Highland Fling - A Funny Chick Lit Romance (COMPLETE)

Sam Heughan's Cousin and Aperol Spritzers

 Jack only raises an eyebrow when he picks me up at the front of Glasgow Central Station loaded down with bags. Fortune had smiled on me and it was the start of summer sales. I picked up some serious bargains. The shops were selling off their winter stuff, and as Lochalshie hasn't proved warm enough for tee shirts and short skirts, I loaded up on sweaters, scarves and boots.

"Where's Stewart?" I ask, fingers crossed behind my back.

"He decided to stay in Glasgow. He met someone on the course who's just as... keen on coding and the guy offered him a bed for the night so they could continue their chat."

I throw up silent prayers to the Gods of Entertainment who have stepped in to save me from death by boredom. The mini-bus's inhabitants, those he picked up from the airport earlier in the day, stare at me, and I wave. It's not ideal—having Jack to myself would have been the perfect situation—but chatting to a group of Americans will be fun.

"Hey everyone!" I say as I get in.

"Gaby! Darcy here! I thought I recognised you. How awesome to see you again."

The woman at the front of the bus leans forward so she can grasp my hand. I bumped into her when I stopped at Glencoe on my way up to Lochalshie all those weeks ago. Hadn't she been doing a Scottish tour at the time? Surely she saw everything she wanted to then?

Something must show in my face as she grins at me. "I love Scotland," she says. "And now I'm retired me and John Junior here can spend our time just as we like. This is our third tour this year." She lowers her voice. "And what do you think of our tour guide? Ain't he the spit of Jamie Fraser? When he picked us up, I couldn't believe it. I said to John Junior, will you lookie here! We've got our own private Outlander experience. You must have been over the moon when you met him, what with you being such a super fan too."

Unfortunately, Darcy's idea of lowering her voice means that only everyone in the mini-bus and surrounding 100 metres can hear her, instead of just people within the entire city of Glasgow. Perhaps this is what comes of living in a huge country where you have far more space around you.

The smile I wear is decidedly fixed as I turn from her and take my place beside Jack, who I swear is smirking.

We drop the mini-bus tourers at a hotel half an hour from Lochalshie. It is fairytale-like, and I hear all the guests coo-ing behind me as we drive up. It sits on the edge of a loch and had been built centuries ago, according to Jack who delivers a thrillingly knowledgable running commentary as we head back, the ancient seat of the McGilmours of Lochalshie. When they fell out of favour for picking the wrong side in the Jacobite uprising, the castle fell into disrepair, but was bought many years later by a wealthy banker who eventually sold it to a property trust that turned it into a luxury hotel.

The sight of the turreted towers, the sweeping driveway and the stairs to the main entrance hushes even Darcy who'd kept us all up to date on her tours of Scotland and thorough knowledge of everything Outlander. By the time we drop her off, I am back to bargaining with the Gods of Entertainment. Come back Stewart. All is forgiven.

She winks at me as she left the mini-bus. "Now, you kids have fun this evening! Someone told me what true Scotsmen wear under their kilts, and I'll be wanting to know if it's true when I see you tomorrow."

John Junior, a large, silent bear of a man rolls his eyes at us as he lumbers behind her out of the bus. It must be my day for blushing, I decide. What with the laptop accident and encounters with women who don't know the word shame, my skin has taken on every shade of pink, from a delicate flush to the full-blown scarlet face. Thankfully, the sun is setting, lending the cover of subdued lighting to the mini-bus's interior. I get back into my seat and pull on my seatbelt. My heart races as the door opens beside me and Jack gets back in. He grips the steering wheel in both hands and tips his head forward so it rests there. The seconds tick by and I am just about to prod him when he pushes himself back again. To my astonishment, the dimples have returned to Jack's face. I suspected he is trying desperately not to burst into hysterical laughter.