The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 30

It's maybe hard to believe, but there are some populated areas of mainland Scotland that are still inaccessible by car - you need to either stick on your walking shoes or find your sea legs. In this day and age! I know . . . I have literally only just found this out today, and it's blown my mind.

The Applecross peninsula, Owen tells us at breakfast this morning, used to be such a place. We're heading down that way today, effectively the final part of the North Coast 500 before we're deposited back in Fort William. He explains that a mountain pass was eventually created to access the area - the Bealach Na Ba - and until the 1970s, this was the only other way apart from by boat.

"And there are still other bits of the Scottish mainland that don't have a road now?" Debbie asks disbelievingly.

Owen nods. "Knoydart, down the coast a little, is a good example. You need to get a ferry from Mallaig or walk 16 miles to reach it."

I shudder at the very idea of having to walk that far. "No thanks. Have you ever been?"

"Nope, but I'd like to." He grins at me. "Don't worry, I won't make you walk there. We can get the ferry."

There he goes again, throwing me hints of a future. I feel jittery with nerves, knowing this is a conversation we still need to have. It seems we're both circling around it rather than addressing it. This seems a bit odd from Owen's side, though, given that he's been nothing but direct and honest with me these last few days. And that makes me anxious somehow.

"Look at you two, making plans!" Michelle beams like a proud - and embarrassing - parent, and this somehow adds yet another layer to my own special line in awkwardness. I mumble something about needing another glass of orange juice (I really don't; I've already had three, and a vitamin C overdose is likely in the offing) and walk back over to the buffet. My hands are shaking as I pick up the jug of O.J.

"Are you okay?" Owen is suddenly beside me. He gently takes the jug from me and pours me a glass. Probably for the best - I'd likely have splashed it all over the table.

"I'm fine." I swallow hard, staring at his hands. "I'm just . . . Worried."

"About us?" He asks softly. "You know you don't need to be . . . Right?" He laughs suddenly, slightly nervously. "Well, unless you're thinking about ending it with me. Because then I'm worried."

Oh my god, he's so bloody adorable. I mean, I told him I loved him last night, for God's sake. This is a massive thing for me; I don't go around saying that to a lot of guys. And certainly not to ones I'm about to dump.

"I definitely don't want to end things," I assure him. "But I also don't know what we're going to do."

Relief flashes in those beautiful hazel eyes. "We can talk about it later, okay? Can I take you for dinner in Fort William? Or do you already have plans with the girls?"

"Dinner sounds good." I can hold out a few more hours; at least now I know we're going to address the issue.

We set off on the last leg of our roadtrip about half an hour later; the plan is to drive down to Applecross by the newer coastal road, grab a drink at the Applecross Inn, then leave via the mountain road.

It's yet another gorgeous day - the weather has been so good to us this week - and the surroundings are magnificent on our journey. We can see the Isle of Skye across the beautiful blue water, and when we reach Applecross Bay, we're lucky enough to snag an outside seat at the Inn.

"I really don't want to go home," Debbie says, taking a sip of her gin and tonic. "It's just been such a perfect week."

I have to agree. I expected the worst, and at first, I'd thought I was right to feel that way. But somehow, it's turned out to be possibly the best week of my life. And in Scotland, of all places.