‘It’s important to know where your food comes from,’ he said at one point. She nodded and grinned at him.
‘Exactly,’ she said, and proceeded to tell him all about attending the cookery course in Ireland and what she’d learned there about the Slow Food Movement.
‘We’re on the same page,’ said John, holding out his hand and shaking hers vigorously. ‘You’re a woman after my own heart. I’ve been banging on about organic sustainability and slow food for years. You need to speak to…’
For the next ten minutes he reeled off names and wrote down contact numbers and email addresses. And just like that, Izzy found herself with suppliers for all her meat and fish, vegetables and condiments.
‘You’ll do well, I think. There’s a chap opened a restaurant in the town and he’s got a fancy menu but he canna get half the produce half the year, so it’s all shipped in. Madness when there’s so much great produce right on his doorstep.’
‘I suppose with a smaller operation like mine, I can afford to offer seasonal dishes,’ said Izzy diplomatically. ‘I’m not planning to have a menu. There’ll be a dish of the day for guests. If they don’t fancy it, they can go out.’
‘Excellent. What I can do is call you when I get anything special in, like a couple of rabbits or some grouse. And Kenny the fish guy, he’ll do the same if they get something unexpected in the nets.’ There was a pause and then he said, ‘I’d love to sample some of your cooking.’ His eyes twinkled with charming mischief. ‘It sounds like you’ve had an excellent teacher and I do love my food. We could make quite a partnership.’
Izzy raised an eyebrow, unsure if he were flirting with her or whether he was very hot on customer service. ‘You move fast, Mr Stewart.’
‘John. And round here you have to. Most of the bonnie lasses are spoken for.’
When she went to leave half an hour later, she was laden with smoked salmon that had been smoked on the premises, two jars of Finlay Sisters Jam – made where the sisters lived just a couple of miles away – a pack of Cumberland sausages made by an organic farm at the other side of the loch and a vegan haggis, of all things.
‘I’ve been trying to get rid of the haggis for months now,’ John said with a cheerful grin, as he packed it into the top of a brown paper bag.
‘This is really kind of you,’ she said as he handed the bulging bag over.
‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘It’s good business. And…’ He paused, his eyebrows rising. ‘Perhaps you’ll come to the ceilidh with me?’
Izzy stared at him. He really did move fast. ‘I’m … I’m not sure if I’m going.’
‘Despite the size twelves’ – he gave his feet a self-deprecating glance – ‘I’m no such a bad dancer. And I can introduce you to a few folk.’
Izzy smiled at him. He wasn’t bad looking, with his mop of dirty blond hair and steely grey eyes. She made a snap decision. ‘Okay.’ It had been a long time since she’d been on a date; perhaps this was the fresh start she needed.
He beamed at her. ‘Excellent. I’ve written my phone number down for you. You text me and I’ll text you. I’ll even come pick you up if you like.’
‘Let me see. Duncan is talking about going and he might want a lift,’ said Izzy,
‘I don’t mind taking Duncan along. He doesn’t get out to see his old cronies very often.’
Izzy’s heart softened and she smiled up at John, admiring his kindness.
‘Just ring’ – he smiled at her again – ‘whenever you want … to place an order or something. I’m always happy to come up and deliver. And perhaps we can fix up a date for you to cook me that meal.’
November
Chapter Eight
Izzy hadn’t been on a date in a very long time and she couldn’t help the nerves that jangled through her system as she tidied up the kitchen on the day of the ceilidh.
‘Isabel McBride, will you stop fussing around this kitchen and go get yourself ready,’ Xanthe cried when Izzy started wiping the front of the fridge down.
‘Yes, go, Izzy. Me and Jim will clean up,’ said Jeanette.
Izzy put down her cloth and smiled at her mother, Duncan, Jim and Jeanette, who were all at the kitchen table finishing off a fish pie she’d made with the local smoked haddock, which had turned a distinctive saffron yellow in the smoking process. Jeanette and Jim had decided to duck out of the dance and were taking the estate Land Rover to Fort William to go to the cinema.
‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ said Izzy. John had arranged to pick her up at seven.
She huffed out a half-laugh to herself. Could it even be called a date when her mother and Duncan had scrounged a lift with them?
‘Go now,’ said Jim, standing up. ‘Otherwise, I’ll carry ye up there.’
