David missed his footing and stumbled slightly as he felt his phone ping from within his jacket pocket. He regained his footing and carried on down the rocky path, at a slightly slower pace now as he fished the phone out. He was grinning even before he'd brought the phone to life and checked the message.
David had booked his night at the guesthouse months before, once he'd finished detailing the route and likely schedule of his trek. The route took him through some of the remotest parts of Scotland and he'd tweaked it slightly so that he'd pass through this town, one of the few close to the route. He knew that after 200 miles of slumming it in a tent he'd be more than ready for a night of relative luxury. A real bed, hot-water, some horrifically high calorie food...
The guesthouse owner, Marie, had messaged him when he'd made the booking, confirming the date and cost and enquiring what he'd be doing in the area. He'd answered her, assuming she was feigning interest merely out of politeness but she'd messaged him a few times over the following months asking about his route and planning. Once he'd actually started walking he texts had become almost daily asking for updates and checking to see how he was holding up.
David didn't think he was imagining that, along with an increase in frequency, the messages had also become more flirtatious. He'd sent a couple of pictures along the trail. Rugged mountains, windswept forest, the usual things. He had sent one of his camp one night, saying how much he was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed and she'd replied "Looks cosy tho, wish I was there." On another occasion he'd complained of aching feet and she'd offered a foot rub when he finally arrived. He hadn't replied to that one, wondering if he was misreading things. He knew nothing about Marie and nothing could happen, of course. He was happily married and, for all he knew, so was she. Or she might be ancient, alone, doddering around her lonely guesthouse, messaging the incoming guests just for a bit of company. Still, 200 miles alone had given his imagination time to wander and he felt a flush of excitement pass through him as he read her latest message.
"Look forward to seeing you in a couple of hours, let me know if your running late. There's no bath in your room, just a shower, but I have one in my en-suite: if you give me a bit of warning I can have one drawn for when you arrive? Just a thought. Let me know."
David had booked his night at the guesthouse months before, once he'd finished detailing the route and likely schedule of his trek. The route took him through some of the remotest parts of Scotland and he'd tweaked it slightly so that he'd pass through this town, one of the few close to the route. He knew that after 200 miles of slumming it in a tent he'd be more than ready for a night of relative luxury. A real bed, hot-water, some horrifically high calorie food...
The guesthouse owner, Marie, had messaged him when he'd made the booking, confirming the date and cost and enquiring what he'd be doing in the area. He'd answered her, assuming she was feigning interest merely out of politeness but she'd messaged him a few times over the following months asking about his route and planning. Once he'd actually started walking he texts had become almost daily asking for updates and checking to see how he was holding up.
David didn't think he was imagining that, along with an increase in frequency, the messages had also become more flirtatious. He'd sent a couple of pictures along the trail. Rugged mountains, windswept forest, the usual things. He had sent one of his camp one night, saying how much he was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed and she'd replied "Looks cosy tho, wish I was there." On another occasion he'd complained of aching feet and she'd offered a foot rub when he finally arrived. He hadn't replied to that one, wondering if he was misreading things. He knew nothing about Marie and nothing could happen, of course. He was happily married and, for all he knew, so was she. Or she might be ancient, alone, doddering around her lonely guesthouse, messaging the incoming guests just for a bit of company. Still, 200 miles alone had given his imagination time to wander and he felt a flush of excitement pass through him as he read her latest message.
"Look forward to seeing you in a couple of hours, let me know if your running late. There's no bath in your room, just a shower, but I have one in my en-suite: if you give me a bit of warning I can have one drawn for when you arrive? Just a thought. Let me know."
