Page 130 of Off the Pitch

“Nope,” Hugo said. “But you won’t have to wait long. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

I sighed in the vaguely overdramatic way David did sometimes. “I suppose that will work.”

Hugo laughed, and my chest burned with affection.

Chapter Eighteen

KitFavourite flowers? Plant?

HugoLavender—it reminds me of France. Yours?

KitHeather because it reminds me of Scotland

Kit

“Scotland? We’re going to Scotland?” I stared at the ticket in my hand in shock and disbelief, nothing quite registering in my brain.

When Hugo had said he was planning something, this wasn’t quite what I’d imagined. The furthest my brain had stretched was that maybe he’d gotten us tickets to a gallery opening or he’d bought croissants for breakfast, the ones stuffed with Nutella that I loved from the little bakery down the road. Not a trip to Scotland.

“How? What… I’m sorry? Scotland?”

“Yes,” Hugo said, the excited smile he had been wearing starting to fade from his face. “Is that okay? I thought we could go away for a week, have a break for a few days. You said you used to love it there, and I’ve never been…” His voice trailed off and the expression on his face seemed to suggest he was reconsidering his plan.

“No, I mean, yes, that sounds amazing. I just, I can’t believe you remembered.” It had been right back at the start of our friendship when I’d first mentioned it, and I couldn’t believe that he’d remember something like that. “That’s just… it’s so sweet of you. Thank you.” I leant across the breakfast table and kissed him gently. “Where are we staying?”

“That’s another surprise,” he said, a wry smile on his face. “But we do have to get packed and moving because our flight is in about four hours.” He laughed. “I did a little bit last night after you’d gone to bed, but I just need a few extra bits.”

“So that’s what you were doing,” I said. “Very sneaky!”

Hugo gave me a smug smile, clearly pleased with himself. “C’mon, we need to get going. And you’re to leave your work here. This is a strictly work free holiday.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” I paused, the happy butterflies in my stomach suddenly ensnared by the realities of real life. “But I have projects to do. Commissions. I can’t just stop working for a week.”

“When are they due?”

I thought for a moment, but I couldn’t quite recall the dates. This was why I had two calendars, one on my phone and one on paper, so it was virtually impossible for me to forget. I could feel my anxiety rising as I hopped up to grab them, but once I’d seen everything laid out, I realised that a couple of days off wasn’t going to kill me. Apart from the complex studio project, which had just last night been given a longer deadline because the product release had been pushed back, the rest of it was commissions that I could easily ask for a little flexibility on. I deserved this time off, dammit. The idea of spending time in Scotland, the place where I’d always felt most at peace, was too strong, and nothing on earth was going to stop me from spending a week with the man who’d organised this.

“It’s fine,” I said, looking up at Hugo from the diary in my hand. “Let’s go!”

Even though the flight to Edinburgh was only an hour and a half, the journey on the other side seemed to take a lot longer. I still wasn’t quite sure where we were going, and Hugo refused to give in and tell me, so I contented myself with staring at the scenery while Hugo drove.

We followed the sat nav’s directions as we followed the road north, my heart pounding with excitement as we passed a sign welcoming us to Cairngorms National Park. Around us the highlands swept into view, afternoon sunlight glinting off the craggy peaks and patches of heather dancing in the breeze. In the distance, forest decorated one side of the road and as I twisted to peer out of Hugo’s window, I could see the edge of a loch nestled between two hills.

“It’s so beautiful,” I breathed. My whole body was thrumming, desperate to get in front of a canvas because how could I not want to capture the beauty in front of me. I could stand here for days and never do it justice, and yet, I wanted to try. I wanted to pour out my soul onto a canvas with paint and charcoal until I was breathless and broken.

But Hugo had said no work, which meant no painting. Maybe I could take some photos instead and when we got back, I could attempt to recreate the magic then. Although I already knew that it would be practically impossible in a tiny attic studio in London.

I would just have to enjoy the feeling while it lasted.

Eventually, we turned down a small, winding track; the sort you’d ordinarily just drive by without even noticing and if you did notice it, you wouldn’t give it a second thought. I assumed our accommodation would be down here somewhere—perhaps a small, luxury hotel or something. I couldn’t really imagine Hugo staying anywhere else. He seemed too put together for anything less than five stars. Maybe four at a push. I’d seen his wardrobe and a man who owned that much Ralph Lauren and Armani was not designed for roughing it.

Except… apparently, Hugo was. Because the tiny cottage we pulled up to was what one might describe as rambling and charming but definitely not luxurious.

“Here we are,” Hugo said, turning off the engine of the hire car and giving me a smile. “Our home for the week.”

“It’s lovely,” I said because it genuinely was.

“I thought so too,” Hugo added. “It reminds me of my parent’s house. Come on, let’s go and explore.” He pushed the car door open, leaving me slightly shocked in the passenger seat. By the time I caught up to him, Hugo had unlocked the front door and was standing in the middle of a cozy living room. It was filled with several old but comfy looking armchairs and a sofa covered with a patterned throw, an open fireplace on the far wall with a basket of logs beside it, and a small television tucked into the corner.

---