‘Well, we have plenty of other things on offer,’ he said, opening the containers and handing her a plate.

There were sandwiches and pastries, a selection of cold meats and cheeses, fruit and a couple of local ciders to wash it all down with.

As they sat and ate, Elle listened to him tell her about his day and some of his plans for his property. She loved the lilt of his words as he spoke, sometimes finding herself so caught up in just listening, that she forgot to actually take in what he was saying and had to clear her throat quickly to ask him to repeat the question.

‘I asked if I was boring you with all the farm talk.’ He chuckled and Elle was once again distracted, this time by the tanned column of his broad neck.

‘Not at all. I think it’s great that you’ve found your passion.’

‘What about you?’ Stuart asked, leaning back on one elbow as he watched her lazily, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

‘Me?’ she asked, flustered. She swallowed an uncomfortable lump of sudden, inappropriate thoughts as she watched him bite into the ripe berry.

‘Your passion?’

She stared at him guiltily, wondering if he’d somehow read her thoughts.

‘The other day you mentioned you would have to return home and find another job,’ he continued. ‘Have you given any more thought to what you want to do?’

‘Oh.’ She breathed a relieved sigh. That. ‘No, not really.’ In truth she was trying very hard not to think about returning home. In fact, the idea of staying in Scotland had begun to grow on her, and after a conversation in the pub the other night, an idea had been sitting in the back of Elle’s mind, slowly fermenting away.

‘I’m thinking about maybe looking for work somewhere over here for a while,’ she said, deciding to test the waters and see what it sounded like if she spoke the words aloud to someone.

‘Really? What kind of work would you do?’ he asked.

So far so good, at least he hadn’t laughed at her idea. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I could do some bar work. Or there’s a woman who owns a place somewhere near here who advertises for help with general cooking and cleaning and some farm work. She said she gets people from all over the world staying with her. I thought I might check it out.’

‘But it’s not paid work?’ he asked slowly.

‘No,’ she conceded, ‘it’s food and accommodation, but at least I wouldn’t be paying to stay at the pub anymore.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ he said, reaching for another sandwich.