Page 12 of Scotlander

A tiny sliver of annoyance slid under her skin. She was the problem solver around TiTs. But before it could fester, Valentina’s words slipped back into a loop in her head: Sometimes you have to step away from who you think you are . . .

‘So!’ She scored off number one on their list. ‘Let’s do something on your list.’

Not that he’d said he had one, but surely he wasn’t like James Bond, able to jump on a plane for two weeks without doing anything to prep?

She’d known Gabe a sum total of seven hours now, and still knew very few personal facts about him other than a familiarity with his gene pool. On the plus side, he was much easier to be with than her first impression had led her to believe. He was kind, charming, took shots of tabasco-laden rum like he’d been born to it and, yes, he made her tummy flutter.

Gabe blinked at her a moment or two and then said, ‘It’s going to be freezing in Scotland.’

She snorted. ‘In October? It’s, like, a hundred degrees here.’

Without a hint of a smile he said, ‘Things are a little chillier in Scotland.’

He held up the very scant brochure and wiggled it between them. Her eyes snagged on Catalogue Kilt Man and her heartbeat did a little Highland Fling.

‘Earth to Willa?’ Gabe was waving his hand in front of her eyes. ‘Are you equipped for this?’

She took the brochure and, after another quick glance at Catalogue Kilt Man flipped it over to the printed side and read out loud: ‘“Welcome to the world’s first and only Authentic Fully Immersive Jacobite Outlander Experience.”’ She raised her eyebrows and threw Gabe a sheepish look. ‘I’m not entirely sure I know what a Jacobite is.’

He shrugged as if that was perfectly normal and said it had to do with a rebellion against the English and Bonnie Prince Charlie, a royal from the House of Stuart.

‘So, we’re not going to be running into Mel Gibson and a bunch of guys wearing blue on their faces?’

He shook his head and gave his chin a comedic scholarly stroke. ‘I think we are past the blue-war-paint era of Scottish history.’

‘I’m going to have to trust you on that one.’

‘There is always Google.’ He pointed at her phone.

‘What? And ruin the surprise?’

He gave her a look that read, I’m all for ruining the surprise if it means being prepared.

‘No.’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘Valentina loved surprises. She’ll want us to go in blind. Well, mostly blind.’ She tapped the paper. ‘Here’re the activities we have in store. Cloth dyeing—’

‘What? Like batik?’

Now it was her turn to give him an I don’t think so look. ‘I’m pretty sure the olden days Scots weren’t known for tie-dye.’ She read again. ‘Knitting lessons, tea-leaf readings, sword fighting—’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I hope we don’t have to fight each other.’

He flashed her a film-star grin and in an accent she was guessing was meant to be Scottish said, ‘Never, lassie. I’ll no’ see you murdhered by my own fair hand.’

‘Why, thank you,’ she chirped. ‘Otherwise Valentina will have to kill you with a lightning spear.’ They both laughed, then frowned and, to ward off another rush of emotion, she wiggled the paper. ‘There isn’t much more information. Just lots of “authentic” this and olde worlde that. I’m guessing it means we’ll be eating hunks of meat with our hands and sleeping in luxurious four-poster beds with quilts stitched by spinster aunties. That’s how it works in castles, right?’

‘My experience in the world of castles is relatively limited, but . . .’ He trailed off, looking out into the middle distance as if trying to gather together all his castle experience so he could impart great wisdom. He turned to her eventually and said, ‘I’m going back to my original point. It’s going to be freezing. Do you fancy a bit of shopping?’

Chapter Six

Shopping with Gabriel Martinez was like being Queer Eyed by a straight guy. Deep immersion in awesome sauce.

Flinging back the curtain to her changing room, she pranced out and did a twirl in front of him and laughed an unfamiliar tinkly laugh of joy when he gave her fifth and final ensemble – a puffa jacket that was, effectively a sleeping bag – the thumbs-up. She struck a pose. ‘I can’t decide if I feel like Adventure Barbie or a Bear Grylls version of Pretty Woman.’

He gave her an assessing frown. ‘I’m thinking more . . . North Pole Gal Godot.’

She grinned at him and gave her hair a saucy flick. ‘I’ll take that.’ She paraded around in a circle and flicked some invisible reins for a fleet of invisible reindeer. ‘To the Highlands, Rudolph!’

He grinned back. ‘You look good, guapita.’

Their eyes caught and a ridiculous thrill swept through her. Who even was she right now? Someone confident? Someone pretty? Someone happy enough in her skin to actually let herself become attracted to this guy? He was ambrosia to the eyeballs, so, her body was all in. But her brain kept raising its hand to timorously ask if things weren’t a bit more complicated. The fact he was a connection to Valentina meant he could be a mullet-wearing hotdog-eating champion and she’d still want to spent time with him. Besties like Val were unicorns. What they’d had was rare and so, so painful to lose. Valentina, in her wisdom, had known Willa would be lost without her and had handed her a lifeline. But was it meant to be a lifeline complete with tingles in her lady fandango? Or one where Friend Zone lines were very clearly drawn in the sand?