Page 68 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

I turned over images of my grandma’s paintings in my mind. ‘Maybe we should go for a theme with her paintings; perhaps just have her seascapes or ones of her nature-related pictures, still life’s, and her flowers?’

Mitch nodded. ‘It’s your call.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Did Tilda have a favourite tipple?’

My face split into a sudden, wide smile at the memory. ‘She used to enjoy a glass of Talisker.’

Mitch’s eyes twinkled. ‘She had great taste.’

‘You like it too?’

‘I do. Peat, barley and the seaside influence of the Isle of Skye. Can’t beat it. Do you like it?’

I shrugged. ‘I’ve never tried it.’

Mitch looked affronted. ‘Oh, we have to remedy that then. I expect you won’t be heading out in the car in that weather?’

‘No plans to, no.’

‘Good. Actually, that was an order, not a request. Don’t want you getting caught up in a white-out or stuck somewhere.’

I realised I was touched again by his concern.

Mitch got up and went over to a small, stout cupboard behind his sofa. He pulled out a bottle of Talisker whiskey, containing the warm amber liquid. He fetched two whiskey glasses and poured me one. ‘Here’s to Tilda’s exhibition.’

We clinked glasses and I took a sip. Wow. The single malt whiskey hit the back of my throat, but it was earthy and warming. ‘I can’t believe I never tried this before.’

He set the bottle down on the table in front of us. ‘It’s something else, isn’t it?’ Mitch took a mouthful and savoured it. ‘Did your grandma have a favourite food? This exhibition is all about her and her paintings, and it needs to reflect her. Nice touch as it happens to be falling on her birthday, too.’

I could taste the remnants of the delicious whiskey. As I savoured the Talisker, I watched him. Mitch was kind, thoughtful, and good-looking with a dry sense of humour, a mystery wrapped up in a mystery, but considerate nonetheless. No harm in admiring Mitch, but that was as far as I’d allow things to go. It would be best for everyone, especially me; I had already proved myself to be a bad judge of men. My mouth flatlined into a sad smile as I pushed my thoughts back to my grandma. ‘Yes, it should be all about her. She would’ve loved that.’

I felt warm and fuzzy from the whiskey hit. I eyed the bottle.

‘Like another one?’ he asked. ‘I will if you do.’

‘Yes, please.’

This time, I downed it like a pro.

‘Hey, slow down there, Rosie!’

I pulled a comical face. ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’ This time, the whiskey fuzzed me inside and I found myself smiling. An actual, genuine, big smile. Not forced. Not contrived. Not one that was trying to conceal the pain of having found out my dead husband had been cheating on me.

Here I was, with the snow swirling outside, sitting in a cosy bothy, with a tall, dark and very good-looking lighthouse keeper. Not that I had any feelings or attraction for Mitch at all, I insisted over and over. I was just making an internal observation. Had I been still writing, it could almost have been the plot of a book.

I leant forward and glugged another shot of the whiskey into my drained glass before snatching up Mitch’s and topping his up. Mitch gave me a jokey look and removed the bottle.

‘I know I’ve mentioned this before,’ I began, the alcohol delivering a sense of bravery, ‘but why, Mitch?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Och, not this again!’ he groaned. He sat back on his sofa and pushed out his legs. ‘Because I’m an amazing person with a wonderful sense of community spirit.’ He avoided eye contact with me for a few moments. ‘Now, back to arrangements and ideas for the exhibition.’

Mitch was doing it again. He was dodging and weaving like one of the seagulls over the harbour. Undeterred, I carried on. ‘So, tell me a bit about yourself,’ I persisted. ‘What did you do before becoming a lighthouse keeper?’

His face closed down. ‘We’re not here to talk about me. This is about your grandmother.’ What was he hiding? I was sure there was something. He was refusing to talk about himself.

I decided to try again later and returned to the subject of my grandma’s likes and dislikes. ‘She was a fan of Scottish cheeses and Cullen skink. We could arrange for a buffet of a few of her favourite dishes like that.’