Red Point Beach, Scottish Highlands

Another day, another beach.

Red Point Beach is different from the others we've visited this week. For a start, we didn't get to just roll out of the bus directly onto it. It involved a short walk through a field and down fairly steep sand dunes, while massive cows observed us with curious eyes.

Rather than the white sands we saw at Balnakeil and Mellon Udrigle, this beach is more of a reddish-pink colour, but it still contrasts beautifully with the blue of the water crashing onto its shore.

Once again, it's pretty stunning.

Once again though, my gaze is distracted by the guy who is currently striding ankle-deep through the waves as if he's starring in a music video, further enhancing the appeal of this beach.

It's officially the last full day of the tour. I'm trying so hard not to think too much about this. I'm not looking forward to going back to work, although I'm actually not back in my office until Tuesday, thank goodness. And I'm already not happy at the idea of leaving Owen.

Has it really only been five days since I heard his voice again for the first time?  Watched him watching me in the mirror as I tried to place him? Wondered how I'd survive spending so much time with him in such close proximity?

Now, I'm struggling to imagine surviving without him in my life.

We haven't spoken about what's going to happen beyond tomorrow. I know we will need to at some point. But, once again, I'm scared. I'm just not sure how to make things work between us long-term, and already I don't think I could be apart from him if we were to make a go of things. Long distance relationships have never appealed to me. Although, to be fair, I've been avoiding any kind of relationship like the bubonic plague until now. Donnie really did a number on me.

But Owen . . . He's been the cure I didn't realise I needed.

"It's lovely and peaceful here," Michelle says, breaking into my frazzled thoughts. "The other beaches seemed far busier."

"Red Point tends to be a bit quieter." Owen has rejoined the group, flopping down onto the sand beside us. "I think the single track dead-end road puts some folk off coming down here." He shakes his head.

"They're missing out." Nessa speaks up. She's sprawled out on her towel, and I actually thought she was asleep until now. "I think this one might be my favourite."

"Their loss is our gain," Owen laughs. "It's honestly so nice when you find a quiet pocket of the North Coast 500. When I first started travelling around up here, there were far fewer people. Then they started marketing it as Scotland's version of Route 66 and suddenly it was swimming in tourists."

"That's a good thing, though, surely?" I ask. Owen wrinkles his nose.

"In theory, yes. And obviously, it's good for me in terms of my business, so I'd be a hypocrite to say otherwise. But the infrastructure can't really support the popularity of the route. There's not enough parking spaces, too many single track roads . . . And let's not forget the bloody campervans who think 'wild camping' is setting up a settlement in a car park or next to a cemetery."

"Oh yes." Michelle nods. "I've noticed a few of those. Did you see the campervan near Balnakeil that was just parked at the side of the road blocking someone's driveway? It looked like they'd also put their washing out to dry on the person's fence!"

"You get a lot of that," Owen nods. "We have different access laws in Scotland from the rest of the UK, and it makes some tourists think they can do whatever the hell they want. They also forget there are locals here who need to get on with their regular lives."

"Wow, that's terrible." That actually makes me feel pretty furious. How dare people treat my country like this? I'm amazed how patriotic I suddenly feel. What has Owen done to me?

"I feel a bit guilty sometimes, like I'm contributing to this over-saturation," he continues, almost to himself, it seems. "But then I tell myself that I'm probably keeping some potentially terrible drivers off the road: folk who won't understand passing places or roundabouts; or won't know to pull over and let other cars overtake when you're on a single track road holding a line of other cars up."

"Don't forget that you're using local businesses as well, so you're actually helping the communities," I say supportively. I want desperately to remove the frown that appeared on his face as he spoke.

"That's true." He smiles at me gratefully, and the sheer power of it dazzles me. "It's just . . . There's so much more to Scotland than this part of it, but so many folk just seem to come up here as some sort of tick-box activity. Just so they can say they've 'done' the North Coast 500. There are  so many other beautiful regions in Scotland, though. Argyll is absolutely stunning, for example. And there are some great beaches in Ayrshire that are almost as nice as the ones here." He laughs again. "Hell, even Dumfries & Galloway has a lot of charms, and I did my best to get away from there as soon as I could."

Argh, his passion is ridiculously infectious and makes me crave him even more. He's wearing his glasses today, and I briefly indulge myself in a fantasy where he's a sexy geography professor and I'm his naughty student. Then I remember I'm in public and probably should act like less of a horndog. 

It's hard when he's so bloody handsome, though. And I haven't had my hands on him for at least three hours, which frankly seems like torture.

Owen Sullivan is the most addictive substance I've ever taken. And I would happily overdose on him because the high is like nothing I've experienced in my life.

I just wish we were alone so I could rip his clothes off.

Our gazes briefly lock again and from the knowing glint in his eyes, I'm pretty sure he's aware of the journey my depraved thoughts have taken. Debbie and Michelle are quizzing him on his favourite spots in the other regions he mentioned and he seems fully engaged with them, but I know better.

He's craving me too.

I'm almost relieved when he produces the batch of Sheena's scones he picked up before we left Ullapool and offers them around. Maybe eating will distract me, albeit temporarily. Sheena's also supplied him with butter and home-made raspberry jam, and we don't just have the regular scones; she's made cheese scones too. Basically it's the ultimate scone porn.

And it's all utterly delicious.

So much so that I briefly consider letting Sheena have Owen for herself if she can just sort me out with a lifetime supply of her scones.

"Told you they were the best," Owen grins at me. "This is even better than birthday cake."

Birthday cake?

And then the penny drops for me. "Wait. It's your thirtieth today, isn't it?" I can't believe I forgot. His birthday was once imprinted indelibly in my brain.

He nods. "It's just another day though. I've never really been bothered about birthdays."

"Oh, Mirren will not under any circumstances allow you to undermine your own special day," Nessa promises him, winking at me. "She's obsessed with birthdays. She dragged my 21st celebrations out for nearly a fortnight!"

"I can't believe you're working on your birthday!" I complain. I always make sure I take the day off on my birthday, should it fall on a workday. I usually take the week off, in fact. And try to spend it abroad, if at all possible.

Owen smiles. "This hasn't felt like work to me," he assures me. "I'm sitting on one of my favourite beaches in the sunshine, gorging on scones . . . I think that's a pretty good way to celebrate my birthday to be honest!"

"I didn't even get you a gift," I lament. If I'd realised earlier, I could probably have picked him up something nice in Ullapool.

He reaches out and squeezes my arm. "Don't worry about it," he says lightly. "You being here, with me, is pretty much the best present I could get right now."

And that might be the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me.

I wanted to get a bit more into the downsides of Scottish tourism in this chapter. I'm a member of a few Facebook groups around the subject of the North Coast 500 and some of the tourists are pretty appalling. And this includes tourists from Scotland itself! Anyway, I tried my best to keep it interesting - and it is kind of crucial to my plot - so I hope it read okay!

Also, I now just really want a scone.