I head home. I have nowhere else to go, after all. Because I quit my job last month, and yesterday was my last day.

I just haven't told anyone this yet.

You know the phrase "Jack of all trades, master of none"? If you looked it up in the dictionary, there would probably be a photograph of me next to it. I'm a prime example; a textbook case. I am constantly discovering new talents or interests but losing interest in them almost immediately in favour of something else.

The same applies to my career - if you can even call it that. I completed two and a half years of a business degree before throwing in the towel; I've got several handfuls of beauty and hair qualifications; and I actually did ultimately graduate from university with a law degree last year . . . Before realising I wasn't sure if I wanted to take the necessary steps to officially qualify as a full-blown lawyer. So, I've been working as a paralegal in a law firm while trying to decide what I actually want to do with my life.

And I've come to the conclusion that it's probably not law. Ally McBeal sold me a false dream! There were no unisex toilets; no ridiculous court cases. I simply found myself drowning in paperwork and dying of boredom. Eventually, I found myself almost in a daze, handing in my notice.

I'm not quite panicking just yet about my lack of job as the one thing I've always been pretty good at is saving money. And I get a fair bit of extra cash freelancing as a make-up artist in my spare time. I know I'll find something no problem, even if I need to temp for a while, but I guess I just need a little break to . . . reboot myself, maybe?

And, right now, that's going to involve a walk of shame home with a stop at the nearest Tesco Metro en route for junk food. A Friday morning spent eating copious amounts of ice cream on the sofa is calling out to me longingly, and it's practically my duty to answer it.

I'll take the weekend to regroup, and on Monday, I'll start looking for some sort of sign, I think, nodding determinedly to myself as I leave the shop, laden with bags of crap.

And almost immediately bump straight into an old friend from my first aborted attempt at university. Talk about rubbing my face in my failures, eh?

"Louisa Watson, fancy running into you here!" Coral Carmichael is clearly delighted to see me, and, fortunately, the feeling is most definitely mutual. It's been years since we last met up, but she was one of my best friends once upon a time. We've admittedly drifted apart over the years due to distance, but every time we see each other, it's like we've never been apart.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, dropping my shopping at my feet and throwing my arms around her. I know she moved back to the small pretty town in Argyll where she grew up; I think it's quite rare for her to revisit Glasgow.

"I'm just sourcing some bits and bobs for my new business," she tells me as she squeezes me tightly before unravelling herself from the hug. I raise my eyebrows, instantly intrigued. "I'm finally about to live my dream!"

"Your cake and cocktail bar!" I realise, remembering how that had always been her plan when we were at uni together. She had a massive binder full of ideas which she'd been compiling since her early teens - sketches, sample menus, recipes - and when we were drunk sometimes we'd stay up until the early hours just entertaining her vision and expanding on it. "You're finally doing it?"

"I am." Her smile gets even wider, blue-green eyes sparkling eagerly. "And I'm absolutely buzzing to get started after all these years." She glances at my bags. "Are you up to anything, or do you fancy coming on a shopping spree with me?"

I suppose I can shift eating ice cream on the sofa until later in the day. "Sure," I agree happily. "Just let me drop off my shopping first."

And my Friday morning, which started so badly, suddenly brightens up. Coral is mainly looking for quirky little accessories to brighten her bar (think pretty glassware, cute neon signs, funky artwork!) so, at my suggestion, we find ourselves back in the west end, alternating between charity shops and fancier stores. If we were starring in a movie right now, this would be just about time for a musical montage - it would probably be a bit niche, though! She enthusiastically tells me more about the up-to-date vision of her business, and I - as I always had - find myself caught up in her excitement.

"I don't suppose you're looking for any staff?" I joke, and she freezes.

"You're not serious, are you?" she asks.

"Maybe?" I hedge cautiously, realising I wasn't actually entirely kidding. After all, what else do I have to do at the moment?

Coral's pretty face goes all stern. "Louisa Watson, drop the vague act and be honest with me. What's going on?"

"I quit my job," I confess. It's good to let that truth free. And with that, it all comes flooding out, smack bang in the middle of an otherwise oblivious Dumbarton Road. My current general dissatisfaction with life, my frustrating lack of direction, my embarrassing jealousy of Abby's happiness, my terrible one night stand with Mitch . . . Coral listens quietly, and when I've finally finished speaking, she opens her mouth and says:

"I think we need a drink."

"It's only 11.30," I protest as she pulls me towards the nearest pub. She shrugs.

"It's wine o'clock somewhere."

Once we're settled in the corner of a not-quite-yet-alive drinking establishment, glasses of wine in front of us, Coral studies me with solemn eyes. "Lou, did you really mean what you said about helping out with my business? Because I actually could use someone I can rely on for a couple of months while I get it off the ground."

I find myself nodding. "Honestly, it's the first thing I've felt enthusiastic about in a while."

"Maybe a change of scenery for a wee while would do you good," she muses thoughtfully. Then I practically see a light bulb appear above her head, a sly grin suddenly dominating her face. "Actually, this could work out perfectly . . . Guess who is coming up to Oban for the summer!"

My heart stutters in my chest. "No?" I breathe, feeling my eyes widen. "Not . . . Brody?"

You see, there's another reason Brody Maxwell still dominates a lot of my brain space, despite the fact I've never actually met him. Because he's Coral's cousin.

See? Meant to be!

When I first found this out, back in the old uni days, I couldn't believe the coincidence. In fact, I knew it had to be more than a coincidence - it was fate, pure, and simple. It was only a matter of time before we met, I would think dreamily. Coral frequently invited me back to her mum's house during holidays, and of course, I always accepted in the hope he might be paying a visit home too. I always seemed to just miss him, though. Coral would say things like: "Oh, he was meant to be here for a full week, but something came up, and he had to head back to London really suddenly".

Fate was trying to push us together, but his side of the magnet appeared to be defective.

So my few chances to meet him all those years ago were well and truly scuppered . . . But perhaps - just perhaps - this was finally the time!

(I know I sound fully crazy here. I'm sorry. But think back to the biggest celebrity crush of your life - wouldn't you be desperate to meet them too should the opportunity arise? To see if there was any chance they could be attracted to you too? Come on, folk, show me some empathy, okay?)

Coral nods now. "He's taking a little break from his radio show - I'm assuming you know he's a DJ these days?"

"I'm offended that you even need to ask," I quip, placing my hand over my heart as if she's mortally wounded me. "I'm his most loyal listener."

I'm not quite sure how Brody made the transition from runner to DJ on one of the most popular radio stations in Britain . . . But I thoroughly welcomed it. I've spent so many evenings surrounded by his voice over the past few years - in my car, in my living room, even occasionally in my bed . . . Hmm, let's not go into too much detail about the last one. He's not just some dumb jock; he's witty, he's clever, he has good chat and excellent taste in music. It's been a great way to get my Brody fix.

And now I could potentially get my hit in person . . . Directly from the source? It's all a bit overwhelming, but this might be my only opportunity to finally acquire the guy of my dreams!

(Again, yes . . . I know I sound a little delusional.)

"So . . . Are you in?" Coral asks me, her face eager. "Do you fancy coming up to Oban and working with me this summer?"

I don't even hesitate. "Abso-fucking-lutely."