I 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...
"When did you first realise you liked me?" I ask him. It's a few hours later, and we've dried off and are back in Ullapool. We broke away from the others and are now sharing some chips on the wall overlooking the shore. Several seagulls are hovering nearby, trying to act casual, but they are clearly in the market for carby goodness . . . and are apparently about as subtle as me hiding behind a plant.
Owen's eyes narrow thoughtfully as he stares out over the loch. "It was the summer before I orchestrated the game of Spin The Bottle," he says finally. "But I don't think I could pinpoint the exact moment I fell for you. It just kind of crept up on me, and when I watched your family packing up your car to drive home, I realised I felt really sad at the idea I wasn't going to see you again for another year."
Aw, bless.
"And then the following summer, I hoped after the game - after we kissed - that you might return my feelings, but you pretty much ignored me every year after that." He shrugs, like it's no big deal, but I can just tell that it was.
"It's like I said back then," I say lightly. "That wasn't because I didn't fancy you, because I can assure you I definitely did. I was just really self-conscious about my appearance, and I didn't think the famous Owen Sullivan would ever like me! Plus, you always had tons of female admirers hanging off you so I'm fairly sure you weren't exactly living a sad lonely existence without me."
He laughs. "I think you're exaggerating a tad there," he corrects me. "There were a couple of girls around, but definitely not tons. And they weren't you."
"But I bet you kissed some of them. Outwith Spin The Bottle, I mean," I challenge. I'm strangely jealous, and I know I've no right to be. I'm clearly backdating my possessiveness now that I've finally got my moody little claws into him.
"Okay, I may have kissed a few over the years," he smiles, his voice calm. "I was a teenage boy, after all; I did have hormones. I wouldn't have done that if I'd thought for a second you liked me, though." He slips an arm around me. "I'd probably have tried to lock you into a long-distance relationship from the start." He starts to chuckle, slightly self-consciously, as I inwardly "squee".
Right now, in this moment, everything feels pretty damn perfect. I'm no longer wishing I was in Portugal; I'm actually content and relaxed and even eager to see more of Scotland. Hanging out with Owen next to the water, the way I wish I could have done back in our teens, is actually taking me back years. I'm reliving my youth in the sweetest possible way. It's far better this time around.
"I don't even really understand why you liked me, though." I know I'm blatantly fishing for compliments now, but I'm desperate to understand how his mind works, especially when it comes to me. I'm definitely taking advantage of his refreshing honesty, but I can't seem to care about that anymore.
"I just . . . Had feelings. I can't really explain it." He bites his lip pensively. "At first, I guess I just thought you were cute, but then I became more fascinated by you as the years went by, and I just wanted to know you. I remember I used to get so nervous and excited in the run-up to the summer holidays; I'd tell myself this year it would be different and I'd manage to get you talking to me, but it never happened."
"Until the night you rescued me from Jamie," I say softly.
He nods, wincing. "That whole situation was a bit of a double-edged sword," he tells me now. "I knew you were back staying in the holiday park that final year - I even knew exactly what caravan you were in - but I was working the whole time and barely got to see you. By this point, I'd pretty much given up any hope I'd ever have a chance with you. That final night, I spotted you in the village talking to Jamie, and you looked so beautiful and happy, and I was pretty much desperate with jealousy.
"I think I told you at the time, I didn't trust him, so I decided to stick around . . . But I suppose I was being a bit of a creep too because I just wanted to see you. After I pulled him away from you, I even felt guilty because of the circumstances under which I was finally getting to interact with you. I didn't want you to think I was just another guy taking advantage."
"I didn't," I tell him softly. "You couldn't have been more of a gentleman."
"I didn't feel like that." His voice is husky. "All I wanted to do was kiss you. I was deliberating over whether I should just risk it and shoot my shot when your mum appeared."
"I wished you had," I confess. He brushes his lips against mine now, as if trying to replace that missed kiss in his memory.
"I drove myself crazy for a few days afterwards, wondering if I'd missed my only chance." He tracks a thumb down my cheek. "So I decided my only option was to befriend you virtually. And as I finally got to know you that way, I realised I had been right all along about something."
"What?" I ask curiously.
He raises his eyes to mine then, and the intensity glowing in his hazel gaze makes me want to dissolve right into him.
"That you were somehow as perfect for me as I'd always thought you'd be," he says simply, after the briefest moment of hesitation.
This is it. This is how I die. Death by sweetness. And Owen Sullivan is the only suspect.
Our lips meet again. How can we fit together so perfectly? How is it that we are already so in tune with one another? His tongue gently strokes mine, his hands pulling me closer to him. How can this be so exhilarating yet so unbelievably tender, all at once? I feel dizzy with longing, frantic with the need to go further, while also still wanting to preserve this innocence for as long as I can.
One of the gulls, obviously sick of pretending it isn't after our chips, squawks indignantly beside us, breaking the spell, and we reluctantly unwind ourselves from one another.
Owen tosses a few chunks of fried potato onto the beach, and the scavengers simultaneously launch themselves at it, screeching furiously. "Eejits," I mutter under my breath as we watch them.
"So what's the plan for the rest of the day?" Owen asks me, slipping his hand into mine and peeling me off the wall. "Is there anything else you want to see? Or do?"
I take a deep breath. I know, with sudden certainty, that there's only one thing I really want to do right now. And I might as well just say it. "Honestly? At this point, I just want to go back to my room," I say. "And take you with me." I add, squeezing his hand meaningfully.
Understanding flashes in his eyes. "Are you sure?" He asks quietly, studying my face intently.
And, when I nod firmly, he tightens his own grip on me and starts to lead us back to our hotel.
It is on . . .
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I wasn't sure whether we really needed a bit more info about Owen's early feelings for Mirren or not, but I thought it would be nice for her to get some answers - I hope you enjoyed this chapter and it was sufficiently sweet.❤️
Hmm . . . And I wonder what's going to happen next!
