Bettyhill, Scottish Highlands
"I'd just like to state for the record that I had no part in this," Owen tells me, holding his hands up as we eyeball each other across the restaurant table.
"I believe you," I assure him. I know he wouldn't do that; he's been very careful not to overstep his boundaries, and being involved in this set-up is not his style at all. "And if I look at all murderous right now, it's because I'm considering assassinating my friends."
"If you need a sidekick, I can always lend my assistance." He grins, dimples flashing, while I take a deep breath, trying not to panic. His smile fades. "Mirren, we don't have to do this, you know. We can both just walk out of here right now; go our separate ways."
"Is that what you want?" My voice wobbles a little, and he shakes his head vehemently.
"Of course not. But, like I've told you, I want you to be comfortable. So if you're not, then I won't be either." His voice is soft and steady, his gaze intent on mine. And his words soothe me like a cooling balm. My body relaxes.
"Well, I don't have any food apart from a chocolate bar in my room, and I have a feeling you don't either, so I guess we may as well accept our fate," I say jokingly.
"Yeah, I think I might have a packet of Quavers in my bag, but I doubt that would even put a dent in my hunger," he laughs, picking up the menu. "So we're doing this then?"
I nod firmly. "Let's go for it."
The waitress places a bottle of prosecco on the table. "This has been paid for by your friends," she explains. She has a curious look on her face, obviously now realising herself that this "date" was in no way planned by either of us. Popping the bottle open, she pours the contents into two flutes and leaves us to our awkwardness once again.
"Cheers, I guess?" I say, tilting my glass towards him. He smiles again.
"Slàinte mhath," he replies, which I know is the Gaelic version of "Cheers". Seems fitting, somehow. "It's some view, isn't it?" He continues after taking a sip, looking out towards the stunning bay below.
It is indeed some view, I'm thinking . . . But I'm looking at Owen rather than outside. He's now wearing a casual navy blue shirt and his glasses, and he's looking like a delectable snack. I lower my eyes to the menu before he can catch me.
I'm crushing so hard on this guy all over again, and it's making me feel like the awkward teenager I used to be . . . You know, rather than the awkward 28 year old I now am.
"What are you going to have to eat?" I ask now, really just for something to fill the silence. The menu is a bit eclectic here, I've noticed - there are some traditional Scottish dishes but also more random items, such as halloumi fries or lamb curry.
"I was thinking the haggis bonbons followed by the Highland Chicken," he replies. "If you want to do starters, that is?" I realise he's giving me another out here; a way to finish dinner quicker. To end this charade and retire to our rooms. Alone.
But while I'm here, I might as well make the most of it. Hell, I might even throw dessert into the mix, too!
"Are you kidding? Starters are the best part of a meal!" I reply. He laughs.
"Agreed! What's your favourite?"
Wow, that's like asking someone to pick their favourite child, surely? But I appreciate that he's trying to keep the conversation going.
"It probably depends where I am," I reply eventually. "Usually, if there's any burrata on a menu, I have to go for that, though." I mean, you really can't beat a big ball of mozzarella that's been stuffed full of cream! "What about you?"
YOU ARE READING
The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)
Chick-LitI can only see half of his face, reflected in the mirror at the front of the bus, and part of that is obscured by the peak of the black company-branded cap he's wearing. But I can see enough to glean that there's a strong jaw covered in scruff. A wi...
