Page 36 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape (Scottish Escapes #9)

Chapter Twenty-Four

I let out an agonised groan.

Where was I?

I pushed myself upright, realising I’d been lying under a thick, black and white stripey duvet.

I swiped at my gritty eyes with the back of my hand. My head felt as though it were stuffed with balls of cotton wool.

It was only when my eyes prised themselves open that I realised I was in a bedroom.

There were closed charcoal cotton curtains at the window opposite and a table underneath it stacked with several glossy coffee table books about Scottish mountains.

Beside those were a couple of framed dramatic photographs of Lake Windermere and Coniston.

My head unscrambled. The memory of yesterday flooded my brain. Shit! I’d fallen asleep on Mitch’s couch. I must still be in his bothy. Hold on. I peered around again, my red curls exploding out and around my head. This was Mitch’s bedroom.

I stared down at myself, still dressed in my jeans and chunky pink jumper.

There was an armchair in the corner with a pillow and another duvet draped over it. It looked rumpled, as though someone had been sleeping in it.

I pushed off the duvet and crawled to the end of the bed. Bronte was snoozing on a cream rug, but there was no sign of Kane.

I heard noises coming from the kitchen through the slim crack in the bedroom door.

Bronte heard me throw my legs out of the bed and trotted round to see me. Her tail thrashed with delight.

I didn’t remember clambering into bed. In fact, I didn’t remember anything beyond Mitch and I having our heart-to-heart, me telling him all about Joe and then Mitch confiding in me about the young lad’s accident, him harbouring guilt over that and the fallout from it that he experienced, both personally and professionally.

Realising there was a small ensuite bathroom off to the right, I padded through in my socks, with Bronte tapping her way behind me. I slipped in as quietly as I could manage, did a wee, washed my hands, splashed my face with cold water and tidied my curls the best I could.

Coming out of the bathroom, I could hear the muzzy sound of a radio in the kitchen. There was the smoky scent of bacon being cooked and the sizzle of frying eggs. My stomach let out an appreciative groan.

Feeling self-conscious, I edged into the kitchen.

Mitch was standing with his back to me, turning over the bacon in a frying pan.

Kane was lingering nearby for scraps and when he saw me and Bronte, he wagged his tail and ambled over.

Mitch turned around. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’

I clasped and unclasped my hands in front of me in want of something to do. ‘Yes, I did thanks.’ I felt like I was all fingers and thumbs. ‘I bet you didn’t. You slept in that chair all night?’

‘Don’t worry. I’m used to camping and sleeping outside, so that’s a comparative luxury. Hungry?’

I opened and closed my mouth, taken aback by his kindness, not to mention how delectable he looked, even though it was still early in the morning.

His dark curls were still glistening with dampness from his shower.

‘Look, I’m really sorry I fell asleep on you like that.

Well, when I say fell asleep on you, I don’t mean physically falling asleep on top of you. ’

Mitch’s eyes danced. ‘Always a compliment when a woman nods off in your company.’

When I moved to explain, he shook his head. ‘It was the whiskey.’

‘It was,’ I rushed. ‘I hardly ate anything before coming over here and I didn’t sleep much the night before.’ I pushed a hand through my hair. ‘I don’t even remember getting into bed.’

‘That’s because I carried you through to my bedroom.’

Mitch’s gaze locked with mine. My stomach performed a back flip.

Jesus. Where was all this coming from? It was like my insides and heart were stirring.

The way he’d said it, in that gruff Scottish brogue of his.

‘I was going to leave you to sleep on the couch, but you made a move to get up and almost toppled backwards.’ Mitch’s small, quirky smile made my stomach swoop.

‘But I managed to catch you and stop you from falling. I decided it would be best to pick you up and put you to bed.’ He gave the bacon another prod in the frying pan and then turned back to look at me.

‘I decided to sleep in the chair, just to keep an eye on you. In case you were sick.’

A rush of something almost winded me, as I stood there, looking at this man. ‘Oh. Right. Well, I really do appreciate it. Thank you.’

Mitch was staring at me, an indecipherable look in his eyes. He turned away.

I cleared my throat. ‘Can I help?’

‘Och, no, thanks, it’s all under control. Feel free to go and grab a quick shower before I serve this up. The towel cupboard is right next to my bedroom. Help yourself.’

‘Oh, okay. Thanks.’

Outside the bathroom window, the weather was still angry, and snow was swirling as though a giant egg whisk was sending it everywhere.

I peeled off my clothes, set them on top of an Alibaba-style washing basket in the corner of the bathroom and switched on the shower. It rushed out in a silvery, hot gush behind the semi-circular screen. There were black and white tiles on the floor and a small, square, shiny mirror above the sink.

I let out a groan of appreciation as the water coursed over me.

Mitch had a bottle of zesty-smelling shower gel, so I lathered myself in that, before washing my hair with a dollop of his woodland-scented shampoo.

Once I’d patted myself dry with the stripey beach-style towel I’d fetched from the linen cupboard, I wrapped it around my wet hair for a few moments. My face was red and glowing.

There was a tube of toothpaste beside Mitch’s electric toothbrush on the shelf below the mirror, so I squeezed some onto my right middle finger and proceeded to give my teeth a DIY clean.

I’d just finished throwing my clothes back on and was about to leave his bedroom when I noticed a couple of glossy art books lying at the back of the chair where he’d been sleeping last night.

Curious, I flashed a look over my shoulder to make sure he didn’t spot me being nosey and crept over.

I picked the first one up. It was all about the techniques involved when painting with watercolours.

There were sheaves of scrap paper bookmarking certain pages, and on them were scribbled random notes, presumably in Mitch’s bold, sweeping handwriting.

Dry, flat brushes– blend paint and create smooth transitions; Sgraffito– technique used to remove paint while wet, to expose underpainting; Glazing– layering a coat of transparent paint over a dry paint to intensify shadows and modulate colour.

Mitch was researching painting techniques, so he’d be prepared if he was asked any questions about the methods my grandma had used in her artwork.

My heart gave a swoosh. I couldn’t believe he was doing this; devoting himself to help achieve Grandma’s dream, to help me. And going to such conscientious lengths too.

Overcome with gratitude and emotion, I set down the book where I found it and picked up the other one, which was all about chalk drawing. Mitch had undertaken the same system with this one, too, scraps of paper marking certain pages and his handwritten notes.

Wet chalk creates smoother lines; Feathering– taking pastel chalk strokes longer and working more quickly; Scumbling– creates a soft and velvety effect, by gently layering and blending colours.

I stroked the book in my hand. Okay, so I still strongly suspected that the main reason Mitch had been so keen to help me out with securing an exhibition of Grandma’s work was because of the guilt he was carrying about Noah (despite him refusing to openly admit that last night), but that didn’t take away from the fact that he’d gone to the trouble of reading up about art techniques.

I put the art book back beside the other one and gave a small, dreamy smile.

Looking after me when I nodded off in a drunken stupor, staying with me all night and sleeping in a chair, doing research like this and now cooking me breakfast.

He really was something else , I concluded with an odd jolt in my chest.

I busied myself and snatched up my wet towel, which I’d draped over the chair to look at the art books.

When I returned to the kitchen, Mitch was shovelling eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes and baked beans onto two warm plates. ‘I hope this is as good as it smells,’ he joked.

‘I’ve no doubt about that.’

He fetched a large brown ceramic teapot and set it on the kitchen table, together with a bottle of brown sauce and ketchup.

He eyed my wet towel draped over my arm. ‘Just dump that in the laundry basket if you like.’

I darted back to the bathroom, deposited the towel in the basket and came back to Mitch pouring out two mugs of tea.

‘Take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’

I sat down opposite Mitch at the oval, wooden table and set my mobile down beside me.

I wanted to thank him for going to so much trouble with the art books and taking notes, but what if he thought I’d been snooping around his room?

The last thing I wanted was for Mitch to think less of me or for me to embarrass him. I decided not to say anything for now.

I’d just taken a mouthful of crispy juicy bacon when my mobile rang. Reece’s name flashed up on the screen. ‘It’s Reece,’ I explained to Mitch. ‘He’s probably checking up on me after the snow last night.’

I answered the call and sure enough, that’s what it was. ‘I just wanted to check you were okay,’ he said. ‘That weather yesterday was terrifying! I did try to call you last night, but was struggling to connect.’

‘I’m fine, thanks. I hope you are, too.’

‘Aye, this old codger is managing. I just wanted to make sure you and the cottage withstood it all last night.’

I flicked an embarrassed look over at Mitch, who was supping his tea. His eyes locked with mine over the top of it. I jerked my head away. ‘Yes, it looks okay. I didn’t actually end up staying in the cottage last night, I ended up having to crash with Mitch in his bothy at the lighthouse.’