Page 29 of Highlands Summer Wedding

Someone else had spotted Max and was trying to get a selfie.

“Since when is an indie film director famous?” I couldn’t help but ask him.

“Since I cast Cameron Sinclair and Cat Turner in my film. And since I finally got tapped to make a film with an actual budget. Also, they seem to be confused and think Angus is in my film. I mean, he can be in it if he wants. Those women seemed to love seeing him in a kilt.”

“They really did. Him specifically.”

Max seemed to ponder that as we neared the car. “Yeah, and I think it bothered him. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would be annoyed by a simple mistake.”

“Weird.”

We hopped into the car and Angus took off.

Caitlin turned on the radio. “Let’s use my playlist of Celtic music. Seems more appropriate than Top of the Pops for the scenery.”

“Great idea,” I said.

The car filled with the sound of pipes and fiddles as Caitlin connected her phone to the stereo. Between verses of ancient ballads about the sea, we fell quiet, pointing wordlessly whenever sheep dotted the hillsides or shaggy Highland cows appeared along the roadside. The car eventually rolled to a stop in what seemed like the middle of nowhere.

“From here, we walk. Everyone got their mud shoes and waterproofs?” asked Angus.

“Yep,” I said, climbing out in my purple rain boots. Caitlin had changed out of the white Docs and into black wellies.

We walked past a croft and a quaint stone cottage before reaching a gate. Angus reached for the weathered latch.

I looked around nervously. “Are we allowed to hike here? This seems like private property.”

“Right to roam.” Angus swung the gate wide. “Leave it as you found it.”

“Also it’s his cousin’s property, and he’s played here since he was a lad,” said Caitlin with a smirk.

I laughed.

“You got me,” said Angus.

We trudged across the field, our boots sinking into soft ground with each step. The sound came to us first—a rhythmic crashing that grew louder as we approached the edge. Then the vista opened before us—Kilt Rock, rising majestically from the churning sea below.

It was a huge cliff, similar to the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, but with jagged rocks jutting out over the sea like the folds of a kilt. Salt air filled my lungs, and the mist crept up from waves crashing on the shore below. The fog hung perfectly still, muting the normally vibrant colors surrounding us.

Max pulled out his camera and began recording. I caught myself wondering if any of the footage would make its way into his movie.

“Just one more shot,” I called to Caitlin. “The perfect postcard moment.”

Caitlin adjusted the tartan sash draped over her wedding gown and nestled against Angus’s side.

“Kiss him,” I directed. Caitlin pushed up on her toes to kiss him gently. Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Your turn, Angus.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than was necessary for the photo.

“Now face the sea with your backs to me—and please stay on solid ground. Hold hands and leapupward. I’ll shoot from below to create the illusion. Perfect for the e-invites. We’ll call itTaking the Plunge.”

“Pure dead brilliant, Abby,” Angus said with a hint of admiration.

They positioned themselves, clasped hands, and jumped. I shot a burst of photos.

“One more time?” I asked, reframing the scene.

They leapt into the air again. Another shutter burst.

“Once more?”