Highland Fling Epilogue - a short Highland Books story

Castles and Ice-cream

Yesterday evening had been the first Jack and I had spent with other people. Since he popped the question on the day of the Highland Games (and no, not that question, the inquiry—do you like me, Gaby, where we established I did, and kissed for the first time), we have spent a lot of time together.

I'd been living in Lochalshie for three months. If you'd told me back in April a tiny, remote Highland village would become my home, I would have laughed in your face. But fate, as it is wont to do, stepped in...

"I've got to work," Jack said, the day after, pulling me in for another knee-trembler of a kiss, as my hands reached for his hair, rich, red and soft as velvet under my fingertips.

"Me too." I'd spent so much time helping the village prepare for the Highland Games, I'd neglected my day job—the one that paid the bills—and needed to spend all of Sunday crouched in front of a screen creating jaw-dropping graphics to please my graphic design company owning boss before she sacked me.

He stuck a finger under my chin, tilting it upwards. Big, brown, far too enticing eyes met mine. "So, we could go our separate ways, or you could be my tour guide again. What d'you say? Is it an aye or a no?"

Jack is self-employed. Bunking off a day isn't as do-able as when you work for someone else who does the payroll. As his tour guide, I would sit up front on the Highland Tours minibus, commentate on the scenery, and throw in the odd fact about history to the American tourists who lapped this stuff up.

"It's an aye," I said, and then snickered. 'Aye' sounds stupid when said with a faint Norfolk accent. "What if they know more about Scottish history than me?"

A distinct probability.

"All part of the charm," Jack said.

He stuck his hand in his hair, ruffling red locks back and forth. "I, um, need to change."

"Of course!"

He hurried up the stairs. In the months that led up to us finally (thank the stars, the universe and everything else) realising we both wanted the same thing, I had spent a lot of time picturing Jack naked apart from a pristine white towel wrapped around his waist.

He'd done the same, skipping the towel bit. But in the early stages, we did not want to rush things. Hence, the hurrying out of the room even though every single cell in my body screamed at me. Run up to that bedroom and see for yourself if your imagination was right all along.

He reappeared just before I did as my cells commanded. Dressed in the Highland Tours 'uniform', a black plaid kilt and dark grey T-shirt emblazoned Highland Tours—Scotland's Friendliest Touring Experience, knees (those knees!) on show and Timberlands on top of thick socks, I let out an involuntary sigh.

"Here's yours," he said, tossing me one of the Highland Tours T-shirts, and then hanging around indecently long, forcing me to pretend to cough.

"Oh! I should leave while you take your top off, aye?"

"Aye!" I replied, the Norfolk accent banished. This time the word sounded one hundred percent Scottish, and much more threatening. He raised an eyebrow, touched the tip of his tongue to the top of his lip and removed himself.

Day one of Gaby and Jack passed in a blur. It took an age to reach Glasgow, where we would pick up this morning's batch of tourists from Lochalshie. Didn't matter at all when the sun shone, the radio blasted out happy pop a la Taylor Swift, Little Mix and BTS, and we had all the time in the world to talk, talk, talk.

Did you always want to be a tour guide?

What about you? Have you been arty since you were a wee girl?