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A couple of the other patrons shot the lanky Scotsman a curious stare, but their interest could have been attributed to his striking looks instead of anything related to the bachelor list.
The redheaded waitress who brought them their drinks was young and timid. She repeated the dinner order twice. Bella felt sorry for her. Jobs in the area couldn’t be thick on the ground. This girl was clearly uncomfortable dealing with the public. Poor thing. Fortunately, she got everything exactly right.
Bella and Ian chatted about this and that while they ate. The changeable Scottish weather. The strength of the dollar against the pound. Whether or not Scotland Yard and the FBI actually had enough personnel to keep tabs on everyone’s Internet searches.
Mostly, the conversation was dull as dirt. Bella felt foolish for having lowered her defenses so easily for no other reason than sharing a beautiful blue-skied day with a handsome man. Ian seemed distant now, though he was infinitely polite.
She decided to try one more time. “So tell me, Ian, how can you be away from your work for so long?”
He shrugged, his expression hard to read. “I never use all my vacation days, so I had plenty of time built up for a lengthy sabbatical. Plus, I’m always working in some capacity. As long as I have my laptop with me, I’m never entirely off the grid.”
“How do you get your ideas?”
Ian tapped the tines of his fork on the tablecloth, then traced an abstract design. “I could ask you the same thing about your novel. Sometimes it’s reading about another scientist’s project that jogs my brain. Maybe one day the wisp of an idea simply comes to me. Honestly, I don’t really know.”
Bella nodded slowly. “I suppose I understand that. I work from imagination, too, though in a different way. I’m always asking myself, ‘what if’? And fictional characters live inside my head. I begin to know them. Then I start to write.”
His quick grin startled her.
“We’re not so different then, are we, lass? Other than coming from opposite sides of the pond and the fact that you are most definitely female and I am not, we both like to see where our brains take us.”
“I suppose so,” she said slowly. Though in Ian’s case, his phenomenal IQ gave him the capacity to truly innovate.
When the little waitress offered dessert, Bella and Ian each declined. Ian smiled at the girl. “We’ll take the check now, please.”
“Oh, but ye must try the treacle tart. It’s the best in all of Scotland.” She seemed unduly anxious about the subject.
Bella shook her head. “None for me. Thank you.”
Ian nodded. “Nor for me. Another time perhaps.” He gave the server a gentle smile that reduced her to silent blushes. But she finally gave up on them.
Unfortunately, she also seemed absurdly slow in returning to the table with their check. The wait was so long Bella finally excused herself and went in search of the facilities. When she exited the bathroom, she had to pass by the corridor that accessed the kitchen.
The ginger-haired waitress was huddled against the wall, her back to Bella. The other woman spoke in a low voice, but Bella could hear every word.
“They’re about to leave,” the girl whispered. “I can’t hold them any longer. If ye want your photograph, ye’d best get here in a hurry.”
Bella gaped. Then she charged into action.
Returning to the dining room, she leaned down and whispered in Ian’s ear. “Hand me my purse. I have enough cash to cover this. We need to get out of here. Our doe-eyed waitress has ratted you out to the press.”
Ian blanched, but refused her offer to pay. He peeled a stack of pound notes from his wallet, tucked them beneath the salt shaker, and followed Bella to the door. Unfortunately, as soon as they peeked out, they saw the very same photographers who had besieged Bella’s hilltop home.
Now this was personal. “I saw an exit beside the loo,” she said. “Hurry.”
Ian didn’t waste time arguing. He spun on his heel and followed her, not running, but close. Bella knew she and her dinner companion must look comical to the other diners, but who really cared? Once they sneaked out the back door, they found themselves in an alleyway filled with dust bins. Ian loped to the corner of the building. “The reporters just went inside. We can make it if we hurry.”
His legs were longer, but Bella was fueled by righteous indignation. How dare these dweeby little jerks hunt an innocent man like Ian? She jumped into the driver’s seat of her brother’s Jeep, turned the key in the ignition, and peeled out of the parking lot in a flurry of gravel.
They were only twenty minutes from Portree. Bella kept her foot on the gas aggressively, but with an eye to caution. She didn’t want to collide with a hapless sheep.
When she passed town and kept on going, Ian frowned. “Where are we headed?”
“If they follow us back to my place, you’re stuck. Everyone will know where you’re staying. I’ve thought of somewhere we can hide out for a couple of hours. The reporters won’t be able to find you tonight. They’ll give up for the time being, and they still won’t be able to prove I’m the one giving you asylum.”
Ian’s grin, when she glanced sideways to see his reaction, was surprisingly carefree. “Sounds great to me.”
* * *
