Love in the Scottish Christmas Village, Ebook

Trish felt about as merry as a deflated PVC snowman. The Edinburgh Christmas Market sprawled across East Princes Street Gardens, a kaleidoscope that begged to be captured through her lens.


Not the glitz, but the grit. 


Couples sipped from Santa-boot mugs, their faces glowing from the booze. Groups of friends squeezed into a giant plastic snow globe, trying to look happy for social media. A Santa Claus with a stained beard and bloodshot eyes was pocketing loose change from his donation bucket. In a corner, a hunched figure rifled through a bin, searching for food scraps amidst the gaudy excess of the market.


Above it all, Edinburgh Castle loomed majestically, floodlit against the inky sky like something out of a fairy tale. It was magical. It was tragic. All a question of perspective, of what you chose to focus on – as was everything in life.


From where Trish stood, it was also brutally boring.


Amidst the bustling crowd, she pulled her scarf tighter and glanced at her date. Sebastian was tall, handsome, and endlessly droning on about interest rates or golf handicaps – she’d lost track ages ago. His plummy English accent and the tinny sound of Feliz Navidad from the speakers grated on her nerves.


Why did I decide to go out with a banker again?


A group of tourists jostled past, nearly knocking over her mug of overpriced seasonal beverage. Sebastian didn’t even notice. ‘…and that’s when I realised the true potential of hedge fund arbitrage,’ he explained, oblivious to her glazed expression. His voice was as bland as unseasoned porridge.


Right now, Trish would rather be stuck in a darkroom with faulty equipment than endure another moment of this financial lecture masquerading as a date.


December is the worst time for dates, everybody is so desperate not to be alone for Christmas.


She took a generous swig of her lukewarm ‘original German Glühwein’. It did little to thaw her growing irritation. 


‘Tell me, Sebastian,’ she interrupted, unable to contain herself any longer, ‘do you ever talk about anything besides money and golf?’


He blinked, caught off guard. ‘I suppose one can always discuss the Scottish weather.’


‘Jesus Christ,’ Trish muttered under her breath. He’d seemed a tad more interesting in the messages they’d exchanged on the app.


But then again, that bar was devastatingly low to begin with.


She despised dating apps. It was like diving in a pool of poo to search for a tiny gold coin that might or might not exist. Too many dick pics, too few brain flexes, zero heart.


Where’s the magic in that?


Then again, she’d been half a bottle of wine deep when she’d swiped right, still stinging from that Instagram engagement post of Marc with his fiancée. She couldn’t even be mad. A gorgeous Polish molecular biologist, of all things. Part of her wanted to congratulate him. The other part…


Trish and Marc’s break up after ten years had been a long time coming and more or less mutual. But his moving on so completely only five months later not.


It seemed…unjust.


Trish thought back to that rainy day eight weeks ago when she’d packed up her camera equipment and her tired heart and moved from London to Edinburgh. Scotland’s capital was stunning, gothic spires and hidden histories underneath its streets, winding alleyways, and closes. The way the morning mist clung to Arthur’s Seat, how the entire city seemed to glow golden in the late afternoon sun. When it wasn’t raining. But even then, a photographer’s dream. And Edinburgh was the perfect escape – close enough to visit Marla in the Highlands now and then, far enough to avoid bumping into Marc and his soon-to-be-wife – or worse Trish’s parents – down in London.


‘…the weather is hardly a problem if you’re properly kitted out, and a good shoot is worth it. Just last month, Jonesy and I…’


Ugh.


Trish faded Sebastian out again. She looked around, searching for an exit route among the throngs of people pushing through the rows of wooden chalets. She blinked against the sting of her contact lenses, wondering what the hell had possessed her to swap out her glasses today, of all days. Vanity? Or maybe some misguided attempt to seem more put-together for this date? Whatever the reason, it was biting her in the eyes now, a constant scratchy reminder. Her breath formed little clouds in the frosty air as her gaze drifted over the sea of bobbing Santa hats and reindeer antlers, her eye habitually framing potential shots. A nearby stall hawked tacky tartan trinkets. Perhaps she could fake a sudden, overwhelming desire for a bagpipe-shaped bottle opener and ram it into her ears?


Just as she was contemplating the merits of accidentally dumping her drink on Sebastian’s impeccably creased trousers and making a run for it, her phone buzzed. Trish nearly wept with relief.


‘Pardon me,’ she said, not sorry at all. ‘I have to take this.’
Sebastian nodded magnanimously, as if granting a royal pardon. Trish resisted the urge to curtsy mockingly as she stepped away.
‘Marla, you beautiful, brilliant lifesaver,’ Trish breathed into the phone. ‘I could kiss your stinky bum right now.’


Her best friend’s warm laugh crackled through the line. ‘That bad, huh?’


‘Worse. I’m on a date with the human equivalent of a spreadsheet. He’s handsome, think blonde Henry Cavill, but he’s about as interesting as watching paint dry.’


‘Ouch. Well, consider this your get-out-of-jail-free card then. I need a favour.’


Trish perked up. ‘Name it. I’ll do anything to escape Mister Hedge Fund.’


‘How do you feel about a Highland adventure?’ A hint of mischief tinged Marla’s voice. ‘I need some professional winter shots of Hazelbrae for the website. Plus, I’m putting on a small event for Christmas. A village fair of sorts. Could use your professional eye for both.’


Trish’s heart leapt. Hazelbrae. The gorgeous eighteenth-century castle her best friend had inherited a year ago, nestled in the Scottish Highlands. It was the perfect excuse to flee Edinburgh and her disastrous, half-hearted, pathetic attempts at dating.


‘Marl, you had me at “Highland adventure.” When do you need me?’