Page 36 of The Great British Bachelor Chase

“Fine then.” Fraser shrugs, producing his checkbook again. “Two hundred pounds, and throw in the fruit cup, too.”

I do the exchange rate math. The man is willing to pay me over $250 for a limp breakfast roll and a few chunks of cantaloupe? “You’re insane,” I inform him. “You really think you can solve every problem with cash now, don’t you?”

“Not all of them,” Fraser smirks. “Just this particular one. So, do we have a deal?”

A perverse part of me wants to see just how high he’ll go—how much money does a Suit Guy make these days, I wonder—but I can’t bring myself to haggle anymore. ‘Fine,” I sigh. “Deal.”

Fraser calmly writes the check and slides it across the table before helping himself to breakfast from my stash. I look at the neat print on the check. It’s for real. “Who even writes checks anymore?” I ask in amazement.

“It’s a business expense,” he replies. “I keep track for the tax deductions.”

“Of course you do.”

Time was, Fraser MacKenzie dug fifty-pence pieces out of the back of the sofa to buy new charcoals at the art supply store. Now, he’s tracking write-offs with all the passion of a constipated accountant.

He tears into the sandwich and demolishes it in a matter of bites. Am I turned on watching this man consume carbs?

Yes, yes I am.

“Worth it?” I ask.

“Every penny,” he grins, with his mouth still full.

I try not to smile back, and snap my attention to my magazine, instead.Don’t be lulled into lusting after him, I remind myself sternly. I need to remember the heartbreak, and mixed messages, and oh yes, the fact he bolted after making out with me and hasn’t mentioned it since.

I get comfortable for the journey, digging out my headphones, and studiously ignoring Fraser while he reads his copy ofFinancial Times. Since there don’t seem to be any podcasts with tips on being trapped with your ex for a cross-country trek, I listen to music and watch the city skyline give way to the open country beyond. Fields, and woodland, and small, quaint villages… The English countryside speeds past the windows outside as we head north, under a cloudless sky.

After about an hour, the train slows, pulling into a small, middle-of-nowhere station. A few people depart the train, and I yawn, impatient to get moving again—and to catch up with Hugo’s head-start. But the train stays stationary, and the minutes tick past.

We’re not going anywhere.

Finally, I take out my headphones and look over at Fraser. “What’s the holdup, do you think?” I ask. “This is supposed to be the fast train.”

He looks around. “Not a clue. I’ll go find out.”

He stands to go investigate, when the PA system crackles to life. “We apologize for the delay, but there are leaves on the line ahead. We’re being held at the station, until they can get a crew out to clear the tracks.”

Fraser sits back down with a sigh.

“Leaves?” I ask in disbelief. “The train is stuck here because of leaves? For how long?”

“You think I know?” Fraser asks, looking frustratingly calm.

A train employee is making his way through the carriage, so I flag him down with a smile. “Do you know how long this leaf clearing might take?” I ask hopefully. “See, we’re on kind of a tight schedule here.”

“Sorry, love,” the man shrugs. “But it’s the weekend, so I wouldn’t expect to be moving anytime soon.”

“But we need to get to Glasgow as soon as possible!”

“What can I tell you?” he shrugs again. “This train isn’t going anywhere. Might even get cancelled, once they realize there are no crews around.”

He ambles off, leaving me to think fast. If the train isn’t moving… Then I will.

I stand, grabbing my backpack and sweeping my snacks into the bag.

“Where are you going?” Fraser frowns. “You heard him, we’ll be here a while.”

“I’m not waiting,” I inform him, determined. “I’m going to Scotland. Now.”

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