Skye Templeton is sick of living in a small village in the Scottish Highlands where everyone knows every single little thing about her. She's tired of her dead-end "situationship". She desperately needs to escape . . . So when a chance encounter ope...
2) He may not even be single for all I know. Our conversations are always brief and mostly superficial, with only the odd personal detail popping up in amongst the laughter, jokes, and occasional I.T. lecture. Understandably, the subject of our love lives has not been touched upon, but I'm obviously not wanting to step on any toes.
3) And this is probably the most important one . . . What if he's not the man I've so far built him up as in my head? And I don't mean in terms of looks because I haven't really been able to even form a proper mental picture of what he might look like. But from our tiny snippets of conversation, he seems like a good guy, and I would hate to meet him in person and discover that wasn't the case. Or realise that this delightful little . . . connection between us doesn't translate from theory to practice.
So maybe it's really for the best that I don't meet him. They say you shouldn't meet your heroes after all, and he is my I.T. champion! And it's possible I've just talked myself into this inexplicable little "crush" because I'm bored and a bit lonely, and one mystery guy apparently isn't enough for me.
I sigh as I dial ext 340 and hope desperately that it's him who responds.
"You've locked yourself out of your account again, haven't you?" He must recognise my extension number by now. "Honestly, this must be some sort of a record." He's trying to sound exasperated, but I can hear the barely contained mirth bubbling underneath.
I could be wrong, of course . . . But I really do get the impression that Ross likes it when I call. I'm not sure if he has realised yet that it's mostly under false pretences, though!
"I have about 10 different work related passwords to remember; I keep getting them confused," I protest indignantly. I'm lying, of course. I just wanted to hear his voice. Maybe I should secretly record it on my mobile, and then I can take it home and play it to myself as I lie alone in bed at night . . . Oh my god, what is wrong with me???
"You're a nightmare, Skye Templeton," he tuts in response, and something about the way his voice lowers almost intimately as he says my name causes butterflies to congregate and start dancing the Conga inside of me. (And no, I didn't know butterflies were capable of performing such a feat either. They're not very good at it, but they're giving it their best effort.)
"What important work have I interrupted today?" I tease him. Earlier this week, they'd been having some sort of departmental darts tournament. "Haggis-hurling? Ginger beer-pong? Strip poker?" Oops. That last one just slipped out.
"You jest, but we actually did do haggis-hurling a few weeks ago," Ross chuckles, thankfully ignoring my strip poker comment.
"Your department is so much more fun than mine," I groan. Then, I mouth an apology in Sylvia's direction when I realise she's eavesdropping . . . Again.
"You're not exactly subtle, you know," she tells me with a sly smile after I hang up the phone a couple of minutes later.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I reply haughtily, but I know I'm blushing, and my nosy colleague can't have possibly missed that.
"Come on, it's obvious you like talking to that boy," she chides me, lowering her voice. "No one gets locked out of their account that often; even he must be onto you by now!"
"Oh my god, do you think he is?" I gasp in horror, realising immediately that I've given myself away. She grins knowingly, and I redden further.
"No need to be embarrassed, hen," she says. "I actually think he likes you too. Yesterday, when he was fixing my PC, and you just missed him? He looked so disappointed when he realised your desk was empty." She giggles. "I'm pretty sure he was stalling in the hope you'd come back, and he'd get to meet you."
"Oh?" I'm trying not to get my hopes up here. Or read too much into my own excitement. Sylvia could easily be getting carried away . . . And I don't even really know why I'm feeling this way about a guy I barely know. I try to school my face into an expression of casual disinterest, although my heart is skipping enthusiastically.
Sylvia's own face suddenly lights up, and she leans forward conspiratorially. "Listen, what if I told you I had an idea of a way you could meet and possibly get to spend a bit of time with young Mr Macallister? Without any pressure or expectation?"
I'm instantly intrigued, of course. And deciding just to recklessly toss my pride to one side, I bend my head close to hers. "I'm all ears," I tell her eagerly.
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