Highland Fling - A Funny Chick Lit Romance (COMPLETE)

Biting off More Than You Can Chew

 "You're working late. I don't usually see you at this time."

It's nine pm at night and I'm still at Jack's. Once I'd finished dealing with Dexter's demands—I'm on the fifth lot of templates for the product pages, a batch that looks remarkably like the second set of designs I presented him with and he rejected—I decided to make a start on the Lochalshie website. It is charming, but the design is a mish-mash and there's no consistent use of font, styles or pictures.

"Bitten off. Chew. More than you can," I told myself. "Rearrange these words, Gaby, so they form a popular saying. And then promise yourself you will never do it again."

Luckily for me, Jolene is nothing like Dexter. When I emailed her my first suggestions, she rang me back straight away. "Gaby, these are so beautiful." I sucked my cheeks in waiting for her to tell me to make them stand-out awesome by changing them completely, but no. Her 'beautiful' means just that. "I can't wait to run a social media campaign when the new website is up and running. It'll make everyone come here!" 

Nothing like a bit of pressure eh? I hope the villagers don't blame me when visitors don't flock to the games because a few carnival rides and Psychic Josie doesn't do it for them. Even if she isn't a demanding client, it doesn't change the fact the website needs a complete overhaul. It's got hundreds of pages too. Who knew that one tiny little village had so much to tell the world? Seeing as I had access to the site, I did a little editing on the video of me rescuing Scottie. It's too hard to whiten teeth and eyes on a moving image, but I blurred my face and hair a little and the wardrobe malfunction is no longer visible. I'd rather not be remembered for my nipples.

When I heard the door open and Jack come in, my heart did its treacherous soar to the ceiling, despite me telling it to stay right where it was. Off-limits, remember. Belongs to Kirsty or about to do so again.

I swing around in my seat. "So are you. Working late, that is." He looks tired, I decide. Not that it does anything to distract from his appearance. Jack's got the looks that carry off tiredness beautifully—light shadows under his eyes that only emphasise their size and a droop to his shoulders that begs a girl to throw her arms around him. I'm almost out of my seat involuntarily, ready to do so.

"It's always like this in the summer. But I don't work October through to April, so it's bearable."

Aprrrill. Bearrrable. Jack's voice suits his cosy home. The words swirl comfortably in the air.

"Where were you today?" I ask, as he dumps a rucksack full of water bottles and Avon Skin So Soft on the sofa.

"Clava Cairns—the standing stones just north of Inverness. Everyone wanted to touch them to see if they vibrated. I've no idea why."

I'm about jump in and tell him when I realise he's being ironic. Clava Cairns is meant to be the place where Claire Randall travels through time from the 1900s to the 1700s in the first Outlander book. If you can feel the thrumming of stones, it means you're a time traveller like her. Imagine the explaining he would need to do for that when he took his tour party back to their hotel minus two people who'd inadvertently ended up in the 18th century.

"I bet they all asked to get their picture taken with you standing next to the stones," I say and am rewarded when he smiles at me, the upturn of his mouth banishing the shadows and lighting up his eyes.

"Want to take a guess how many photos they took?"

I'll bet. He's dressed in the black kilt and tee shirt that seems to be the standard tour guide uniform. He's paired the kilt with long socks and a pair of Doc Martens to make it more modern and less tartan shortbread tin. I sneak another look at his knees. I'm not sure why I'm so fascinated by them. Not many other women would say, "It was his knees, m'lud!" when they stood in front of a judge, accused of a ferocious crush on a man. There's a tiny smudge of dirt on one and I long to lean over and wipe it off. I resist. Doing that to a stranger would count as assault, surely.