Highland Fling - A Funny Chick Lit Romance (COMPLETE)

Sam Heughan's Cousin and Aperol Spritzers

"What a day," he says, and I nod fervently. If only he knew the extent of mine.

He puts the bus into reverse, performed yet another textbook manoeuvre and drives away, adding a jaunty honk of the horn aimed at the American visitors who still stand outside admiring the loch.

As my heart continues its yammering, I decide silence is the best policy. Katya, a fan of police dramas, once told me the best way to get people to talk was to say nothing and wait for them to become uncomfortable enough to want to fill the silence. Excellent mode of attack is silence. You just sit there and wait and...

"I'm not that big a fan of Outlander," I burst out. It turns out only being able to hear an engine was more than I could bear. "And you don't look that much like Jamie Fras—I mean, the actor Sam Heughan."

"Don't I?" he says. "I am his cousin."

"Gosh, are you? That explains it then. You're the spitting image of the—"

I stop, aware that I've contradicted myself in three sentences. "Well, your skin's a bit different and your knees don't look the same, and your hair isn't the exact shade—"

Katya's face swims in front of me, appearing on the windscreen, her head in her hands. "Shut up, Gaby! Stop now before he decides you are a total fool." And works out that I've paid a lot of attention to what he looks like.

"I'm not," Jack says. "But ever since that programme came out, I keep getting mistaken for him. Or his far better looking younger brother anyway."

And at that, he winks at me. Earlier that day, I've seen ghosts of winks but nothing I could claim as definite. This is, a bold sweep of an eyelid and lashes that makes his nose and mouth move at the same time. It is so heady I gulp and then have to hide it with a bout of fake coughing.

"You could capitalise on it," I volunteer, determined to seem semi-intelligent in front of him for once. "Um, run Outlander tours dressed as Jamie Fraser and take people to the places in the books and on the TV."

"There are a few of them already," he says, his tone regretful. "Don't want to over-crowd the market. And if people like Darcy turn up to a tour like mine and discover the guide looks a tiny bit like Jamie Fraser and she does her word-of-mouth thing that might make me popular, anyway."

He flicks his gaze to the mirror, and I catch his eye. He is back to being nice again. Heck.

"I'm sure Darcy's mouth can do all sorts of things," I add, and cringe as soon as I've finished the sentence. What is it about me that I can't help saying stupid things in front of this man? I've been tempted to share my laptop story, but silence on that subject seems wise else he think I'm a total klutz. "Er, you're right. Word of mouth. Best way. Darcy. Lots of friends." Short sentences, I decide, are the way forward. They allow less room for mistakes and stupidity.

The sign for Lochalshie appears all too quickly. I have three minutes left to say something so mind-bogglingly brilliant, it blasts away all previous impressions Jack might have had of me.

"Kirsty's house is so nice, isn't it?"

"Genius, Gaby." Katya is back and unimpressed.

The mini-bus has come to a halt, and Jack stares at the place. "If you say so. I prefer places that don't look as if they've been decorated by interior designers. Goodnight, Gaby."

He drives off so quickly he didn't hear my thanks for the lift.

Back in the house, I decide Katya needs an update which means a phone call outside in the right-hand corner of the front garden I've figured out is the only place I can get a signal.