No Reservations (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 6

2016

It strikes me that the first thing I actually should be worrying about is whether Angus-the-possible-Aussie is actually who he says he is, or whether he's here to kidnap me and whisk me away into slavery or the like. But as I briefly glance away from his sparkling hazel eyes and down at my phone again, a message appears from Ryan. It was sent an hour ago so it looks like my phone signal was just bad.

There's a photo of Angus - nice, I might keep that for the spank bank - and a brief message.

This is who I've sent to pick you up. Just so you have a visual. Angus works in the bar.

Ryan hadn't left me hanging after all. I silently apologise for doubting him at all. It seems only polite to reply back.

Got him. Cheers.

"Shall we?" Angus asks, raising his eyebrows and picking up both my suitcase and bulging holdall with ease as I slip my phone back in my bag. "I couldn't get parked too close unfortunately so it's a five minute walk to the car, I'm afraid."

"That's no problem . . . As long as you continue to carry my bags for me," I say jokingly. Weirdly, despite his unreal good looks, I somehow feel instantly comfortable with Angus. There's just something . . . uncomplicated about him.

Much like Ryan 1.0, I find myself unwillingly thinking.

"Your wish is my command." He leads me through throngs of people to a nearby car park. "Enjoy the crowds while you can . . . It's about to get a whole lot quieter where we're going," he says with a grin as he opens the passenger door for me and slings my luggage in the boot of the car.

I'm already welcoming the idea of some peace and quiet. City life hasn't really been cutting it for me lately.

"How long is the drive?" I ask, clicking my seat belt into place.

"45 minutes or so," he replies. "We'll be there in no time."

It might take Angus 45 minutes but it's probably meant to take the average driver more than an hour. He probably isn't going that fast in the grand scheme of things, but with all of the twists and turns in the road I might as well be a passenger in Lewis Hamilton's race car at the speed he is going. I'm fairly sure my knuckles are translucent by the end of the journey.

"I love these roads," he chuckles as he hares around another bend and I wonder if I'm actually going to make it in one piece to my new job.

I try to distract myself by asking him questions. What brought him to Scotland, for example?

Unsurprisingly, given his first name, he's of Scottish descent. . . In fact, his parents were born in Scotland but both emigrated with their own families as kids and he's always wanted to come over here and visit.

"I think they both miss Scotland," he says, almost wistfully. "They fully supported me travelling over here for a while. They still do a Burn's night in January, tried to teach me and my brother Malcolm all the Robert Burns poems . . ." He grins ruefully. "Force-fed us whisky until we liked it. Joke," he adds hastily. "It was obviously just in our blood to like it. No forcing required."

"Hold on . . . Your brother's called Malcolm and you're Angus?" I ask slowly. "Like . . ."

"The Young brothers from AC/DC? Yeah, well spotted," he confirms with a nod. "Fellow immigrants from Scotland, of course! My parents are both big fans." He rolls his eyes. "It gets worse though."

"Don't tell me . . . Your surname is Young as well?"

He groans. "Got it in one."

I can't help but burst out laughing. "Sorry."