As instructed, I have Instagram open the next time Jack walks into the house while I am working. Kirsty and the bad boy billionaire exchange plenty of smouldering looks, fingers creeping towards each other on tables and heads tilted to touch. Jack's eyes narrow as soon as he sees them and I click out, trying to make it seem as if I was on the site accidentally.

"You follow Kirsty?" he asks and I nod, telling him it's for Mena's sake so I can tell her what her owner is doing and let Kirsty see pictures—most of which get far more likes and comments than anything else on my feed. He sighs and his hand goes to his head, rubbing the top. Blast, blast, double blast. For all I thought bad boy billionaire photos were a dumb idea, Kirsty is Christina the Dating Guru. She knows what she's doing.

Resolution two, I chant to myself. Throw Yourself Into Your New Job. I pull up the new Highland Tours Outlander Experience website ready to take orders for tours next year. It looks amazing even if I do say so myself. Jack sent me a list of where he planned to take tourists and what the tour comprised. I spent a few hours with a pen and paper sketching an outline of what it might be like, and voila... here it is, ready to go live.

"The thing is," I said to him when he dropped by the house one Monday afternoon before heading off for Glasgow airport, "I think you need to take advantage of your similarity to Sam Heughan and front this campaign."

He jangled his keys and regarded me warily. "And?"

"A photo shoot," I said, watching as he groaned and closed his eyes. "In the full get-up, so that as soon as people land on the site they see Jamie Fraser, aka you."

"I was afraid you'd say that. Isn't it deceptive?"

"No," I said "because there will be a caption clearly stating your name." What I don't add is that it hardly matters. People tend to zone in on pictures and skim the text. First impressions will be a tour that is led by actual Jamie Fraser or the actor who plays him, anyway.

"I know a terrific photographer in Glasgow," I added. "Christy, a woman who's worked with me on the Blissful Beauty account. She could get pictures of you the next time you're in Glasgow kicking your heels waiting for your tourists to finish at the People's Palace, and she could Photoshop the images of you onto a Glencoe backdrop or something."

He agreed after only one further protest, and we arranged the photo shoot for the following Friday. Christy phoned me up just before she sent me the pictures.

"Gaby, if I wasn't a deliriously happily married woman, I don't know how I'd have kept my hands off this guy. I'm going to have to keep most the pics for my portfolio so I can drool—I mean, show them to clients and impress them."

She was spot on. The impressing clients bit was the sharp focus, and the seamless Photoshop use where you couldn't tell the pictures had been taken in a studio and not in the wilds of Scotland. The drool bit takes even me by surprise. I find people are rarely as good looking in photos as they are in real life. The 2D thing flattens eyes and mouths. Liveliness is a big part of what makes us appealing and interesting. These photos though... Christy can do magical things with a camera, and that includes capturing a person's essence or aura. The red-headed man with his arms folded and wearing a warm, welcoming grin practically begged you to join his tour. I defied anyone to pass up that invitation. When my screen timed out because I'd stared at the pictures too long, I knew Christy had done an excellent job at the same time as not over-flattering the guy.

I kept the website to a few pages. At some point, Jack planned to merge or re-do his existing website. In the meantime, Stewart had set up a basic WordPress site, and used Google Analytics to find keywords to help with the site's search engine optimisation, and five pages—a landing page, an about us, about the tour and some info relating to the filming of Outlander in Scotland. I left it to Jack to fill in the information himself, and adjusted the template with boxes, images and formatting.

"What do you think?" I say to him, flicking through the pages one by one and trying not to hover too long on the landing page as I do when I'm on my own.

Apart from grimacing at the large image of himself on the landing page, Jack nods his head. "It's good, Gaby. Thanks."

I deflate at the comment. Good? Flippin' fan-dabby-dozy would be a better word, but then I remember I'm not working with Dexter. And wouldn't I rather have a 'good' from Jack and no changes, than three million 'awe-somely amazings' from Dexter, along with an extensive list of everything that needs changed?

"Send me an invoice," he says, "and I'll get it paid right away. Then all I need to do is wait for the orders flood in, right? As Darcy said, I could end up fully booked till 2050 should the lord spare me."

Don't wink at me, I order, while the other part of my brain wills him to, anyway. When he does, the slow lazy sweep of it does unhealthy things to my pulse.

After he'd signed off the website, I don't see Jack for two days but he finally drops by on the Wednesday of that week. He gives me a quick hello before heading off to pick up the latest group from their trip to Callendar. My heart started its disobedient fluttering thing as soon as I heard him at the door. It went into overdrive when he smiled at me right away, the usual wariness absent.

"Hey," he sketched me a wave. "What are you working on today?"

I pointed at the screen and the updated Lochalshie web pages, and he leaned in for a closer look. "Steady, Gaby," my mind warned. The swoop in brought him perilously close to me, enough for our faces to be side by side and that heavenly smell of him—pine and warm skin—all around me. "Looks good, Gaby-sketch." The nickname is new and as imaginative titles go, it isn't up there but I love it anyway seeing as it comes from him and no-one else calls me that. He stands up straight again and ruffles my hair, a habit I wouldn't tolerate from anyone else. Unfortunately, I'd found an article on the Dating Guru's website the other day which said hair ruffling was a no-no along with silly nicknames. It was the thing guys did to girls they felt brotherly and not brothely towards. Blame Katya for that terrible phrase.

"Do you want a coffee and some shortbread, Gaby-sketch?" he calls from the kitchen and I shout back a 'yes'. When I let myself in earlier, I'd been able to smell baking and had so far held back, a heroic triumph of willpower.

"How are the tour bookings going?" I call through.

No answer. He comes through a few minutes later bearing two steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of shortbread.

"Ah. Nothing yet from the website."

He sets the coffee down next to me and takes the armchair opposite.

I log onto the pages, astonished. What on earth doesn't appeal to people about the Highland Tours authentic Outlander experience? Jack sees me pull up the home page and waves his hand at it. "Gaby, please! Put that away. I don't want to sit here staring at myself."

I click out and waffle about how it was early days, and the site was bound to take off anytime soon, what with the fancy stuff Stewart had put in place and Darcy's one-woman efforts to spread the word via that photo of the two of us at Doune Castle.

But a week later and the situation is the same. Not one booking has come in through the new website. I'm taking it personally. The Outlander tour idea was mine. It took Jack a while to come round to it, but when he did, he wanted me to design the pages for him. And he's already paid me, a transaction that was excruciatingly embarrassing as I hate taking money from people I know. But the tickets sale failure offends my professionalism too. I know that websites don't get found just because they're pretty. Stewart's magic should have brought people to the site, so why weren't they booking up? Had I judged this wrongly? They looked at the pages, decided the design made Jack's tours look boring or unexciting and left straight away? I can't ask my colleagues at Bespoke Design what they think as the job was what plumbers and decorators call a 'homer', in other words done without the knowledge of your main employer and cash in hand. If Melissa got wind of it, her continued tolerance for my remote working would grind to a halt.

"Any bookings yet?" I ask when he and I next cross paths. I'm finished for the day and heading home, via the Lochside Welcome where I'll be meeting the Lochalshie Highland Games committee to discuss their website and the Blissful Beauty plans which I'm now at liberty to discuss. Despite it being 9pm, it still feels like broad daylight, the advantage the locals tell me of being that bit closer to the North Pole than England at this time of year. The artist in me as always admires the way the sun touches Jack's hair, all rippling, bright gleams of red. He's wearing aviator sunglasses too, whipping them off to talk to me apologising for being that kind of poser by wearing them. I shake my head. He can wear them all day if he wants as he has chosen the perfect pair for his face shape and they only add to his appearance.

"Nope, sorry," he shakes his head. "Not through the website. But Kirsty's been in touch. She saw the pictures, and she's promised to spread the word among her London friends."

Oh. Double drat. I try to work out where this fits into the hooking a commitment-phobe plan and figure it might be step four: make yourself indispensable. And Kirsty's a social media star. She knows all the tricks to get a person or website noticed, and she has six-figure followers on all her sites. Business will fly in. Jack will fall at her feet. Thanks Kirsty! How did I not notice how useful/beautiful/wonderful you are? They'll be engaged in a month's time at this rate.

Disturbing film footage plays in my head—Jack and Kirsty sit on the One Show's sofa opposite Alex Jones and the farmer guy whose name no-one ever remembers.

"So, Jack!" Alex trills, everyone in the audience noticing she has to tear her eyes from Jack. "You and Kirsty split briefly earlier this year, didn't you?"

Jack can't help himself, jumping in to answer the question. "Yes. I was stupid and blind. I didn't realise how awesome and amazing Kirsty is." (He's morphed into Dexter in this scenario.)

"And Kirsty," Alex's dulcet Welsh tones continue. "You used a 10-step process to get Jack to commit to you, didn't you?"

Kirsty holds up her left hand, waggling her fingers and facing the camera, expression triumphant. On her fourth finger is a diamond ring that re-writes the definition of bling it's so huge. "Yes, I did and if your viewers sign up for my online course, they too can find the man of their dreams!"

"... but I'm not sure if—Gaby?"

I snap back to the present, relieved to dump the One Show fantasy. Jack's staring at me, eyes creased in puzzlement.

"Are you okay, Gaby-sketch? You looked a bit pale there."

"Fine! I say. Off to discuss the games with Jolene. Great idea for Kirsty to promote your stuff. You'll sell out in no time."

He raises his eyebrows at that. "But I," he says, and I cut him off. I don't want to hear any more of Kirsty's plans to help him. My equilibrium is disturbed enough as it is.

Jolene jumps to her feet as soon as I enter the Lochside Welcome. "Let's sit outside," she says. "It's warm and light enough."

And it is, the waters lap gently against the shores as the sun drops in the sky, tinting the surrounding area warm orange and pink. I tell her about the Blissful Beauty launch and her eyes round in wonder.

"That's sweet as!" she exclaims.

"For real, Gaby? Caitlin too? Oh boy oh boy oh boy. The committee will hit the roof with excitement. Mind you, I'll need to tell them who Caitlin is. None of them will have heard of her."

I'm not one to stereotype the older generation and what they do or do not know, but it is eons since the rest of the committee bar Jack waved goodbye to their 21st birthday. And most of them favour the tartan/tweed/welly approach to dressing. Make-up doesn't darken their doors either.

"Are you sure," I ask. "I think Blissful Beauty will take the whole place over. The Highland Games won't get half as much attention."

"Who cares? Most of the committee find it an effort to organise the thing every year. If some other company wants to come in and take over, so much the better. We'd better tell everyone in the village to get their homes on Airbnb as soon as, seeing as there'll be heaps of people needing an overnight stay."

She fiddles with her phone, thumbs moving over the screen at double fast rate. If that's the Lochalshie WhatsApp group told, she might as well have put a huge ad on the front page of Google., Facebook and Amazon, 'Caitlin to visit remote Scottish village August 15'. Dexter told me Caitlin's agent would confirm nothing, but carefully orchestrated leaks are all part of a successful launch campaign and if word of her whereabouts came from the village itself, even better.

Jolene's phone explodes with beep-beeps and she switches it to silent. "I'll get us drinks," she says, and returns minutes later with a jug of Pimms and lemonade she promises me aren't that alcoholic.

"Dexter, the marketing man... did he come and visit the place last month A hunky American guy?" she asks. I'm half-way down my Pimms and lemonade (very drinkable) and the urge to confide hits me. I like Mhari, but as friends go, you have to give her the minimum of information if you don't want the world and his wife to share your most intimate secrets seconds after you've told her.

"Um, yes," I say, wondering what she knows already.

"And he kissed you, eh?"

New Zealanders may always sound as if they are asking questions when they are not, but this definitely isn't a question. The WhatsApp group told her as soon as it happened. I'll stake a hundred pounds on that.

"Yes," I say. "He's asked me out. Once the launch is all finished."

Jolene twists in her seat to lean back, elbows on the table and facing the setting sun. I join her. The conversation will be easier if we both have our eyes closed.

"Neat," she says. "You should get yourself out there again. Get back on the dating horse, eh, and ride it—"

"Jolene! Please." I'm on my second Pimms and lemonade and the next few words rush out of me before I can stop them. "Um, what was the deal with Kirsty and Jack?" I cross my fingers, hoping Jolene doesn't do pillow talk with Stewart. He fits the Mhari school of discretion and it will be all round the village in an instant I asked pointed questions about Jack.

"Kirsty's always wanted Jack," Jolene helps herself to more Pimms and lemonade. "Ever since she moved here a year ago."

"She's not local, then?" I'd assumed she was Lochalshie born and bred.

"No, Edinburgh. She moved here not long after he dad died. He left her a lot of money and she bought that pile." She tips her head to the house. Funny how no-one in the village likes Kirsty's house. "As soon as she set eyes on Jack, she decided she wanted him. Stewart and I didn't like her very much. The Lochside Welcome wasn't good enough for her, for a start!"

Oof, now there's a way for you not to endear yourself to the locals. "Why do you think he went out with her?"

Jolene shrugs. "You've seen what she looks like. What do you think?"

How disappointing. On the other hand, I spend my time drooling over Jack because he's ridiculously easy on the eyes. I can't blame him for doing the same with a woman.

"And the split?" I say, praying it will be for something unforgivable such as attempting to murder his mother when she diagnosed her with advanced syphilis (or something) rather than just being not suited, a point of view Kirsty is currently doing her best to reverse.

"Ah, now there's a story," she says. "Kirsty claims—hang on, what about Dexter? Eh, why do you want to know so much about Jack and Kirsty?"

Definitely a question this time. Darn it. I've almost finished my second 'not that alcoholic at all, Gaby!' Pimms. I should have known better than to trust someone who dates Stewart to judge what counts as head-spinning and inhibition lowering. Stewart's not the only one who regards the Lochside Welcome as his second home. I open my mouth, about to confess all when some remnant of sense kicks in.

"I'm not interested in anyone," I say. "I'm far too busy with my work and I'm still recovering from a split too. Ryan was the love of my life and I was with him for ten years. Broke my heart into smithereens and everything."

She turns and raises one eyebrow. "Yeah? I thought you managed that by your fourth day here. You know, when Dr McLatchie handed you the keys to her son's house."

Heat floods my face. Does this mean that my unrequited crush has been obvious to one and all? Yikes. I imagine the villagers remarking on it to Jack and him screwing his face up in disgust. "Gaby? Nice girl, but seriously. I mean, look at my past record. The painting I have of Kirsty? Case closed." I have to get out of here. I gulp the last of the second Pimms and jump to my feet, a movement hindered as I forget we're sitting at a bench. The table traps my legs and I fly backwards, pulling the table and Jolene with me, and we land in an undignified heap on the ground. Jolene's reflexes are one hundred times better than mine, and her hand darts out to stop the side of the table landing on our abdomens.

"I'm so sorry," I say. The crash and the screams we both let out have attracted attention. A group of hill-walkers amble over, trying and failing to hide their amusement.

"All right gels?" the first asks. "Was this you doing your bit to show us that the Scottish heavy drinking stereotype is unjustified?" At that, he and his wretched Cockney friends burst into gales of laughter.

"First, neither of us is Scottish," Jolene pushes off the table and sending it flying, a move that wipes the grins from the hill-walkers' faces as they follow its progress watching it sail across the beer garden and land at the water's edge. "And second, you now owe us a drink seeing as we've entertained you so thoroughly." The men nod hastily, doubtless worrying what might happen if they refuse.

She stands, brushing dirt and soil from her trousers and extends a hand to me. "I don't want another drink," I whisper as I get to my feet.

"I'll drink yours," she whispers back. "And then we will talk about Dexter. And Jack. And what you're going to do about them."