‘Callum?’

Where is he? It’s been over ten minutes since he unzipped the tent door, letting in the freezing air and a flurry of snowflakes. Long enough for me to get impatient and long enough for me to start feeling the cold. I shiver, hugging myself as if that will protect me from the arctic temperatures outside. I remind myself it wasn’t my idea to drive out into the Scottish wilderness in the middle of a snowstorm because I thought it would be a romantic way to celebrate our anniversary. Two years since we got engaged, not far from here, and he thought it was cute to come back. I’m sure the Champagne, chilling in a snowdrift by Callum’s 4by4, will make things feel a little better, if he ever gets back with it. A glass of bubbly and a cuddle will do nicely. And my coat. The dickhead left his in the car and took mine to go get it!

               I told him to leave the Champagne near the tent, but we’d packed the snow down around the pitch, so he left it by the car. It was so bloody cold on the drive up I doubt it needed chilling, but there is never any method in his madness, and I’ve learned to just go with it! Daft sod. From our first dates, to moving in together, everything has had to be perfect. It can be annoying, but it’s also quite cute, especially when I’m the one being fussed over. The knowledge my man is out there, braving the elements to make everything perfect for me, helps keep the cold at bay a little longer.

               ‘Callum’ I call out hesitantly, not wanting to scare him or sound like a hysterical teenager. Something doesn’t feel right, and my goose bumps are not purely down to the icy night air.

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