He turns abruptly toward the cliff. “Look there. See how the light hits the Old Man? Locals say it’s his hand pointing north, showing sailors the way home.”
Okay, so he wants to change the subject. Safer to talk about the landscape.
I follow his gaze. The rock face does look almost human in this light.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
His eyes find mine. “Do you want to see the view from up there? If you could.”
“I’d love to, but—”
“Right then.” He crouches down with his back to me. “Climb on.”
I blink at him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Piggyback. Unless you’d prefer a fireman’s carry, but that might be less dignified.”
I stare at his broad shoulders in complete shock. “Patrick, you cannot carry me up a mountain.”
“You’re not missing the best view in Scotland because of tired legs.”
The matter-of-fact way he says it, like carrying a full-grown woman up a rocky incline is just a normal activity, makes my chest go tight and warm.
“But I’m heavy—”
“You weigh about as much as my rucksack. Maybe less.”
“People will stare—”
“Let them.” His voice roughens. “Get on my back, Georgie, or I’m throwing you over my shoulder. Your choice.”
The man who just told me I’ll “find someone” is now offering to carry me up a cliff like some sort of mule. Make of that what you will.
I’m still buzzing, while Patrick drives us back to Portree. One hand is on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear stick, forearm flexing every time he shifts. The nerve of him, looking this calm and gorgeous after carrying me up a mountain.
“I still can’t believe you gave me a piggyback,” I say, the laugh bubbling up again. “That German couple looked ready to call mountain rescue. They probably have photos of us that’ll end up in some tourist safety brochure about what not to do on Scottish mountains.”
He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road, but I catch the slight quirk of his mouth.
My phone erupts into the Doctor Who theme tune—a ringtone choice I immediately regret as Jake’s name flashes across the screen.
“It’s Jake.”
The elephant in the room that we’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.
Patrick glances over. “You answering?”
“No.” I jab decline so fast I nearly drop the thing. “I’ll call him later.”
The noise dies. Relief lasts three seconds before Patrick’s phone lights up and buzzes on the dash.
I groan. “We can’tbothnot answer him.”
Patrick slows the Land Rover and taps the screen. Jake’s voice booms cheerful and loud enough to fill the whole car. “Hey, mate!”
Patrick’s jaw tightens. “Jake. How’s the expedition going?”
I sink lower in my seat, irrationally convinced that if I stay very still, Jake won’t somehow sense my presence through the phone connection.
