Page 37 of A Summer of New Beginnings
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Lachlan walked Zara out to her bike and stood there awkwardly as she loaded the panniers onto the back and examined the tyres.
‘Thanks again, Lachy. You really have been incredibly gracious, considering my imposition.’
He shrugged. ‘Nah, it’s not every day I get to help astrong independent woman. I was thinking your name might be Beyoncé until you introduced yourself officially.’ His eyestwinkled with mirth.
Zara sighed and covered her beetroot-red face with a hand. ‘Ugh, I can’t believe I said that out loud. You can blame the bulling up I had from a group of lady bikers I met the day before yesterday.’
He threw back his head and laughed, his shoulders shaking. His laugh was gravelly and sexy and the fact that she took notice of that annoyed her.
He held his hands up and continued.‘Hey, I’m all for feminism. Don’t get me wrong. And to be honest, I think the fact that you’re camping in the middle of nowhere and not running for the airport is evidence of your will and independence.’ He patted the bike. ‘Look after your passenger, eh, Silver Dickhead.’
She couldn’t help smiling now and that little twinge of sadness resurfaced. ‘Well, thank you, Lachy. You’ve been amazing.I’ll be sure to mention you in my article.’
‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I don’t want to be overrun with women looking for a husband or anything,’ he joked. ‘I’m better keeping my light under its bushel.’
She stepped towards him and was reaching up to kiss his cheek when he enveloped her in an unexpected hug. He smelled fresh and clean, not as she might have expected. She huggedhim back and closed her eyes. The warmth of his embrace comforted her and she realised she really did need to stop being so damned judgmental.
He released her and stepped back. ‘Take care of yourself, okay?’ He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘Here, it’s got my mobile number on. And my email. Not that you’ll need them, you know. But… just in case. I’m not suggesting you’llneed to be rescued or anything though, don’t take it to—’
‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the card from his fingers. ‘I appreciate it. And no, I won’t take it the wrong way.’ She glanced down at the card and read aloud. ‘“Lachlan Grant, Scouriemore Croft, Lairg.” I didn’t realise farmers had business cards.’
He nodded. ‘Erm…croftersand, aye, we have to have a means of contact and such for thesales. Plus I think I’m just used to having business cards. Old habits die hard, I guess.’
‘Crofters, yes, sorry. Right, well, I’ll be on my way. Thanks again, Lachy. I’ll remember this.’
‘Oh and… erm… better text first rather than call. I’m usually driving the quad and I don’t answer unknown numbers anyway.’ She nodded her understanding and he continued, ‘Well, bye just now. And watch out forthose sharp bends, eh? And don’t be talking to your bike too much. They call it insanity, you know.’
Zara mounted SD and set off. At the end of the track she paused and looked back over her shoulder to find Lachlan still standing there. He raised his hand in a wave and she reciprocated before focusing on the road and leaving the croft.
*
She had calculated that she was only fifteen miles behindher schedule and, after hearing Lachy talk about the orgasm-inducing hot chocolate on offer at Balnakeil, she decided she would make the detour. After all, it was those kinds of places that would be of interest to people reading her article. Places to eat were definitely a priority in her mind – but maybe that was simply because she had an increased appetite with all the exercise. Whatever thereason, the thought of hot chocolate plagued her mind and she knew it was an itch she would absolutely be scratching.
The little craft village at Balnakeil was intriguing and made up of a collection of small buildings that had previously formed an old warning station built in the fifties when the cold war was at its peak. These days the buildings had been transformed into bookshops and craftshops. Some had colourful artwork painted on their exteriors and each was unique. She locked up her bike and removed her helmet before wandering round each little outlet. Handmade glass, wooden artefacts and ceramics of every conceivable colour and design adorned the shelves in the little shops. She wanted to buy something from every single place but knew she was sadly limited on baggage space.
In the quirky artist’s studio she immediately fell in love with a miniature painting of Scourie bay and she had to purchase it. It would be a reminder of the kindness she had been shown and the beautiful scenery that greeted her at every turn in the road. In spite of the horrible day she’d had only yesterday, she really was warming to the Highlands and could at least appreciate why people lovedit so much – even if it wasn’t a place she could live.
She thanked the artist and walked along the curved path, following the signposts for Cocoa Mountain. The aroma that infiltrated her nostrils when she opened the door was sweet and tantalising. Her mouth watered as she stood before the glass cases that were filled with delectable-looking pieces of chocolate heaven. She peered up at the drinksmenu and the variety of hot chocolates on offer seemed too good to be true. Which should she choose? They all sounded amazing. After much deliberation she chose one and ordered it. She took a seat by the window overlooking the complex and was soon presented with a mug drizzled with melted chocolate round the edges and fresh cream dolloped on the top. She closed her eyes and took a sip. The liquidwas velvety smooth and as the dark sweetness hit her taste buds she had to stifle a groan of sheer pleasure.Lachy was right. This is divine.She took out her tablet and tried to put down in words a vivid enough description of the drink that readers of the article would want to visit and try it for themselves.No one should miss out on this,she surmised.
Trying to savour the mug of indulgence,she drank it slowly and languorously; enjoying every single mouthful as if it were the first. But all too soon it was gone. She was on the verge of ordering another when a group of cyclists walked in, dragging her back to reality and the cycle ahead of her. As she walked back to where she had left her bike she tried to take in as much of the place as she could before she had to leave. She tookphotos on her newly charged phone – another thanks to Lachy – and smiled as she mounted her titanium steed once more.
Her next stop was a funny little place named Smoo Cave. It sounded like somewhere you would find an old dragon hiding out. She managed to tag along on a tour that was just about to leave as she arrived and, along with the other intrigued visitors, she walked along, wondering whaton earth she was about to see. A narrow path led from the car park where she left her bike and wound its way down towards the wide opening in the rocks that faced the sea.
Zara snapped photo after photo, all the time grinning and gasping along with the other members of the group as the guide regaled them with stories of the cave’s past. It was an eerie yet simultaneously wonderful place to seeand yet another place she would no doubt remember for a long time to come.
Cycling along with ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ playing in her mind, Zara eventually arrived at Tongue. The campsite was located with a fantastic view of Ben Loyal in the distance. She had made up her time but it had been hard going. Once her tent was set up, she sat beside it and tucked into the home-made bread and pâté thatLachlan had packed for her. He had been quite self-deprecating about his bread, but it was delicious. Fresh and crusty. There wasn’t much that could better home-made bread. The tablet melted on her tongue and she relished the grainy consistency. It was different from fudge and possibly sweeter but, wow, it was so good.
As the sun began to set she climbed into the tent and decided that after she’dmade some notes, she would make the most of the peace and quiet and get to sleep early. Sleep came easily and she dreamed of hot chocolate, dragons and wide-mouthed caves. And of handsome Scottish men who could cookandfix bicycles.
