Page 30 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape (Scottish Escapes #9)

Chapter Twenty-One

M itch stood on the doorstep the next morning looking dashing in a navy suit, pale lemon shirt and sky-blue tie under a long, military-style coat.

It took me a moment to recover myself.

‘Will I do?’ he asked.

‘Yes, not bad,’ I answered quickly, my cheeks stinging with colour.

Mitch brushed his hair back from his face. He eyed me. ‘Come on. I’ll help you load the paintings into the boot of my car.’

‘I thought I was driving?’ I asked with a frown.

‘Well, I thought it might be better if I did. If Ruth Mangan spots you pulling up, she’ll smell a rat. I want the element of surprise. And anyway, I’ve got more boot space than your Mazda.’

‘It’s no problem,’ I persisted. ‘I managed yesterday.’

Mitch cut me off. ‘Rosie, will you just please accept my help?’

I inwardly flinched. Why didn’t I want to accept anything from Mitch?

What was the issue? He hadn’t done anything offensive or bad to me.

In fact, he’d been helpful and neighbourly.

I chose not to examine the reason why; no more relying on men in my life, just to have them throw my trust in them right back in my face.

I was done with that. ‘Even if they were dark and gorgeous?’ whispered a teasing voice in my ear.

‘Well?’

I blinked myself back to reality. Jesus. He was so pig-headed!

I tutted. ‘Alright. Yes. Have it your way.’

Mitch gestured to the side of the cottage. ‘I’ve parked round the corner. Right, let’s get this show on the road.’

I’d opted this time for Grandma’s sunflower table arrangement, a chalk drawing she’d done of a few of the paint-chipped, peeling little boats in Rowan Bay harbour and a portrait of an old, haggard gentleman perched on a wall, smoking a pipe.

Maybe Mitch might have better luck if he took different paintings to the ones Reece and I had taken.

Once we’d loaded the three pictures into the boot of Mitch’s car, I assured Bronte I wouldn’t be long and locked the cottage door.

We set off.

I eyed Mitch’s serious, dark profile beside me. ‘What are you going to say to Miss Trunchbull when you get there?’ I asked him.

‘I’m still thinking about that.’

I widened my eyes at him. This was crazy. He hadn’t planned anything? Why the hell did I think this might work? I stared out of the passenger side window and sighed.

Mitch concentrated on the set of traffic lights glowing ahead of us. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do your grandma’s paintings justice.’

I slid him a sideways glance. No matter how often I turned this over in my mind, it still didn’t make sense. Why had Mitch been so keen to help with trying to get my grandma’s paintings exhibited? Something was telling me there was more to Mitch insisting on doing this than just being neighbourly.

I noticed his hands holding the black, leather steering wheel. He spoke, unaware that I was mentally trying to dissect the situation. ‘Like I said, I’ve visited that gallery a few times since I took up the job as lighthouse keeper.’

He was deluding himself if he thought he could sweet talk that dragon Ruth Mangan into agreeing to exhibit Grandma’s work.

Mitch eased his silver Lexus into a parking space at the rear of the gleaming white gallery and switched off the engine.

I turned to him. ‘I guess I’d better stay here.’

Mitch gave me a look. ‘I think that’s wise. You’re not supposed to be here. Just let me deal with this, okay?’

I could feel my eyebrows knitting together.

Mitch looked like he was on the verge of laughing at my pained expression. ‘I know you letting someone else deal with a situation in your place must be a new experience, but just run with it.’

My back stiffened. ‘Are you trying to say I’m a control freak?’

‘No. What I’m trying to say is that you like to give the impression you can do everything on your own. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help sometimes.’

I snapped my head away to look out of the passenger side window. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re doing this, Mitch.’

Mitch clambered out of the driver’s side as though he hadn’t heard me.

Hmmm. There was something going on, but what it was I’d no idea, and he wasn’t prepared to tell me.

I jumped out of the passenger side and huddled deeper into my quilted jacket. The air was icy cold and the sky a wintery marble.

I assisted Mitch to the corner with the three pieces of artwork. ‘Good luck, commander,’ I joked with a mock salute. ‘Something tells me you’re going to need it. Yell if you need reinforcements.’

Mitch offered me a withering look. ‘Oh, ye of little faith. You haven’t been on the receiving end of my charming pitch offensive.’

My cheeks sizzled. I whirled round and started to head back to Mitch’s car to sit and wait. I’d only just scooted back around the corner when I heard a female voice. ‘Oh hello. How lovely to see you again, Mr Carlisle,’ she purred. ‘My goodness! What do you have there?’

I rolled my eyes heavenwards. The two-faced madam! Funny what a six-foot four pair of turquoise eyes could achieve.

I jumped back inside Mitch’s car and clanked the passenger side door shut, grateful to escape from the biting wind. I had to be patient. Not one of my qualities.

Today the sun was struggling again to find its way through the bank of clotted grey clouds.

For something to do, I clicked on Mitch’s car radio.

The presenter was rambling on about some Christmas card design competition they would be launching for kids. It was December 1 st next week, so I guessed the festive mania was to be expected.

I clicked it off and retrieved my mobile from my bag by my feet.

I let out a cross between a sigh and a groan. It echoed around Mitch’s car. More messages from Lola and Mia. They were both still clinging to the hope that I’d change my mind, sooner or later, about returning to writing romance. Talk about having the bit between their teeth!

I dumped my phone in my bag and nestled back into my seat. I clicked the radio on again, but they were still burbling on about Christmas, so I switched it off.

I glanced down at my watch. Mitch seemed to be taking ages.

Joe often used to laugh that I was a big kid with no patience. I pushed out my legs and stretched them. He was right. How long was Mitch going to take? Was that Ruth-whatsit trying to seduce him?

Maybe Mitch was just a passionate art lover and that’s why he was so keen to get involved, I reasoned to myself. Perhaps it was as simple a reason as that, and I was imagining there could be more to it? Although didn’t he confess he didn’t know a lot about art?

I frowned to myself. All rather odd.

I’d promised Reece that I would ring him with an update about today. Mitch had said he was more than welcome to come, but Reece had declined, saying he didn’t fancy sitting cooped up for ages in a car, as his bladder might start giving him the runaround.

My thoughts drifted back to Mitch. There was something so guarded and protective about him, like he’d wrapped this impenetrable force field around himself and he was adamant no one was allowed a peek inside.

And yet, he was doing this for my grandma and for me.

A little spark of something flared in my chest. I swallowed and ignored it.

But then again, I should talk. I’d been doing a lot of that, cocooning myself away in the cottage with Bronte. Trespassers keep out!

I was still mulling over everything– Joe, my life, what my plans for the future might be, the loss of my sham of a marriage, Reece– when Mitch’s face appeared at my window.

I jumped. ‘Christ! You scared me then!’ I hollered through the glass. I wound it down.

The wind was rifling through Mitch’s layered, black curls.

‘What happened? How did you get on?’

Mitch moved round to the boot and began loading in Grandma’s paintings. ‘Crikey. Don’t you have any patience?’

I shot out of the car and darted round to where he was. ‘Are you doing this deliberately? You’re not telling me anything.’

‘You haven’t given me a chance! Get back in, and I’ll tell you.’

Mitch clanked down the car boot and we headed back round to our respective sides and jumped back in. It was lovely, getting back inside the warm, leather scented car, rather than being buffeted by the wind.

Mitch angled round in his driver seat to look at me. His lush, black lashes jutted.

‘She said yes.’

My mouth sprung open. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope.’

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Exhilaration shot through me. ‘You mean she said yes to exhibiting my grandma’s work?’

‘No, she said yes to my marriage proposal.’ He raised his eyes up to the cream ceiling of his car. ‘She said yes to exhibiting the paintings.’

I gawped out of the windscreen in shock. I turned back towards him, a slow, delighted smile breaking out across my face. ‘I don’t believe this. What on earth did you say? What spell did you put on her? It was Ruth Mangan you spoke to, right?’

‘If you stop asking questions for one second and let me explain.’ It was at this point, that I noticed Mitch squirm in his seat. ‘I showed her the three paintings…’

His voice had tailed off and he was having difficulty making eye contact with me.

‘So, tell me what she said about the paintings. Oh, this is good. Did she like them? Oh, of course she did.’

Mitch was nodding, but he wasn’t saying much. I was doing all the talking.

‘I’m thrilled,’ I burst out. ‘And I’m grateful. You have no idea. Thank you!’

Mitch managed a smile, but there was something that he seemed to be holding back.

‘So come on. Stop being so modest and tell me exactly what you said to this Ruth Mangan then. Did you use witchcraft or hypnotism? How did you succeed where we failed?’

Mitch fixed his alluring gaze through his windscreen. He appeared fascinated by the bright whiteness of the gallery wall.

‘Mitch?’

He angled his head to look at me and there were spots of pink on his cheekbones. ‘Now, I never told Ruth Mangan this or led her to believe it, okay?’

‘Believe what?’