‘Shame the sun isn’t out for you,’ he says, nodding towards the window, but I don’t care – I am in love with this wild beauty, its greys and navies and muted greens. He is wrapped up in his waxed coat and a tartan scarf, and we’re driving with the windows down, which, while cold, is exactly how I like it. I’ve borrowed an old coat from the hallway hook and stuffed my hair into a beanie, so it’s not in my face.
I can feel the cold air slapping at me when I lean a little towards the window.
‘I can put the heater on,’ he says for the second time.
‘I like it. The Scoootish air,’ I say, attempting an accent, which comes out rather well.
‘Are you from Finland?’
‘Fuck off,’ I say, laughing, and he shrugs and smiles at the road ahead.
James doesn’t ask me questions, and it’s nice. I don’t think Irene has aired her concerns to him, at least not yet, and I’m glad.
I have finally accepted that I definitely have a crush on him. I don’tthinkhe has a girlfriend, as he hasn’t mentioned anyone, but despite what Irene says, I’m definitely getting the friend-vibe from him. That’s fine, though, I tell myself. Years of crushing on guys who don’t like me back have taught me how to do that, without giving too much away. Or daring to hope.
Everyone says that Scotland is wild and rugged, but there is something about this Scottish west coast that feels extraordinary.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘You ever seen Eilean Donan?’
‘Who?’
‘It’s a fantastic castle. A short detour. I’ll show you.’
‘Do we have time?’ I say, looking down at my phone and noticing a message from Tim that wasn’t there when we left an hour ago.
Hungover AF. Have you been arrested yet? Give me a call.
‘Sure, it’s only eight minutes,’ he says. ‘We can do a quick drive by.’
He spins the car round and we take a road inland as the landscape flattens and the west coast is behind us, and we travel down a two-lane road with small cottages dotted along the road, and every hundred metres or so a sign, likeMacKenzie’s B&BorThree Seas Inn.
‘There’s a croft coming up.’
‘A what?’
‘It’s like a rental farm, I suppose. A smallholding for tenants to produce food. There!’ he says, pointing to a small white stone cottage with a fenced-off garden. I am intrigued and wish we had time to stop, but we’re nearing a bridge and a new stretch of water.
‘Loch Long, Duich and Alsch. The meeting of the three seas,’ he says as if he’s reading my mind. ‘And there ahead – see it, at the foot of the hill?’
‘I see it,’ I shout, and a stone castle with a beautiful arched bridge perched on the tiniest of islands comes clearly into view. ‘Like something out ofGame of Thrones.’
‘I really must watch it,’ he says as he pulls over to the side of the road for a closer look. ‘When you work in hospo, sometimes it feels like you miss out on every cultural reference. Every summer, when the new staff arrive, is a reminder that I need to get out more.’ He laughs and turns the car off, and we sit for a moment.
‘Do I have time to go across?’ I say.
‘Next time,’ he replies, glancing down at the dashboard to check the clock himself. ‘We’d better get going or I’ll be late for my first meeting.’
‘So is Portree like the capital of Skye?’
‘I guess you could call it that.’ He laughs again. ‘I go at the beginning of the season a few times,’ he says, starting the car and doing a U-turn, and we’re heading back towards the Skye bridge again. ‘Although normally the company isn’t …’
‘As English?’ I interrupt.
‘As fun,’ he says as he glances across at me.Fun. Definitely friend-zone.
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. Even if I am in the friend-zone, who cares? It’s just nice to spend time with a good, thoughtful, kind human man.
