Page 60 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

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 1st 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.’