Page 37 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape (Scottish Escapes #9)

‘What? With that handsome young fella?’

Mitch had heard Reece’s comment. His eyes twinkled across the table at me. His lashes were so long, they were almost casting shadows on his cheekbones. ‘Yes. But not… you know…’

Reece let out a chuckle but didn’t push the conversation.

I felt self-conscious again and switched the conversation back to Reece. ‘Is it bad then where you are?’

‘Aye, lass, but don’t you go worrying about me. Looks like there’s a slow melt on the way soon, according to the forecast.’ He began to wind up the call. ‘Once the road conditions improve, I’ll drop by, probably in a day or two.’

‘I’d like that.’

Reece rounded off the call and I set my phone back down by my plate.

I felt fortunate right now; warm and swirling with gratitude.

I had two people who were actually, genuinely concerned about me, who were looking out for me.

I wasn’t as alone as I’d thought I was. This was the least lonely I’d felt since Joe had died, and his other life had been exposed.

I offered Mitch an appreciative blush. Enjoying a delicious breakfast with Mitch, who’d put me to bed when I’d got tipsy and watched over me through the night felt so strange, yet comforting at the same time.

If I were to tell Mia and Lola about him, they’d suggest I get him stuffed and put in a museum.

Had I been still writing, I concluded to myself, Mitch would have made the most wonderful book hero.

My readers would’ve been swooning over him.

The thought pricked me. Up until his death, I’d only ever thought of Joe as my muse for my book heroes.

No one else could or would ever have been able to replace him.

But now I knew of his betrayal, that had changed.

I inwardly cringed as I picked up my knife and fork again and cut a section of egg white.

What was going on in my head? Was it the lingering effects of the whiskey from last night?

If someone had said to me even a couple of weeks ago, that I’d be sharing breakfast with a delectable lighthouse keeper, I’d have told them they were crazy.

Was I thinking straight? Was I enjoying myself? I weighed up these two questions as I sipped my tea and glanced across the rim of the mug at Mitch. Yes, was the answer to both, I realised.

I found myself studying Mitch again across the breakfast table.

My mug stilled halfway to my mouth. Wait a minute.

What was I doing? What was I thinking? I swore I wouldn’t get involved with anyone else.

No more being let down. I wouldn’t allow myself to be treated like a fool ever again.

After what happened with Joe, I’d learnt my lesson– or so I thought.

And yet, look what I was doing right now, how I was beginning to feel…

‘Bronte and I will head back home soon,’ I rushed.

‘We’ve taken up too much of your time already. ’

I didn’t want to come across as some vulnerable, stupid woman in need of help. I was beginning to slowly realise I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

‘You don’t have to rush off,’ said Mitch.

I picked up my mug of tea and cradled it in my hands again, for something to do. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I really should head back.’ I glanced out of the kitchen window. The snowfall had stopped and there was the faint trace of rose-gold sunshine.

Mitch polished off the last of his bacon and picked up a slice of toast from the silver toast rack in the centre of the table. ‘Kane and I will accompany you and Bronte back home.’

‘There’s no need. You’ve done more than enough already. It’s very kind of you, but I only have to walk back down the cliff path.’

‘And the snow is still thick out there and slippy underfoot.’

I frowned.

Mitch’s brows knitted at me over the table. They brooked no argument. ‘Look, Rosie, just accept my offer to see you back to the cottage safely. It’ll make me feel better, if not you.’

I ground my teeth in frustration before realising my pig-headedness was beginning to melt under those eyes of his. ‘Alright. That’s very kind of you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Mitch returned to sipping his tea.

‘Mitch?’

His gaze bored into me. My heart gave an odd jitter. ‘Thank you. For taking care of me, for last night and for this morning. I do appreciate it.’

His eyes twinkled across the table at me. ‘You’re welcome.’

* * *

Mitch and I scrunched over the melting, sandwiched layers of crunchy snow, while Kane and Bronte whirled around us, chasing each other and letting out delighted barks.

Behind us, the lighthouse glowed in the early-December sunlight, like a Christmas decoration.

I was filled with thoughts of Mitch, what he’d told me, the way he’d confided in me, his haunting guilt at what had happened to Noah, the way he’d talked about his wife abandoning him when the going got tough, him seeking penance to put something right, his chivalrous, caring attitude towards me and then him sleeping in that chair with a pillow and duvet all night…

Everything was wafting through my brain and refusing to leave.

The lone wolf, Mitch Carlisle, with eyes as deep and blue-green as the sea.

I batted the thoughts away, fetched my front door key out of my coat pocket and slid it into the lock. I crouched down and gave Kane a rub behind the ears. He rewarded me with a sloppy lick to the face. ‘And thank you too, handsome.’

‘Oh, so he gets called handsome and I don’t?’

I stood up and laughed. ‘I mean it. Thank you for last night.’

Mitch flapped one gloved hand. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Yes, you did. You made sure Bronte and I were safe and looked after.’ I hesitated. ‘Just when I needed it, too.’

‘Well, you fell asleep on my couch and I’m not such a heartless rogue that I’d cast you and your pup out in the snow.’

Now it was my turn to flap my hand. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

Mitch’s mouth flickered with a smile.

I eased the cottage front door open, and Bronte shot inside. I turned in the doorway. ‘You can’t blame yourself for what happened to Noah.’

Mitch bristled. ‘You’re trying to psychoanalyse me.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to.’

‘It’s okay. I’m sorry I’m a grumpy bugger.’

There was the sound of plopping and dripping around us as the snow continued its slow melt.

I fidgeted in the doorway.

Mitch continued, ‘You have to move on at some point. We both do.’

I could feel hot tears jabbing at the corners of my eyes. I nodded.

Mitch frowned under his dark, woolly hat. ‘I can’t quite believe I told you as much as I did last night. I’m not normally so talkative. You must’ve cast your spell on me.’

‘I’m a good listener.’

There was that irresistible, quirky angle to his mouth again. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

Down in the harbour, the water swished under the rose-tipped morning sky. ‘Whatever the reasons, I want you to know that I do appreciate your help with this exhibition and getting my grandma’s work out there.’ I realised my hands were playing with the zipper on my coat.

I couldn’t believe what I said next. The words flowed out of my mouth, as though they had a life of their own. ‘If you’re at a loose end tomorrow, maybe you could drop in for a coffee?’ I took a breath. ‘I mean, as a way of me saying thank you for last night.’

When Mitch’s attention lingered on my face, I coughed. ‘I mean, we need to get all our ducks in a row for this exhibition, don’t we?’

Mitch’s expression remained impassive. ‘Of course we do. That sounds sensible.’

He continued to linger there on the step, with me framing the doorway.

Mitch gave the back of his neck an absent rub with his gloved hand and I twizzled a curl around one finger.

We both looked back at one another at the same time.

I wasn’t imagining it. I could feel it: a swirling, charged electrical current bolting between the two of us.

Mitch’s attention rested on my mouth. Then he performed a little mock salute. ‘Bye, Rosie.’ Kane followed up behind as Mitch walked away.

Disappointment registered in my chest. Had he been debating whether to kiss me? The truth hit me like an out-of-control express train. Oh God. I’d actually wanted him to. I’d wanted him to kiss me. So much.

I quickly shut the front door and pressed my back against it. My breathing was galloping. What was going on? What was happening between Mitch and me? My emotions were all over the place. I mean, I’d just invited him over for coffee to say thanks for taking care of me. Hadn’t I?

Talk about a myriad of contradictions. Mitch was a walking enigma of attraction, with so much depth, but he was also a troubled soul, always striving to do the right thing.

Irritation pulled at me again. I didn’t want to be intrigued by him.

I didn’t want to be fascinated by his looks, personality, his kindness and his insistence that he’d done wrong and that was why Noah’s life had taken such a tragic direction.

I didn’t want to be standing there now, with my heart thudding against my ribs, imagining what it would be like to kiss him.

A game of push and pull was playing out inside of me.

I removed my coat and hung it up on one of the hallway pegs together with my hat and scarf. I peeled off my gloves next. Think about something else, Rosie, instructed my inner voice . Start making more plans for the exhibition. Focus on plans for the Lumiere Gallery.

Ruth Mangan nudged again at the corners of my mind. What the hell was her issue with my grandma? She definitely gave the impression she had one. All nicey-nicey to us and gushing over the idea of Grandma’s paintings one minute and then throwing me, Reece and the artwork out of her gallery the next.

I set my shoulders.

Right.

I’d dump the clothes I was still wearing from yesterday in the washing basket and put a load on. Then I’d throw on clean underwear, jumper and jeans and start some detective work on our Ms Mangan.

But it seemed that today had other ideas.