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“So, so good!” She nods enthusiastically, her cherry-red bob catching the light. She’s always changing hair colour—a few months ago, it was teal. “It’s this massively multiplayer online role-playing game where . . .”

She tells me all about it, enthusing about avatars and battle strategy, and even though video games aren’t my cup of tea, I am interested to hear how it relates to the TV show. Besides, Maisie talks with such enthusiasm that she could make any subject captivating. Working in the pub all day, serving locals and tourists alike, has clearly given her the gift of the gab. She’s the kind of person who could get along with anyone. I reckon she figures out what makes people tick, finds some common interest, and then chats away, be that about sport, current affairs, or . . . Ronan Dunbar’s willy. I don’t know how, based on what little she knows about me, she guessed that would be a good topic for conversation, but she was absolutely right.

But while I do enjoy the odd sword fight and mythical creature, it’s the romantic aspects of the TV show that hook me most, and apparently these feature less prominently in the video game. As such, my interest dips a little, but Maisie immediately picks up on this and takes action. “Anyway, enough about video games. Want to hear a funny story about something that happened this week?”

“Sure,” I say, my attention rekindled.

“All right, well, you know how there are places across the UK with rude-sounding names?”

“Like Cock Bridge in Aberdeenshire?” I giggle. “Oh, or Dick Place in Edinburgh!”

It’s true, the wine is getting to me—and I’m working tomorrow!—but when was the last time I had a girls’ night? I’m taking full advantage of this rare opportunity and letting my hair down. Quite frankly, if I can’t make penis jokes tonight, when can I?

“Ha! Exactly,” Maisie says. “Or Twatt in Orkney, or Shitterton in Dorset. And then there’s my personal favourite: Sandy Balls in Hampshire.” She lets out a loud laugh. “That can’t be comfortable for the poor lads in the area—I bet the name alone makes them itch.

“Anyway, I was chatting with some American tourists the other day, and they were really amused by all this stuff. They’d already taken photos of themselves standing in front of a few funny signs. They asked me what places I knew about, so I told them all the ones I could think of, but then—since they seemed like the sort of folk who’d appreciate a joke—I kept on going, adding ones I was making up on the spot: Arsebrook, Nipplewick, Wankers Way.”

“Wankers Way!” I repeat, snorting.

“They eventually cottoned on, of course, but we had a good laugh about it. Anyway, Iona, my question for you is: if you had to make up a rude place name, what would you have said?”

“Hmm . . .” I stroke my chin, giving this erudite question the lengthy consideration it undoubtedly deserves. “I’d have said . . . Boobington. Or maybe Ticklewilly Forest.”

A roguish smile tugs at Maisie’s lips. “Nice. I’d quite like to visit Ticklewilly Forest—it sounds like a fun place.” She takes another sip of her drink. “You know, I’m really enjoying myself, Iona. You’re great company.”

“You mean I’m not the bookish swot everyone remembers me as?”

Maisie’s eyes widen. “I didn’t mean that!”

I laugh. “It’s fine, I know that’s how a lot of people around here still see me, but I was away for nine years. I grew and changed a good deal in that time.”

“Right. If I’m honest, I suppose my perception of you is that you’re a very studious and polite person—not that those are bad things. But, aye, never would I have guessed you’re a big fan of a dick joke. That’s the nice thing about getting to know someone better: you discover the hidden quirks of their personality. I’m getting the impression that, beneath your well-educated and professional exterior, there’s quite the wild streak in you, Iona Stewart.”

I grin. “There is. And . . .” My smile falters, as if a cloud has passed over my sunny mood. “I think that’s part of the problem.”

“Oh. Problem?” Maisie repeats. “Does this relate to Richard?”

My expression must convey my surprise because she gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Cat mentioned you were having some relationship issues—I hope you don’t mind. She didn’t go into details, though. If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears, but equally if you’d rather keep the mood light, that’s fine too. It’s totally up to you.”

It would be good to get a few things off my chest, but I don’t even know how to begin. I take a few moments to gather my thoughts then say, “Richard is . . . such a nice guy. He really is. And handsome too, and eager to do well in his career. I bet a lot of people around Bannock see us together and think, aye, they’re a good fit. But . . .”

“He doesn’t have that secret wild streak that you have?” Maisie guesses.

I sigh. “Right. When it comes to Richard, what you see is what you get. And that’s not a bad thing, but . . .” I tilt my head to the side. “I just . . . don’t know if it’s enough. But this isn’t the time to be having doubts! We’ve literally just moved up north together. Why couldn’t I have questioned things a month or two ago? If we’d tried living together in Glasgow before coming here, maybe I’d have realised there were problems, but now . . . well, there’s no way I can break up with him having just moved to Bannock with him. I’d feel too guilty. And like I say, he’s a nice guy, so . . .”

“So the only thing to do now is wait for him to propose, marry him, then spend the rest of your life in an unhappy marriage,” Maisie finishes flippantly.

“When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous, but—”

“It is ridiculous. You’re allowed to be happy, Iona. And if Richard doesn’t make you happy, that’s okay. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him, just that he’s not the right match for you. It’s notoriously difficult to find a life partner. A lot of people spend years searching for ‘the one’, and along the way, they go through plenty of relationships that don’t quite fit the bill. But . . . we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I’ll be the first to point out that I’m no expert in this stuff, but can I ask if you’ve had a frank and honest discussion with Richard about how you’re feeling?”

I bite my lip. “Er . . . no. I mean, I’ve talked with him about trying to . . . spice things up a bit. But I’ve probably not been clear with him about how important that is to me.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good place to start. Don’t get me wrong, all options are on the table. If ultimately you decide he’s not the one for you, that’s fine, but chat with him first. Give him a chance to fix this.”

Wow, Maisie is so practical and sensible. This is exactly what I needed to hear. When it comes to my job, I know what’s what, but sometimes navigating relationships can feel like trying to read a map in the dark.

“You’re right. I’ll sit down with him and have a proper heart-to-heart. Thanks, Maisie.”