I can only see half of his face, reflected in the mirror at the front of the bus, and part of that is obscured by the peak of the black company-branded cap he's wearing. But I can see enough to glean that there's a strong jaw covered in scruff. A wi...
"You two know each other?" Michelle asks in surprise as I recover my senses and move away from Owen. I wish I hadn't already registered how amazingly good he smells or the way his hands burn against my back.
"Sort of," I mutter dismissively. I put as much distance between us as possible, but I'm sure I see hurt flicker in his eyes. Surely not? If anything, it should be me who is wounded by what happened. "From a long time ago." A subject change seems necessary. "So . . . We were getting fish suppers?"
A few minutes later, we're seated around an outside table at the pub, awaiting lunch. Well, apart from Owen, who says he had a big breakfast before he picked us up. He's drinking a pint of Coke and sitting opposite me, and I'm desperately trying not to look at him as I sip on my fresh orange and lemonade.
But he's talking now, and I'm forced to turn my attention to him again. "So, I just want to do a wee introduction and get an idea of your expectations for this trip," he's saying. His easy confidence and general laidback demeanour somehow manage to impress me and raise my hackles at the same time.
"I'm Owen, for the benefit of those of you who haven't met me before." His eyes slip briefly towards me again before focussing on Nessa instead. "I'm the owner of Scots-2-Go, and I'll be your guide for the next six days.
"My understanding of your situation is that you were meant to be going abroad, and your holiday fell through, right?" We all nod. "I realise this isn't going to be the same, by any means, but I'll try and make this as entertaining as possible."
"Good luck with that,' I snort, under my breath, and I notice his relaxed pose briefly stiffen before he goes on.
"As you might already know, I was available due to a last-minute cancellation; a group of four couples who were meant to be coming over from the States. My tours are normally pretty structured, but I'm happy to just go with the flow with your group. We've obviously already got accommodation booked, so we may be slightly limited by location each day. . . But if there's anything specific you want - or don't want - to see or do, I can try and make it work."
"That's great, thanks, Owen!" Nessa says, smiling reassuringly at him. "Hopefully, we won't be too demanding on you."
"I'm sure I've had worse," he laughs. He passes around copies of a small pamphlet. "These are the details of my standard North Coast 500 tour here, with the attractions I usually cover. So you can just have a look at your leisure, and let me know."
He spreads a map out on the table and starts pointing out various spots on the route that are particularly popular, as well as some hidden gems. The North Coast 500, in case you don't know, is a roughly five hundred mile loop of road around that very top part of the Scottish mainland. Apparently, it's heavily marketed, but, given my decided lack of interest in Scottish travel, I had barely been aware of its existence until last week.
Nessa told me that normally, people booking these tours have to pay a hefty, non-refundable deposit, so we're actually getting this holiday, complete with the already-booked hotel rooms, for an absolute steal. That's possibly the only silver lining in this typical Scottish rain cloud, as far as I'm concerned.
Owen is already showing himself to be extremely passionate and knowledgeable about the area. I watch his fingers gently tracing the lines on the map as he speaks, finding myself wishing I was wearing make-up right now. And maybe something a bit more glamorous than a sweatshirt and leggings.
The problem is that Owen looks way too good. It's sickening, actually. He's barely changed in ten years unless you count the addition of the stubble and the glasses. And neither of those extras hinder his adorability rating; if anything, they just enhance it. I'd somehow forgot how cute his dimples are - the one in his right cheek oddly deeper than the one in his left, another teeny flaw that just somehow adds to his attractiveness. He was always sun-kissed from the outdoors anyway (no mean feat in Scotland!) but he's more tanned than ever. And his eyes are still insanely pretty - that light hazel brown colour that can look somehow gold in certain lights.
He's filled out a fair bit, I note unwillingly. Even the black polo shirt, which matches his cap and is clearly part of his uniform, can't hide the hard planes of his body, the broad shoulders, the toned arms. Do not drool, Mirren.
"Does anyone have any questions?" He asks now, looking around the group. It feels like he's been trying really hard to make eye contact with me, especially now I've taken my sunglasses off. I, meanwhile, have been putting the same amount of effort into avoiding meeting his gaze. I'm still more than a little flummoxed from the hug.
"Any chance you could ditch the uniform going forward?" I ask. I'm sure that's not exactly the type of question he meant, but hey-ho, he did ask. "It makes me feel like I'm on some sort of school trip."
I'm aware I sound oddly aggressive. I know the other girls are eyeballing me curiously - well, Nessa is straight out glaring; I can feel angry laserbeams burning holes in the side of my head. Owen merely shrugs and smiles, though. He pulls the cap off his head and runs a hand through his messy, short brown hair.
"I can wear whatever you want," he says softly, golden eyes snagging on my face. Lingering there. The smile transforms itself into more of a smirk. "I'll probably keep my top on for now, though . . . If that's okay with you?"
My heart is in my mouth. Along with my foot, probably. "That's fine," I bite out, now having to force myself to look away.
"Anyone else have anything to ask?" He adds. "Fashion related or otherwise?" There's a collective shake of heads. He drains his drink and stands, just as our food turns up. "I'm going to head back to the bus, so just come back when you're ready, alright? No hurry."
I bite into a chip, ignoring the three pairs of eyes staring at me. "What?" I ask eventually.
"What the hell was that?" Debbie fires back. Her big blue eyes look incredulous. "Are you trying to get our holiday cancelled before it's began? He's probably going to drive away and leave us stranded here!"
Would that be such a bad thing? I shrug. "The guy winds me up," I say.
"Hmmm." Michelle pops a bit of batter in her mouth. "There's definitely more to it than that."
I glance pleadingly at Nessa, and her stern face softens. "I think Mirren is too delicate to be interrogated right now. Let's leave it until later, eh? "And maybe you can try to be a bit nicer to Owen in the meantime?" She adds pointedly in my direction.
I nod reluctantly. "Sure." Probably best that I do, to be honest. It's not like I really want him to know how much he hurt me, after all. But I'm still trying to get used to him reappearing in my life so suddenly.
This is really not shaping up to be a relaxing holiday at all . . .
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