The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 6

I almost immediately regret ordering the cullen skink as my starter. Don't get me wrong, the creamy traditional Scottish soup is always a winner for me - and don't even get me started on the fresh bread and butter that comes with it! - but my hands shake as I try to lift a spoonful to my lips in front of Owen, and I narrowly miss slopping bits of potato or fish over my dress on several occasions. 

His black pudding fritter on sourdough, topped with a perfect poached egg, seems far less problematic to eat, and he consumes it neatly while fielding questions from the other girls about himself and his business.

He tells us he started Scots-2-Go just before we were all hit with the global pandemic that was Covid - "now that was a fun time," he adds with a sardonic laugh. Unable to run trips or holidays due to lockdown, he took on delivery work for a while, keeping himself busy with hillwalking on his downtime.

"Once everything opened back up again, business started booming," he tells us. "People were still too nervous to go abroad on holiday, and the Scottish Highlands just seems to be getting more and more popular thanks to shows like Outlander. A lot of folk want to see all the popular spots but are terrified to drive on some of the roads, so a bus tour is ideal for them." He grins modestly. "I've done alright for myself."

He certainly has. I can't help but feel grudging admiration as he explains he now has a fleet of five minibuses and employs several other full-time tour guides.

"Why Scotland, though?" I find myself blurting out after I've thankfully finished my soup and pushed it to one side. Here's hoping my venison stew will be slightly less terrifying to eat. "You were once as keen to escape as I was."

He tips his head thoughtfully to one side, his eyes narrowing adorably behind his glasses as he considers my question. "I was," he says eventually. "And, for a few years, I took every opportunity I could to travel, to get as far away as possible. But I started to miss Scotland - it seems I had to push it away before I could finally realise my place was actually here." Light brown eyes focus intently on my face, and I feel somehow exposed. 

I can hear typical restaurant noise in the background, but it seems our whole table has gone silent. The tension isn't just between me and Owen anymore; it's enveloped the whole group now.

Nessa - bless her heart - clears her throat dramatically to cut a way through it, and the loaded atmosphere thankfully evaporates. "So, you're just trying to help other people fall in love with Scotland then?" She smiles at me. "You'll have a tough challenge with this girl, though."

"Oh, I think I'm up to the task," he says lightly. And even though he's not looking at me when he says it, I somehow feel another meaning to his words applying invisible pressure against my chest.

Much to my relief, the mains arrive then and the ensuing silence is now more about us stuffing our faces. My venison is perfect, accompanied by the mashed potato of dreams, and apparently I've stopped shaking now so I eat this far more gracefully.

"Where did you end up last night?" Owen eventually asks us, putting his fork down and taking a sip of his pint. He's still drinking the one he ordered at the bar before dinner, while the rest of us have sunk a bottle of rose between us and started on a second. "Seems like you had a bit of a mad one!"

"Some guy's house . . . I think his name was Dougal?" Vanessa tries to remember, her brow creasing. "Tall guy, kind of . . . Craggy looking?"

Owen grins. "That'll be Dougal McLeish. He's a bit of a local legend. Harmless. Albeit with a weird passion for strip poker." 

Nessa laughs. "As you can probably guess, Mirren's bra was almost a casualty."