Page 36 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘Perfect, I’m almost finished. Can I help with anything?’

‘It’s all under control, but thank you anyway.’

‘No, thankyou. It smells divine.’

‘Wait until you taste it first, before passing judgement.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be delicious,’ she insisted, following him into the kitchen where a table only big enough for two had been laid.

‘Sit down,’ Mack said, flicking a tea towel onto his shoulder as he took the lid off a wide pan and stirred the aromatic golden contents.

Freya’s tummy gurgled loudly, and she winced. Thankfully, Mack didn’t appear to notice. He was busy dishing up the food into bowls: rice first, topped by the curry, and finished with a scattering of something green (parsley?) and a flatbread on the side.

‘Here you go.’ He placed the bowl in front of her.

Freya stared at it greedily. ‘I’m so looking forward to this.’

‘Me, too.’ He sat down opposite and picked up a fork. ‘Get stuck in.’

Freya didn’t need telling twice. She dived into her meal, almost inhaling it as it was so good.

‘Do you do much cooking?’ Mack asked, after the first few mouthfuls had been hungrily devoured.

‘When I remember. I have an awful habit of forgetting to buy groceries, or if I do buy them, I forget to cook them. I usually eat on campus when I’m at work. At home, I either grab whatever’s still in date or order in, unless…’ She ground to a halt.

‘Unless, what?’

‘Unless I’m seeing Hadrian, and then we usually eat out.’

‘Hadrian…?’

‘He’s my boyfriend.’

Mack’s expression didn’t change, but she sensed he was disappointed.

He broke off a piece of flatbread and dipped it in the sauce.

‘Been together long?’ he asked, before popping it in his mouth.

She must have imagined his disappointment, because now he just looked mildly interested.

‘A couple of years.’

‘I expect you’re missing him.’

Not as much as I should, she thought. ‘A bit, but I only saw him on Sunday, so I’ve not had much time to pine. Sometimes we don’t see each other for days.’

‘You don’t live together?’ He looked surprised.

‘My flat is on the ground floor, with a studio attached. His is a penthouse, with no room for a kiln.’

‘You have your own kiln?’ More surprise.

‘I do. It’s essential – renting space in a kiln would be impractical.’

‘Isn’t there one in the college you could use?’

‘There are several, but they’re for the students, as are the drying rooms. But even if I could use them, I wouldn’t. I need my own studio, my own kiln and my own space.’

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