Highland Fling

by Emma Baird

  The boo bit’s all that sticks of that imagined lecture, it is too close to what I want to do, boohoo all the way home. I force myself to say the words out loud, reasoning it is advice I read on the Dating Guru’s website. She urges you to stand in front of the mirror in the morning and say “You’re beautiful, sexy and amazing!” as a way of building your confidence. If I do the same with the career success bit, I will talk myself into happiness.

  “Melissa’s number one employee,” I start with. Then, “Created not one but two fan-dabi-dosy websites for businesses here.”

  “Fan-dabi-dosy, were they?”

  Curses. Jack has once again performed the trick of sneaking up on me. A blush starts, but I hold my ground. “Fan-dabi-dosy indeed. Look at this list of prospective customers I’ve got you, all thanks to them seeing the website beforehand and the cut-out.”

  He takes the list from me and his fingers brush mine. I’d hold on to it longer to maintain the contact, but I suspect I’d look silly. As if I haven’t already made a fool of myself in front of him countless times already.

  “I think it’s more to do with you. They saw you standing here and decided you were too gorgeous to leave alone. Plus, they’ve heard you’re a whiz at first aid, and you dive into lochs to save drowning dogs.”

  “Wh-what?” I splutter, but the words are nectar. He’s serious too. I see no trace of mockery or sarcasm there. “Oh, and how did the tossing go, I mean your status as the best tosser... um. The Highland Games.”

  He pushes his lips together; a gentleman trying not to snort with laughter. “I lost,” he said, remarkably cheery. “But mainly I needed to get away because I wanted to ask a few questions,” he says. “Katya had a word with me earlier”—when, when, I’ll kill her for not warning me—“about the book she’s been writing for a ‘client’. She said it was only fair to warn me that someone might no’ have pure motives for wanting to get back with me. And not that I didn’t believe her, but I thought I’d ask the client herself to be fair.”

  When he pauses I only allow him two seconds. “Don’t stop there! What happened next?”

  “I wasn’t ever going back to Kirsty,” he says. “We’re too different. But being used to sell books was the last straw. It helped push me in a direction I have been trying and failing to go for the last month.”

  “And where might that—”

  “Jack! Gaby!”

  Stewart, his sense of timing as impeccable as ever, makes his way unsteadily from the beer tent to Jack’s stall. Behind him is a large group of people who all look as pie-eyed as he does. If they’ve been matching him drink for drink, tomorrow they’re scheduled to experience the world’s worst hangovers.

  “I’ve just been telling the good folks here that this is the best tour of the Highlands and it’s run by Jamie Fraser himsel’! They’ve all come tae sign up!”

  CHAPTER 26

  We end up stuck at the stall for the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening, the email sign-ups coming in thick and fast.

  Every time I try to ask Jack the questions, what did you need to check, and which direction do you want to go in, another prospective tourist butts in. “’Scuse me, but do we get to see Castle Leoch on this tour?” or “Do I need to learn Gaelic to understand Jamie?” My customer service skills fly out the window as I am desperate to return to the previous conversation. Beside me, Jack sighs, plasters on a fake smile and replies, Yes, Castle Leoch otherwise known as Doune Castle IS part of the tour, and no, no Gaelic necessary. By the time, it gets to seven o’clock, I want to collapse on top of something warm and comfortable. And with someone. I beg fate not to let me be mistaken about what I thought Jack meant.

  At last, the crowds drift away. They file out the park and stalls begin to pack up. Cars parked everywhere, the car park, the fields set up for the overflow and the streets rev up engines as too many people attempt to leave at once. I suspect Lochalshie is about to experience a once-in-a-lifetime event—a rush hour and a traffic jam. Stewart returns, more welcome this time as he has Katya and Dr McLatchie with him and they offer to pack up the stall for us.

  Katya repeats her thumbs up, and I smile back, happy to forgive her for her prior meddling. She whispers to me that she saw Kirsty in her car earlier having what looked like a furious conversation with someone on her phone. Her agent perhaps—the one she’d promised a brilliant, foolproof guide to hooking a commitment-phobe in just ten steps and the story to prove it.

  Jack grabs my hand. “Want to escape?”

  I nod at once, exhaustion banished.

  “C’mon then,” he says, pulling me in the loch’s direction. “Let’s talk paintings and misunderstandings.”

  At the far side of the loch, I spot Stewart and Jolene, Scottie doing his wildly exciting diving for ducks thing. I send up a prayer that I won’t need to rescue him again. Jolene waves, Stewart doing the same when he turns to see what his girlfriend is doing.

  The whole place is adjusting back to normal. When Caitlin and her entourage left two hours ago, the vloggers, bloggers and journalists vanished soon after. I’m glad. They all spent shed-loads of money while they were here which is brilliant. But I’ve decided I’m a local now, English and not having lived here that long status notwithstanding. I prefer Lochalshie when I look around it and recognise everyone I see. Especially this one, the kilted, red-headed Scot who wants to know why I never bothered finding out the truth about him and Kirsty, the party and the painting from the source.

  “You could have asked me,” he says, retaking hold of my hand. He could do that a thousand times, I decide, and I’ll never tire of it. The wind lifts tiny locks of copper hair and the question’s curious, rather than accusing.

  “What?” I say. “If you were still in love with a beautiful woman whose painting you clung onto for dear life?”

  “I thought you were interested in that American dude,” he adds. “Or you were going back to your ex. Mhari kept talking about it, and I didn’t want to...”

  “You could have asked me.” Ditto, hmm?

  I tell him about my mother and her belief that you should never ask a question if you don’t want to know the answer. He grins and I watch the movement, one I’ve memorised over the short time we’ve been together. It starts slowly, a lift to the corners of his mouth as if he’s trying it out for size. The uplift settles and then widens until the smile lights up his whole face. It touches his eyes and they sparkle.

  “Do you like me, Gaby?”

  Oh. Not fair.

  I decide he doesn’t get it all his way. “I tried asking you a few questions,” I say, turning away, so we’re not eye to eye any more. Dark clouds hover, the ever-present threat of rain. Who cares? Elements do your worst, I tell the skies. You can rain on me forever more, and I won’t care. I am ninety percent sure of what is happening here. Nothing as certain as death or taxes is another of my nanna’s sayings hence my ten percent left aside as a cautionary gesture. And the bubble of happiness inside me is impenetrable. “And you were dead rude.”

  “Was I?” The question expresses genuine surprise and I grin back at him. “Yup, totes. Mean and moody, one hundred percent. I kept thinking to myself, who is this ars—”

  At that, he grabs hold of me and does the death move—the tickle you till you beg for mercy one. Arms fasten me to him and fingers dance under my arms and up and down my belly. I’m pressed in so tight it’s suffocating. In a good way. I’ve always been ticklish, and my breath comes in gasps as I beg him to stop. I’ll do anything, anything, I say.

  “Answer the question then. Do you like me, Gaby?”

  He ramps up the tickling.

  “You. Are. Okay,” I cough out. I remember Katya’s ultimate compliment. “I wouldn’t push you out of bed for farting.”

  Noooo... My brain connects with my heart at the same moment and I shake my head. Imagine bringing up flatulence in front of a man who makes you squiggle and squirm. The Dating Guru is aghast, her mouth down-turned in horror. On
e doesn’t throw about the F-Word like that.

  “If I tell you that despite your promise, I’m the only guy in the world who never farts, what would you push me out of bed for?” he says. The smirk is back in place.

  “Eating toast in there,” I say. “Also, cheating on me.”

  “Writing about me on a website,” he says, and I turn at that. His expression is part serious, part spoilt by a grin. “Or telling a publisher you have a foolproof plan for making me propose to you.”

  We’ve reached the end of the west side of the loch. From now on, you need to scramble over rocks to reach the sands to continue walking. The sun is setting, and I want to watch it. I flop on the sand, its surface broken by up stones and Jack drops down beside me. He takes out a hip flask and promises me it’s only Bailey’s and not anything lethal like whisky. Or Pimms. The eyebrows raise at that, and I work out someone must have told him about the sodding falling over in the Lochside Welcome episode. Jolene, probably, the disloyal... Ah. She was Jack’s friend first.

  I take a gulp of the Bailey’s. It’s still cold and tastes, as it always does, of melted ice-cream. “I’d never write about you on a website,” I say. The skies always look better when you lie on your back. “I wouldn’t even change my relationship status on Facebook. And no gushy, loved-up pics of us either.”

  Jack nudges me. “I might allow you to do that on the odd occasion,” he says. “And change your status. Girlfriend of Jack McAllan and a big hands off sign.”

  O-ho! I was ninety percent certain what was happening, but I allowed some doubt and the confirmation adds oodles more to my happiness levels. I grin back at him. We’re both ridiculously pleased with each other and the smiles stay in place just as the first big raindrops splat on us. Three minutes from now and it will be a downpour, but I am reluctant to break the spell. The rain flattens and darkens Jack’s hair and each drop rolls down his face, dripping from his eyebrows and down his nose.

  “What about your location when you update your status on Facebook?” he says, and the smile vanishes. A serious question then. I’m a stranger here. I’m no longer welcome in Kirsty’s house, the contract at an end and solemn promise to help her get back with Jack broken. Wondering if I could persuade her to part permanently with Mena distracts me for a few seconds. I’m a cat lover now, or maybe it’s just little Mena who’s clawed her way into my heart along with a red-headed Scotsman.

  “Ah,” I say, “there’s a thing. I don’t know if I could manage a long-distance relationship.”

  “I couldn’t,” he says, not taking his eyes from my face. “And now I’ve persuaded you I’m not a rude, arrogant git, I’ve decided I want to spend a lot of time with you.”

  My phone beeps—a WhatsApp message, I’m about to ignore it, but Jack takes the phone from me and beams. He pushes it back at me. The Lochalshie WhatsApp group, or rather the group’s most prolific poster Mhari, has put a message up. Turns out she is looking for a flatmate, having decided at the grand old age of twenty-five, it is time to leave the parental home. I shoot Jack a suspicious look, and he shrugs far too innocently. This smacks of forward planning and the idea delights me, though how on earth Jack and I will keep any detail of our new relationship quiet, I have no idea. And I’ll need to persuade Melissa my remote working gig is permanent. Can you imagine the Bespoke Design logo with Great Yarmouth, Lochalshie written at the bottom? It does not have the ring of London, Paris, New York.

  But these are all worries for another day. The rain is beginning in earnest now, soaking through our clothes. Jack’s tee shirt moulds to his body, outlining the well-defined pectoral muscles.

  “The second time I saw you,” I say, “I was worried I’d burst in on you while you were in the shower. I’m sorry to say my mind conjured up the image anyway, you naked with just a towel wrapped around your waist. And now I will finally see if my mind got it—”

  Gaby, Gaby! Katya shakes her head sorrowfully. No need to go overboard on the keenness or the blatancy.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Funnily enough, my mind’s done the same thing the last few weeks.”

  A pause.

  “I didn’t bother with the towel.”

  “Perv!” I exclaim, and he laughs. We’re going to have such fun. Ryan never laughed at himself.

  “Do you plan on lying here in the rain for much longer?” he asks, lying down beside me. He’s as wet and cold as I am, but it doesn’t matter. I’m only aware of warm skin and the desire to stretch out next to it.

  “Just another minute,” I say, watching the wind chase the dark clouds from one side to the other. The sun peeks out beneath them, and a rainbow appears, the whole arc of it visible and bright. If Jack moves to the left, his head will appear at the end, his coppery hair my pot of gold.

  He moves anyway, propping himself up on one elbow. He lowers his face until it is only centimetres from mine. We lock eyes, green ones saying ‘you first’, brown ones bouncing the question back, ‘no, after you’. Some agreement is reached as we move at the same time and our lips meet. It starts softly, our lips moving against each other and then the intensity builds. His hand goes to my face, gentle movement that belies what our mouths and tongues do. He tastes of Bailey’s and mint. My heart flutters furiously against my rib cage, and I feel his do the same thing. The rain has turned into a downpour, and yet neither of us lets its impact bother us, and I’m sheltered from the worst by his body. I open my eyes and meet his, the dark brown turned black and glittering, and inside me, every nerve ending explodes. And this, this is only a kiss and the start of it.

  The rain too heavy to ignore any longer, we concede defeat. Jack gets up and holds out a hand to pull me up.

  “Come on then,” he says, “Let’s watch the storm come in from the comfort of my home.”

  We run towards the village hand in hand, and I turn my head back briefly to the loch, a final glance at its magical beauty and a silent thank you to Lochalshie.

  THE END

  OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

  I have other books—The Girl Who Swapped, Artists Town and the non-fiction book, The Diabetes Diet, which outlines how to use a low-carb diet to best effect. I also have a book of short stories, Ten Little Stars.

  I hang out on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram @pinkglitterpubs, and my website is https://emmabaird.com You can also sign up for my (infrequent) newsletter at pinkglitterpubs@gmail.com I’ll attempt to make you smile as often as I can. My cat features frequently (cats rule the internet, right?) so at the very least you’ll see your fair share of cute cat pics. And I’ll throw in a freebie for you. Wondering what happened when Dr McLatchie met her second husband? The Night We Met sets out the back story and you get to say hello to Jack again albeit a much younger one...

  Highland Heart is the follow-up to Highland Fling, and I plan to release this in September (2019). Inner voice: Emma, you bonkers eejit. You’re committed now.

  Here’s the blurb for Highland Heart:

  The follow-up to Highland Fling, Highland Heart is the story of Katya and Dexter—lovers who met at a magical village in the heart of the Scottish Highlands, but who begin to drift apart. She wants him; he wants her but there are thousands of miles between them.

  Meanwhile, there’s a new dude in town. Zac is fun, flirtatious and determined to seduce Katya. The trouble is, can she resist? Especially as Dexter seems to be throwing himself into his work as marketing manager for a big reality TV star and her brand-new make-up company on a mission to take over the world.

  And what about his relationship with Caitlin, the reality TV star he works for? Is it one hundred percent professional or are those photos that keep popping up in her Instagram feed as innocent as he professes?

  Village shenanigans, an eccentric cast of loveable characters and a catch up with Gaby and Jack of Highland Fling fame, Highland Heart explores what happens once the honeymoon stage of a relationship wears off.

  Finally, if you liked this book please review it. Reviews help authors like
me get found, sell more books and encourage us to keep writing. Writing’s a lonely, vulnerable experience. We cherish the flattering reviews and store them up to keep us going. Many thanks!

  My other e-books can be found here:

  https://books2read.com/tenlittlestars

  https://books2read.com/artiststown

  https://books2read.com/tgws

  ©Emma Baird 2019

  THE GRATEFUL THANKS BIT

  When I think about the good folks who helped me with this book, I well up. Blimey, I found myself an A-Team for Highland Fling.

  Enni Tuomisalo stumbled on my book via Wattpad. She lives in New Zealand, and she’s a graphic designer so I couldn’t have asked for a more useful beta reader. Thanks to her, I know a lot more about graphic design, New Zealand, Kiwi slang and the Maori people, and it’s wonderful knowledge to have. She also designed the beautiful book cover for me, and she writes smart, thought-provoking women’s fiction. Why not check her out? https://yummybookcovers.com

  Eric J Smith is a man of honour. He has struggled his way through two of my books (I’m not his genre of choice). His comments are insightful, useful and proof that he takes beta reading seriously. Eric offers this as a service. If you are a writer, I can’t recommend this highly enough. Email: ericjsmith_2000@yahoo.com

  Kristien Potgieter picked and prodded her way through my book, loving it at the same time as telling me what was wrong and implausible. Again, she offers advice and help to aspiring writers, and I recommend her whole-heartedly. You can find her on Upwork.

  Caron Allan lends me a lot of support, championing my writing and adding wise words about indie publishing and the myriad things it involves. Find her and her books at caronallanfiction.com

  I must give a shout out to NaNoWriMo. For those of you who haven’t heard of it, NaNoWriMo is a movement which encourages people to write a book or 50,000 words in a month. Highland Fling came about because of that. You join the group, post your daily word counts to the website and voila—thirty days later, you have a book (ish). The organisation also contributes money and encourages writing programmes for the young. What’s not to love?