The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 3

Somewhere north of Fort William

I'm currently trying to untangle the bra from my birds' nest of a hair bun and have managed to knock my sunglasses off my face in the process, too. 

This is a freaking nightmare!

I duck down as low as I can in my seat to try to limit views of my embarrassing struggle. I can hear a low chuckle coming from the direction of the driver's seat, though, and my face heats up considerably.

Owen Sullivan.

Last spotted in real life approximately ten years ago in a busy Glasgow pub. His hazel eyes sparkling, grin dazzling, as I'd added my phone number to his mobile. I'd finally been promoted to Phone Friend after nearly a year of being solely a Facebook Friend.

I'd actually genuinely thought that was going to be the start of something. And, unfortunately, I couldn't have been more wrong.

But, I'd thought, for several years after I'd had a brief moment of fury and blocked him completely on social media, at least I wouldn't ever have to see him again. And, if I'm perfectly honest, I'd actually pretty much forgotten he existed. I've become really good at out-of-sight-out-of-mind over the years. Mostly thanks to him: "Forgetting Owen Sullivan" was the first course I took in order to start developing this special skill of mine.

Yet here he is, almost a decade later, mere feet away from me. And to say I'm quite cross about that would be a massive understatement.

I might not be able to blame anyone but myself for this hangover, but I can certainly blame Nessa for this particular unpleasant surprise. Because this isn't really a coincidence. Let's face it, that would be hard to believe. A little too convenient and contrived, like something that happens in a romance novel. *rolls eyes*

The problem is that, for the past few years, Nessa has been seeing my brother Kieran. (Why yes, it did take me a while to get used to that, thanks so much for asking!) And, when our holiday plan went tits up last minute, and we couldn't find any reasonable holiday abroad as a back-up, Kieran called in a favour with an old friend who ran a Scottish tour company.

And of course the friend is Owen. I just hadn't slotted all the pieces into the "Fuck My Life" jigsaw until now. 

I finally manage to remove the bra from my head, replace my sunglasses, and sink down further.

I have no idea how to play this. How to react. I'm going to have to acknowledge him at some point, obviously, but I'm not even sure I can act normal.

Did he know I would be on this trip? 

"Vanessa," Owen says now, getting my friend's attention. "Do you think some stodge would help you lot out? There's a pub in Drumnadrochit which does good fish and chips; it's less than an hour away from here."

My stomach growls in agreement. Apparently, my appetite is coming back, at least.

"That sounds amazing, actually," Nessa says gratefully. "I think we all need a major dose of carbs."

What I really need, I reflect, is a time machine . . . so I can go back to last week and not agree to replace a pool holiday in Portugal with a road trip around Scotland. Particularly not one involving him.

Six days with Owen fecking Sullivan. I close my eyes tightly, frustration coursing through my body. "Shit," I say quietly.

"You okay, Mir?" Nessa asks me.

Fuck, I can't say this out loud... he'll hear. But I need to get this off my chest. I pull my phone out of my bag, and gesture towards it, then pull up WhatsApp.