No Reservations: Ryan's Version (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 13

I had another dream that night. Well, more of a nightmare, really. Because my subconscious brought Iona and Angus together. And fucking Martin was there to point it out to me, as if I was back at that party in 1999 watching Iona and Gary.

And they were really getting into it. While Martin provided commentary like we were watching the director's cut on DVD. Sadly, I woke up seconds before I was about to punch him in the throat.

I pulled myself out of bed, trying to calm my racing heart down as I acclimatised to the real world once more. I grasped on to the one silver lining I could see in the cloud; at least I'd slept all the way through the night for a change.

I needed a swim before work.

Yes, I'd become one of those crazy people who actually wild-swam. It had started not long after I moved up here -the fact I had a loch practically on my doorstep was obviously a fundamental factor in my decision to give it a go. And the water was usually so fucking cold that it caused me to temporarily forget whatever was preying on my mind at the time, so it was ideal therapy.

I put my wetsuit on, grabbing my goggles from a drawer before I let myself out into the frigid dawn air. The sun had only just risen and the sky still had a pleasant pink flush to it. I loved mornings like this, when no one else was around, and everything was silent. Occasionally I'd meet a hotel guest out for an early stroll, or a local walking their dog, but usually this early I had the loch to myself.

Except today, as I walked towards the water, I could see someone sitting on the beach. And deep down I already knew it was her.

I considered turning away before she noticed me, but Iona had clearly heard my footsteps and was already looking around. So I had no choice but to continue towards her.

She looked as awkward as I felt as she pushed herself up off the rock she'd been perched on. "Hey," she said hoarsely. Her eyes drifted over me and I don't think I imagined that they . . . lingered on a certain area before she quickly averted them.

I ground to a halt in front of her. "Morning. I was just going for a swim." Inwardly, I cursed myself for stating what was blatantly obvious.

She still had her pyjamas on under her coat, I couldn't help but notice. I squinted briefly at the print on them. Was that a tabby cat holding a cocktail glass, or did I need a new contact lens prescription? Even with her hair in a haphazard bun and no make-up, the sight of her still tugged at my heart . . . And at other things.

Once again, I was reminded of how form-fitting my wetsuit actually was and I hoped the light was still too dim for her to spot me blushing.

She glanced back at the loch and shivered. I couldn't really blame her. "You're hardcore," she said. "It looks fucking freezing."

"I don't really feel the cold," I shrugged. She didn't need to know that I really felt the cold when it came to swimming in a loch in winter in the North of Scotland though.

"Scandinavian blood," she nodded.

And the memory immediately returned of our conversation on the evening of the barbecue, of me wrapping my shirt around her. Of her scent, and the warmth between us that night. I felt my lips start to twitch upwards at the corners involuntarily and had to force my lips together to stop them betraying me any further. "Right," I confirmed.

God, I missed the way we used to be.

"So do you do this every morning?" She asked awkwardly. I remembered how conversation used to be so easy between us and that thought made me unbearably sad. I missed those days. I missed her. I turned my face away from her, towards the loch, hoping my face didn't show my pathetic thoughts. I almost forgot to reply to her question.