— Ewan has this idea that… well, that we might need time alone. To “strengthen our story.”
— Ah.
That single word carries more subtext than an entire season of reality TV.
— He means well, I add awkwardly as we pull away from the castle.
— I’m sure he does.
An awkward silence settles in the car. I focus on the winding road, desperately searching for a topic.
— Did you sleep well? I ask finally, immediately wincing at how banal it sounds.
She was already asleep when I came in to take the couch. And I left before she woke up.
— I think I should be asking you that.
I shrug.
— The couch isn’t as bad as it looks, I deflect.
In reality, it’s worse…
— I had a nightmare where your grandmother was chasing me with a giant bagpipe while shouting dance instructions in Gaelic, but other than that, yes, I slept well.
I can’t help but smile.
— After your Quaich ceremony lesson, that seems predictable.
— That tradition of drinking from the same cup is charming, but why does it have to be straight whisky? I mean, a cocktail would be so much nicer.
— Suggesting a cocktail at a traditional Scottish ceremony would be like putting ketchup on haggis.
— Speaking of haggis, is it served at breakfast? Because honestly, I’m not sure I can handle sheep organs before noon.
— You’re safe. Breakfast’s in the backpack. Scones, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, and fruit. Nothing that’s been inside a sheep’s stomach, I promise.
— You’re my hero, she sighs dramatically.
The silence that follows is more comfortable. Jane watches the landscape through the window, clearly fascinated by the hills rolling past in the morning mist.
— It’s really beautiful, she murmurs. So green.
— That’s the upside of all the rain you complain about.
— I’m starting to appreciate Scotland’s charm. It’s like the landscape is alive… like it’s breathing.
— That’s exactly it, I say, surprised by her insight. The Highlands are a living organism. They’re constantly changing with the seasons, the light, the clouds…
I stop myself, aware of my sudden enthusiasm.
— Sorry. I get a bit lyrical when it comes to this place.
— Don’t apologize. It’s refreshing to see you passionate about something that isn’t an Excel spreadsheet.
— I’m passionate about plenty of things! I protest.
— Really? Like what?
