Page 69 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

‘Sounds good.’

Once I polished off the remainder of the whiskey, I stood up. ‘Right. Time to go. Whoa…’ The room began to tilt on its axis. The Talisker had hit the spot. I tried to gather myself. I should’ve eaten a proper lunch, not nibbled on an apple and a bloody protein bar. What with that and not sleeping well last night, the alcohol was charging through me.

Nevertheless, I tried to walk in a straight line. Bronte saw me move to leave and departed from Kane’s side by the fire.

Mitch was unaware of my watery limbs. He’d been looking at his phone. ‘If you’re happy, Rosie, I’ll pull together a draft email for Ruth Mangan and send it to you to check it over?’

‘That’d be great. Thanks.’

Mitch fetched my coat, scarf and hat from the hallway and I started to get ready.

But as soon as he tugged open the door, we were greeted by what looked like a life-size shaken snow globe.

It was a white out.

The sky was a blank, solid block of white, with snow whirling in every direction. What had already landed was banking up in solid clumps, swallowing everything, from the cliffs to the cottage roof. The trees down in the woodland were hanging heavy under the growing weight of the snow bearing down on them. You couldn’t even see the line of the water on the wintry horizon. Even the lighthouse was a faint outline across the way, drowning in swirls of white.

Everything was vanishing in a snowy onslaught. A glittering Christmas card sprung to life.

As I stared down in disbelief at my grandparents’ cottage, all I could make out of it was the odd roof slate and the peeking chimney pot.

A huge blast of freezing air hit me in the face and I found myself starting to sway on the spot. I fought to steady my feet. Bloody insomnia and bloody whiskey!

I made a move to leave, but Mitch closed the door shut. ‘You aren’t heading back home in that and certainly not when you’re tipsy.’

I whirled round to look at him and wished I hadn’t. Shit! It was as if I was stuck on a carousel and couldn’t jump off. ‘I’m not tipsy! And anyway, the weather isn’t that bad.’

‘Did you just see what I did?’

I bristled under my coat. I don’t know why, but I suddenly didn’t want to be here anymore. Mitch was making me feel self-conscious and vulnerable, and I’d had enough of it. I wanted to be back with Bronte in the cottage.

‘I suggest you wait it out,’ said Mitch calmly. He eyed me. ‘It’s not that terrible here, is it? Not as bad as venturing out there after a few drinks and having an accident.’

I jutted my chin out in defiance. ‘I wish you’d stop going on about me being tipsy. I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much.’ I realised I was wobbling again on my legs and made a point of standing to attention.

Mitch’s lips carried an echo of an amused smile.

‘Are you always so bossy?’ I asked in an accusing tone.

‘When I have to be.’

My stomach did another weird, twisty thing as he continued to stare at me. It almost stole the breath from me.

I fixed my attention back out of the hallway window. The snow would subside soon, wouldn’t it? Of course it would.

Mitch let out an exasperated sigh and gestured for me to hand over my coat, hat and scarf. ‘Is it so bad here that you can’t wait it out?’ he repeated.

I swallowed, feeling fuzzy at the edges. The whiskey was heating up my veins. With an exasperated groan, I began to snatch off my hat. It looked like Bronte and I wouldn’t be going anywhere for the time being.