Page 59 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

Chapter Twenty-One

Mitch 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.’