It's maybe hard to believe, but there are some populated areas of mainland Scotland that are still inaccessible by car - you need to either stick on your walking shoes or find your sea legs. In this day and age! I know . . . I have literally only just found this out today, and it's blown my mind.

The Applecross peninsula, Owen tells us at breakfast this morning, used to be such a place. We're heading down that way today, effectively the final part of the North Coast 500 before we're deposited back in Fort William. He explains that a mountain pass was eventually created to access the area - the Bealach Na Ba - and until the 1970s, this was the only other way apart from by boat.

"And there are still other bits of the Scottish mainland that don't have a road now?" Debbie asks disbelievingly.

Owen nods. "Knoydart, down the coast a little, is a good example. You need to get a ferry from Mallaig or walk 16 miles to reach it."

I shudder at the very idea of having to walk that far. "No thanks. Have you ever been?"

"Nope, but I'd like to." He grins at me. "Don't worry, I won't make you walk there. We can get the ferry."

There he goes again, throwing me hints of a future. I feel jittery with nerves, knowing this is a conversation we still need to have. It seems we're both circling around it rather than addressing it. This seems a bit odd from Owen's side, though, given that he's been nothing but direct and honest with me these last few days. And that makes me anxious somehow.

"Look at you two, making plans!" Michelle beams like a proud - and embarrassing - parent, and this somehow adds yet another layer to my own special line in awkwardness. I mumble something about needing another glass of orange juice (I really don't; I've already had three, and a vitamin C overdose is likely in the offing) and walk back over to the buffet. My hands are shaking as I pick up the jug of O.J.

"Are you okay?" Owen is suddenly beside me. He gently takes the jug from me and pours me a glass. Probably for the best - I'd likely have splashed it all over the table.

"I'm fine." I swallow hard, staring at his hands. "I'm just . . . Worried."

"About us?" He asks softly. "You know you don't need to be . . . Right?" He laughs suddenly, slightly nervously. "Well, unless you're thinking about ending it with me. Because then I'm worried."

Oh my god, he's so bloody adorable. I mean, I told him I loved him last night, for God's sake. This is a massive thing for me; I don't go around saying that to a lot of guys. And certainly not to ones I'm about to dump.

"I definitely don't want to end things," I assure him. "But I also don't know what we're going to do."

Relief flashes in those beautiful hazel eyes. "We can talk about it later, okay? Can I take you for dinner in Fort William? Or do you already have plans with the girls?"

"Dinner sounds good." I can hold out a few more hours; at least now I know we're going to address the issue.

We set off on the last leg of our roadtrip about half an hour later; the plan is to drive down to Applecross by the newer coastal road, grab a drink at the Applecross Inn, then leave via the mountain road.

It's yet another gorgeous day - the weather has been so good to us this week - and the surroundings are magnificent on our journey. We can see the Isle of Skye across the beautiful blue water, and when we reach Applecross Bay, we're lucky enough to snag an outside seat at the Inn.

"I really don't want to go home," Debbie says, taking a sip of her gin and tonic. "It's just been such a perfect week."

I have to agree. I expected the worst, and at first, I'd thought I was right to feel that way. But somehow, it's turned out to be possibly the best week of my life. And in Scotland, of all places.

Nessa turns to Owen now. "Owen, in case we forget later, I just want to take the opportunity to say thanks for being the best tour guide and for fitting in so well with our group."

"And for putting up with Mirren and her many moods," Debbie adds. I make a face at her, and Owen laughs, squeezing my arm.

"That has in no way been a hardship." He brushes a kiss against my cheek and picks up his soft drink. "In all seriousness, though, thanks to all of you for including me so much this week. Sometimes, doing this job can be a bit lonely; I usually spend more time by myself when I'm on these tours. This has been a refreshing change."

I realise I've never considered this before. I guess most of the groups wouldn't have been inviting him to join in their dinners or want to hang out with him at the beach. I remember him mentioning he often ended up eating a Pot Noodle in his hotel room alone - he made it sound like a joke, but actually, it's a wee bit sad.

And I was that person too, at least at first. Not wanting to invite him to dinner. Although at least I had what I thought were good reasons for that!

The Bealach na Ba is pretty cool, actually. It's the third highest road in Scotland, apparently, and the summit tops 2000 feet. The road winds and twists in front of us as Owen expertly navigates numerous hairpin bends. I'm not sure I would feel safe driving on it myself, but then that might be partly because I've never actually learned to drive!

Fort William is still a few hours away by this point, and there's still plenty to see. We pop by pretty Plockton, a village probably most famous for starring in the TV programme Hamish MacBeth. We stop opposite Eilean Donan Castle to get some photos of the iconic historic site. We pass many beautiful lochs en route. We even spot some deer, just hanging out by the side of the road. They're absolutely gorgeous.

Scotland really is incredible. Consider me converted.

Before we reach Fort William, Owen takes us on one final detour to Corpach Basin. We wander down to the beach there, where an old shipwreck sits, almost perfectly placed in front of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the U.K. The views are unreal.

When we finally pull up outside the Travelodge, it feels like the end of an era. So I'm delighted when Owen tentatively asks if I want to stay at his flat tonight. He then suggests he cooks dinner for us rather than finding somewhere to eat out.

We go to Morrisons so he can pick up some ingredients and wine, and it feels oddly domesticated shopping together. I find I like it, though; so many regular activities feel better when I'm with him, massive sap that I am.

"My flat is pretty basic," he tells me almost apologetically, as he lets us in ten minutes later. "It literally is just a base for me, so it's not particularly home-y or anything."

"You've still got a massive TV, though," I point out with a smile as I take in the open plan living room and kitchen. "Typical dude."

He chuckles. "Now, that's a necessity rather than a luxury. He grins, pulling me in for a kiss. "Is it okay if I have a brief freak-out that Mirren Shepherd is in my flat?"

I practically melt into his arms. "Is it okay if I have a brief freak-out that I'm in Owen Sullivan's flat?" I counter.

Dinner temporarily forgotten, I decide it's time he showed me his bedroom. His skills are just as good there as they were in every other bedroom we've tried out this week. Just in case you were worried. (I'm sure you weren't.)

Afterwards, I sit at his kitchen table sipping on wine as he rustles us up a meal. I wasn't expecting to add "excellent chef" to his list of talents, but it seems this man is determined to surprise me at every opportunity. He makes spaghetti carbonara, and it's absolutely delicious.

"I taught myself how to cook during covid lockdown," he tells me as we eat. "I also learned how to bake. Basically, I'm one massive covid cliche . . . but I can make an excellent lemon drizzle cake if you ever fancy one."

"I'll hold you to that," I giggle. "I bloody love lemon drizzle."

Owen takes our empty plates to the sink and pours us another glass of wine each. "So . . . I guess it's time for that discussion," he says hesitantly. "After all, you're going home tomorrow, so we probably can't put it off any longer." I'm sensing reluctance on his side still, and that anxiety creeps back in, seeping into my bloodstream and stirring up my nerves.

"Yeah." I nod tightly, then throw half the glass of wine down my throat to try to calm myself down. It doesn't help. "I've been thinking about it, and maybe we can do long distance for a bit. It's not ideal, but we're only 2 hours apart and . . ."

He interrupts me, gently but firmly. "I don't want to do long distance, Mirren."

Wow, I wasn't expecting him to be this inflexible. "Okay. I suppose I could consider moving up here at some point - I work from home a lot, so my office probably wouldn't mind if I just did that permanently. But I'd have to make arrangements, and it would need to be long distance for a while until I could get it sorted."

He shakes his head. "You don't understand, Mirren."

And his next words sting like a little fucking bitch.

"I don't want you to move up here at all."

😱😱😱

What the actual fudge, Owen??? You take that back this minute!

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