Page 56 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

I gave myself a mental shake, and Reece and I began to retrieve my grandma’s artwork from the boot of the car to return them inside.

I was angling the last painting – one of the lighthouse scenes at sunset – back through the open cottage door when Mitch’s intrigued voice startled me.

‘Hi there. Wow. Did you paint that, Rosie? It’s fantastic.’

I spun round, startled by his soft-footed approach. Mitch’s appreciative expression drifted over the painting. There was an odd look on his stubbled face, which I couldn’t decipher.

‘No. If only. It was my late grandma. She was the artist.’

I was about to push the door open wider, but Mitch spotted what I was trying to do and gallantly jumped ahead of me. ‘Here. Let me help.’

‘Oh. Right. Thank you.’

Mitch eased the picture inside and set it down just inside the hallway. We were very close now, almost brushing against one another.

He was in no hurry to move.

I could see the sweep of his lashes and the way the corners of his mouth lifted when he was interested. We both stood there, our thighs almost touching. Mitch held my gaze. My breathing fluttered in my chest. Then I dragged myself back and moved away.

He swiped his hands down the front of his jeans. ‘So, your grandma painted?’

I clasped and unclasped my hands for something to do. ‘Oh yes. She was prolific. Mainly watercolours, but she dabbled with chalks, too. Her studio is full of her pieces and she painted these too.’ I gestured to some of her artwork on the walls.

He nodded. ‘So where were you taking her artwork?’

‘Trying to get them exhibited,’ I explained. ‘We visited that posh Lumiere Gallery.’

Mitch angled a brow. ‘We?’

‘Reece and me.’

‘Oh. Right, Your visitor from yesterday.’ There was that odd, loaded look again. ‘So, what happened?’

‘No good. The stuck-up bint in there wasn’t interested.’

Mitch blinked at me in surprise. ‘Seriously? They turned her art down?’

‘Yep. Without even taking a look at it.’

Mitch pulled a face. ‘I mean, I’m no art expert, but from what I can see, your grandma’s paintings are terrific. What’s the issue?’

Mitch wasn’t going to let this drop. He was looking at me like Bronte did whenever she wanted a treat. Shit. Oh, what the hell. What did it matter if I told him? It wouldn’t make any difference anyway.

I shrugged. ‘To be honest, I’ve no idea why they rejected them. I spoke to the woman at the gallery on the phone yesterday, and she seemed very keen. But as soon as I told her the artist’s name, she changed her mind about taking a look at the paintings and put the phone down on me.’ I shook my head in disbelief. ‘I thought if she saw the paintings, she’d change her mind, but as soon as I told her I was Tilda’s granddaughter, she was very rude and said she wanted nothing to do with the art or my grandmother.’

Reece had reappeared at the cottage entrance.

‘Oh, sorry. Let me introduce you both. Mitch, this is Reece, an old friend of my late grandmother’s. Reece, this is the new lighthouse keeper, Mitch. And this big, gorgeous boy is his dog, Kane.’

Both men swapped handshakes.

Mitch blinked and looked from me to Reece and back again. The strange expression he carried before cleared. ‘Oh. Right. So, this is Reece?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Mitch said, ‘No, no reason.’

What was he going on about? What was the matter with him?