remembered that. It still is."

"Glad my moisturiser is doing its job," I joke nervously.

He chuckles. But looks into my eyes as if he's asking me a question. I'm assuming the question is kissing related. I bloody well hope it is because my answer is a definite "hell yeah".

He moves closer, leaning his forehead lightly against mine and sighs, his eyelids fluttering closed. "I've thought about doing this again for such a long time."

"Please do it again," I reply, struggling to find my words.

And then his lips find mine.