Mhari watches the bus drive off, her face the picture of comedic dismay. I shut the front door and force my attention back to Ryan.

"Is that Kirsty's ex?" he asks. "The guy she's going to get back with?"

What other answer is there? "Yes," I say. "Let's get out of here. I'll show you around the village."

It would take all of ten minutes but it beat sitting in the house. I start at the loch side and wonder at the tactlessness of the weather, which has decided against reflecting my mood and is instead sunny, dry and whisper it, warm. The dog walkers pass us, various golden retrievers and Labradors tearing ahead in a bid to obliterate the wild bird and duck population.

"I meant it," Ryan says as we stop to watch them, the water lapping at our feet. "About missing you. I got so upset the only way I thought I could get your attention was to make it public. That's why I put all those messages on Facebook. And you never responded. Ten years, Gaby! We can't just throw it away."

I drop to the ground, pulling my knees up to hug them and Ryan seats himself beside me. He tries to snuggle up—the ever-present wind has a way of getting under any gap in your clothes—but stops when I shake my head.

"It was all your own decision to come here, was it?" I try. When I thought Ryan had done it all himself—decided to visit me, woken up at silly o'clock to do so and then driven for seven plus hours—I admit it impressed me. My heart might even have fluttered a little. Knowing he flew up here with Kirsty knocks the shine off it. Perhaps he talked her into it, though. Persuaded her she should return and I could give up the cat-sitting gig early.

"Yes," he starts, then shakes his head. "No. Kirsty found me. It's like she said. Someone added a link to that Facebook plea I made to the comments on one of her blogs and she worked out I was your ex and got in touch. Said she had a plane ticket going spare because her agent wasn't able to come with her to Scotland. First class flight too, Gaby, they give you—"

"Ryan," I interrupt before I get the details, first class travel not being something I give two hoots about when I'm trying to work out the sincerity of my ex's claims.

"I know it doesn't sound as good," he says and I raise my eyes at the honesty, "but when she suggested it and how romantic it would be to drop in and surprise you, I thought—"

"Yoo-hoo!"

Never attempt a private conversation in the open in Lochalshie. The mad barking should have alerted me. As we get to our feet, Stewart lumbers into sight. Scottie is off his leash and he runs around the both of us, yapping delightedly. By the time Stewart reaches us, Scottie has run through his repertoire of tricks—mostly, rolling over and playing dead for a few seconds before leaping back to life and wagging his tail in expectation of treats.

"How're ye, Gaby?" Stewart says, sticking his hand out. "Is this your ex, then?"

Ryan takes his hand. "Hoping not to be the ex too much longer."

With a quick aside to Scottie that he is the best wee dog in the world as he does his ninth dead impression, Stewart's forehead creases at that.

"Oh, aye? But whit about the American bloke Dexter? Isn't he waiting a wee bit and then he's going tae take you out for chips, Gaby?"

How, how, how does he know? Two possibilities—Mhari, who wouldn't think anything of installing listening devices all over Lochalshie so she never misses out on any key bit of gossip. The more likely explanation is that I spilled my guts to blasted Jolene when she force-fed me those three Pimms. Curses on her and curses on Stewart.

"What?" Ryan's replaced his until now 'I'm doing my best to convince you of my sincerity' benevolence with fury, his eyes screwed up and his mouth pinched. "Who the hell's Dexter? You broke my heart when you left and now I find you've been carrying on behind my back!"

Stewart holds both hands up. "No she didnae, big man. She's no' done anything except kiss him and Mhari says he jumped on her and took her by surprise."

I might have known.

"And she wasnae going out wi' you at the time, was she? So you cannae call it carrying on behind your back, can ye?" He folds his arms and eyes Ryan beadily. An unlikely champion, but a nice one.

Ryan holds his hands out. "Er, yeah. Sorry, Gaby. I didn't mean it. It's just... just hard when you've been with someone for so long and then your life changes just like that. I don't know if I'll ever get used to waking up and not having you beside me."

To my astonishment, Stewart wipes a hand across his eyes. "Gaby," he says. "I like this yin much better than that American bloke. It's awfy romantic!"

It is? Nothing I've seen of Stewart and Jolene's relationship so far convinces me either of them have a close acquaintance with the soppy and sentimental. Still, it makes me look at Ryan afresh. "Do you want lunch?" Ryan asks me. "On me. Wherever is best around here?" He casts an eye in either direction, the absence of anything chain restaurant shaped plain. Ryan loves a cheeky Nando's and PizzaExpress in that order. So do I, but they don't encourage romance or intimate conversations.

"Over there," Stewart points at the Lochside Welcome. He shows no signs of leaving us on our own either. As the hotel's his second home, this is to be expected and his company saves me from having to talk, my head churning with everything that's happened over the last four hours.

The hotel's busy, the usual Saturday crowd that gather for boozy brunches and lunches. I get waves that Ryan clocks and realise that I've established myself as an honorary resident, never mind I've only been here for eleven weeks and two days. It's enough to give a girl the warm and fuzzies, though I also note that no-one bothers disguising the huge 'and who's HE?' that appears in comedy speech bubbles above their heads. Ashley waves, halting a conversation he's having with his chef to wander over. I'm his favourite person ever since I stuck Dexter in front of him and Ashley wrangled close to six figures for the Blissful Beauty launch.

"We're trying out a new pizza," he says, "in honour of Caitlin and Blissful Beauty. Would you do me the honour of sampling it?"

By the time we manage to get a table and place our order, Stewart has left us, the attractions of the bar far too tempting. "What's the Caitlin and Blissful Beauty thing?" Ryan asks and I explain, throwing in the fact that little ol' me thought up the whole idea. Impressive, hmm? The Brit in me—it's vulgar to boast—cannot say any more when Ryan does not pick up on what a huge deal that was.

"I know our relationship grew stale."

I stare at him, shocked. Ryan's like most guys. He'd rather scoop his own eyeballs out than talk about his feelings. Whenever I attempted a 'what do we want from our relationship' chat, he'd clam up at once. The words he says now have the echo of Dating Guru advice. The woman must have spent their entire journey up here coaching him.

"I could change, though. We could go out more. To Norwich. London even. And, um, if you want to live somewhere else, we could do that."

Blimey o'Riley. We are talking about the man who loves his home town so much he has its name tattooed on his back. Seriously. And what would he do about his job? Ryan's worked for his family ever since leaving school at sixteen. I don't think he's got the skills or experience to do anything else. Ryan takes my hand. "Please Gaby," he says. "Can you think about it? Take your time. I've got go back home tomorrow. You'd make me the happiest guy in the world if you came with me."

I open my mouth, about to say but what about the cat sitting and then I remembered Kirsty's reappearance, a clear signal she'd changed her mind about the three month extension. The blog project just needs the last bit of work—presumably where she gets Jack back. I didn't think I'd be able to watch that. It was bad enough wanting someone so badly and not having them. Lochalshie being so tiny, imagine me bumping into the happy couple every day. And I've a feeling Kirsty would crow like mad. If I'm back in Great Yarmouth, I won't need to see any of it and I can chalk the whole cat-sitting thing down to experience. Or perhaps that's what I'll persuade Ryan to do. Kirsty promised me a glowing reference. We could travel the world together, me working for Melissa and him doing odd mechanic jobs there and there.

In the ten years we spent together, we had plenty of fun, such as the first time we went on holiday together as eighteen-year-olds or the Christmas we had when we persuaded my mum and Ryan's parents that no, we wouldn't be doing the family duty thing this year because we wanted to spend it alone together. Ryan attempted the full four-course Christmas dinner, but misjudged how long a turkey takes to defrost and cook, so in the end we ordered takeaway from the local Indian and ate it in front of the telly in our pyjamas. I count it as my favourite Christmas so far.

The happiest guy in the world though. The speech doesn't quite work. If I went onto the Dating Guru's website and searched for things to say to your ex to make her come back, would those words appear there? And there are too many people who would be ear-wigging this conversation. I'm reminded of our engagement, which also happened in a public place. Is it safer to say these things in front of an audience where the recipient feels under pressure to respond positively?

"Ta-da!" Ashley puts the Caitlin/Blissful Beauty pizza in front of us. The topping is pink, the exact shade of the Blissful Beauty logo, and the letters BB made out in grated mozzarella and silver stars made from goodness only knows. It's closer to a pudding in appearance than a main course and shouldn't be appetising, but it smells heavenly. I lean over it, breathe in freshly baked bread, tomatoes, garlic and cheese and let out a sigh of contentment.

Ryan screws his nose up, then remembers he's supposed to be on his best behaviour. I move in for the kill. "Dannii, then? Was she the first?"

Unfortunately, I can't see his feet so I don't know if they are motionless. I'm willing to bet they are because the hands that until now were fiddling around with the salt, pepper, vinegar and tomato sauce have stilled. There's a pause five seconds too long before the automatic denial—no, no, of course not. Then, he takes my hand, crushing my fingers so tightly I fear for my circulation.

"She was a one-off, Gaby!" Double squeeze of the digits there. "I promise! A mistake I'll regret for the rest of my life. Kirsty said everyone's allowed one mistake, isn't that right?"

It's a good point. Once, four years ago, I'd entered the Christmas jollity with a little too much enthusiasm. When Bespoke Design had its night out in the Bricklayers Arms, we'd bumped into a plumbing firm who'd chosen Great Yarmouth rather than their home city of Norwich for their Christmas party. (Lord only knows why.) At the end of the night, I'd shared a quick kiss with plumber number four. Tongues didn't participate, but I knew Ryan would have taken a dim view of it and I never told him. Plumber guy tried to get my phone number, and I'd been tempted to hand it over. Wasn't the Dannii thing similar? Intent had been well and truly there.

I never, ever repeated it.

A year ago, there was another receptionist at the garage who was also beautiful and about our age. She resigned in a hurry if I remember rightly. What if it wasn't because her grandmother died suddenly and she was overcome with grief as Ryan told me, but he had a fling with her and ended it when he started feeling bad about cheating on me? And, if I fix my memory on it, three years ago a saleswoman—aged 22—left after six months because... her grandmother had multiple sclerosis and died, and she was overcome with grief.

Wow. Not even different excuses. I hope Ryan's donating money to the charity that supports MS. They flippin' deserve it after the amount of times he's taken their name in vain to justify women having to leave the garage's employment hurriedly. I find myself on their side too. If the garage sacked them, how rotten unfair was that?

Ashley puts a large bowl of chips wrapped in fake newspaper and wafting malt vinegar between us, and I grin at Ryan. Chips are our nemesis. He ordered them. I didn't, therefore the chips are solely, exclusively Ryan's. Last time, I nicked chips off a man, he gave in with good grace. I move the bowl towards me and he yanks it back before remembering himself. It is pushed, begrudgingly, back. I adopt the same beaming smile and dig in, ignoring the tic in his jaw as I bite into and swallow chips number four, five, eight, ten, the last used as a stick to swirl through garlic mayonnaise, scoop up the biggest blob of it and plank it in my mouth.

"Nice pizza," I say once I finish the mouthful. "Honestly, you'll love it."

"There you are!" Every head in the pub turns to the door. Mine is the one whose expression lights up instantly.

"Katya! What a fantastic surprise!" Beside me, there's a grunt of disagreement I choose to ignore. I stand up and fling my arms around my friend, rucksack in one hand and a packet of smoked salmon in the other. "Looks like I got here just in time," she whispers. "I don't like your present company."

"Neither do I," I say, not bothering to lower my voice. "Ryan's going back to Great Yarmouth tomorrow. Without me."

Public announcements oblige you to stick to your word. Especially those that coincide with a lull in conversation. Ryan slams his hands onto the table and pushes himself to his feet. "Suit yourself, you cow," he says, adding a few more choice terms that send Ashley scuttling over, murmuring that the Lochside Welcome doesn't welcome that kind of language in a family-run hotel and if sir doesn't desist, he'll be forced to call security. Security turns out to be Stewart, who it seems has many talents besides coding and boring all of Scotland. He plants himself beside Ashley, arms folded and glare in place. "Aye, aye. Gaby, I think ye would be better off wi' the American after all."

Faint cries of "Hear, hear!" call out behind him, and my friend wears a triumphant grin, eyebrows peaked and laughter not far away.

The pub's occupants mark Ryan's exit with cheers. It's almost enough to make me pity him. Then I remember that the pizza was supposed to be his treat. I ordered a double helping of Ashley's Chocolate Decadence cake for afters too.

"Do you want something to eat?" I ask Katya. If I beg, I'm sure Ashley will reheat the remains of the Blissful Beauty special and rustle us up another bowl of chips.

"Too right," she says, pulling out the chair opposite me. "I have a lot to tell you, starting with a book I've been trying to write."