Ullapool, Scottish Highlands
Dimples are just fucking adorable, aren't they? I once read somewhere that they are actually a flaw; their existence is due to the irregular growth of one of the face muscles . . . Dimples, therefore, truly must be one of the happiest anomalies in existence.
At least, that's all I can think later today, as the five of us sit outside the pub, and I watch Owen laughing with Nessa about . . . Something. Christ, I really do need to start paying better attention. But that dimpled grin is ridiculously distracting.
We've made it to Ullapool, a picturesque village on the west of the North Coast 500 route. Despite its small size, it's probably the largest place we've visited since leaving Inverness on Monday morning. I'm almost not used to having this many people around me anymore.
The table we're seated at is at the edge of a pretty sea loch by the name of Loch Broom, and it's really quite relaxing to watch the ferries dock and reload, slowly leading passengers away to some of Scotland's most remote islands. For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to be one of those passengers. I bet the Outer Hebrides are beautiful. Briefly, I find myself entertaining a new Owen-related fantasy . . . But this one involves us hopping on a boat together to visit these places rather than writhing about naked in bed.
What is wrong with me?
"So where would you like to go tomorrow, folks?" Owen asks us now. As we're staying here for two nights, it gives us more of an opportunity to explore the area directly surrounding Ullapool. "If you want more beach time, there are a few good ones nearby."
"Are they as pretty as Balnakeil was?" Debbie challenges. "Because I can't imagine that."
His smile widens cheekily. "I know it seems impossible, but the beach down at Mellon Udrigle is something pretty special too."
So are you, Owen Sullivan, I think. So are you.
He catches me watching him, and the grin slides right off his face, dimples retreating and eyes briefly darkening to a dark burning bronze shade. Our gazes hold for the shortest of moments, but it feels like all of my internal organs compact together at the intense expression on his face. Then he snaps out of it as if realising he's zoned out on his own conversation.
Seems I'm not the only person who's having trouble concentrating.
"Red Point Beach, too," he adds hurriedly, rubbing awkwardly at his face. I do love when he blushes. "It's probably a little far to go tomorrow, but we can take a detour there en route to Torridon on Friday."
"That other beach you said sounds good; I'd be up for that anyway," I say quickly. I've already forgotten the name of it - Melanie Uglier? Nah, that can't be right.
"Can we also make a pitstop at Corrieshalloch Gorge?" Nessa asks. "I'd like to see the waterfall there." That girl loves a good waterfall.
He nods. "Sure. It's not far from here, so we can easily visit there on the way."
"Yay." She checks her watch. "Oops, it's nearly time for dinner! We'd better get a move on."
"Sure you're all gonna be able to eat?" I can't resist a dig at my friends. "Your stomachs all settled after last night's mystery illness?"
Michelle barely hides her smile as she rubs her tummy gingerly. "It was touch and go for a while, but I think we're all back to normal now."
"How convenient." Owen shoots the ghost of a wink in my direction, one side of his mouth curling in a smirk. Why does he have to be so damn cute?
YOU ARE READING
The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)
ChickLitI 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...
