Page 39 of A Scottish Island Summer

‘You remembered the name.’ He smiled, dancing around my question. ‘I’m impressed.’

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. ‘Well, it’s hardly understated.’

There was another humorous look from him. ‘I guess not.’

I surveyed Logan as he slowed down to allow some meandering cattle to trot across the road. ‘So, do you?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Do you use social media for your business?’

‘I’ve dabbled.’

‘Dabbled?’ I gasped in horror. ‘Dabbled?!’

Logan looked amused. ‘By your reaction, anyone would think I’d just committed an armed bank robbery. I’ve been on Facebook in the past and a little on Twitter.’

‘It’s called X now,’ I explained. I blinked over at him. ‘And that’s it?’ My voice was incredulous.

‘We don’t all run our lives through a mobile phone screen, Darcie.’ He gestured with one hand at my phone. ‘I’m a geologist, remember? I love being outside and in the moment.’ His eyes shone as he glanced out of his driver side window. ‘I want to see everything, taste everything and smell everything as it happens. Skye is like this big jewellery box with so many natural treasures you can never get to the bottom of it.’

The way Logan was talking about the island he called home, with so much passion, made my mouth break into a smile. Then my ambitious, social influencer persona dismissed that. ‘But nowadays, you need to publicise your business. You’ll get left behind otherwise. Does Rock God do well?’

Logan’s expression clouded. It was like the sun was being eclipsed by a thunderstorm. ‘It does OK. It ticks along.’

I twisted round in my seat with growing horror. ‘It ticks along?! You don’t want that.’

‘Don’t I?’

I shook my head, exasperated. ‘Of course not. You want your business to thrive and that means engaging with social media. Putting yourself out there.’

‘Right.’

Logan gestured to the block of public showers coming into view in front of us.

I don’t think I’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

‘Time to freshen up, Ms Freeman.’

* * *

The shower was glorious.

OK, so it wasn’t in some sumptuous spa with gold fittings and fluffy towels, but it had hot, gushing water and the facilities were spotless.

Once I’d scrubbed and shampooed my hair, I slapped conditioner on the ends and took a moment to savour the warmth of the water on my skin. I felt like a new woman when I emerged, all polished, pink and shiny.

I studied myself in the public shower mirrors.

My face was squeaky clean and flushed.

I lathered myself in my favourite macadamia scented body lotion, before throwing my clean jeans back on, together with fresh underwear and my monochrome, stripey V-neck sweater. I sprayed a cloud of my caramel-scented perfume in the air, walked through it and I was good to go.

I stuffed my old clothes, towel and toiletries back in my rucksack and caught up with Logan, who was waiting for me outside the shower block.

His dark brown hair was damp and dishevelled from his shower and he smelled of pine forest.

He’d changed into a chunky, dark blue jumper and matching canvas trousers.