Page 66 of A Scottish Island Summer

Chapter Sixteen

Logan slid me a mysterious smile when he dropped me back at The Gorse. ‘Fancy seeing an old lighthouse at dusk?’

I tried to look enthusiastic.

He must’ve noticed my expression, because he laughed. ‘You won’t be disappointed, I promise you. Wrap up warm and I’ll bring a picnic. I’ll collect you at four thirty this afternoon, OK?’

Then he was off, streaking down Portree High Street in his rattling truck.

Was this a date? No, of course, it wasn’t, I reassured my squirming tummy.

It was just an evening when we were happening to meet up … and Logan was planning to bring some food. It was no big deal.

But the more I churned it over in my head back in my guest room, the more it sounded to me like it could be a date of sorts.

Oh, this was crazy! I tried to banish the notion. I insisted to myself that it was just so I could get more material for my Skye book. No doubt, it would also be a good excuse for Logan to mull over what he intended to do about finding Campbell Adams—if indeed this bearded phantom was him. Logan seemed adamant that he was.

I screwed up my face as I peered at the contents of my wardrobe, which was crammed into the room at the foot of my bed. The weather was so changeable in these parts, it made your head spin, so after a hot shower and having washed my hair, I bundled myself into my dressing gown. Then I took another critical look at my clothes.

Hold on. I was doing it again, treating this evening like it was some big thing between Logan and me.

I was allowing my imagination to get ahead of me.

In the end, I opted for a dark brown crocheted jumper I’d bought when Iona had dragged me round the shops for warmer garments, and paired that with my matching, slim-fitting jeans. If I teamed those with my walking boots and rose gold earrings, it would look quite snazzy.

I finished applying my lipstick and fired my hair up into a tousled ponytail, once I’d given it a blast with my hairdryer.

The sky was beginning to morph into a soupy, early evening hue of dessert tangerines and reds when Logan pulled up outside The Gorse to collect me.

I noted he’d changed into a black shirt and dark combats, and his hair carried an extra dash of styling wax.

As soon as I settled myself into the passenger side, my nose detected the irresistible, rich scent of Scottish salmon.

I glanced around. There was a wicker hamper nestled on the back seat of the truck, together with a fringed electric blue and white tartan blanket.

Logan caught me staring at it. ‘Salmon and crab sandwiches, haggis and beer toasties, salted crackers with Hebridean Blue Cheese and there’s a flask of tea to wash it down with.’

I gawped at the picnic basket and then back at Logan. ‘You’ve gone to all this trouble for me?’

‘I had a bit of help,’ he confessed with a shy smile. ‘I told Iona I was taking you out tonight and she insisted she give me a hand, even though she thinks I’m a prize dick at the best of times. Especially at the moment.’

Taking me out tonight. His words rippled through me. ‘Thank you. It sounds delicious.’ I could feel my cheeks zing. ‘And I’m impressed.’

Logan eased the truck away from the kerb, taking us towards our mystery destination. ‘You look lovely.’

There was that inward ripple again. ‘Thank you. You look … very … handsome.’

‘I’m not bad after a wash, am I?’

I laughed. ‘You’re fishing again for more compliments.’

Logan drove us out of town. ‘Wait till you see this sunset.’

I wasn’t imagining it, was I? There was a crackle of something between us.

‘It has to be seen to be believed,’ he continued, his hands controlling the steering wheel.

‘And does this place happen to have a link to Beardy McBeardface or Campbell Adams, by any chance?’