Before long, it was the day of the dance, and despite being in town a lot beforehand, she never ran into Rob Munro again. Seeing him again, dressed in a black tie and his opulent setting, Rose shivered in anticipation. A dread overtook her already stretched nerves. He would be surrounded by his friends and belongings on his home turf, and she would be like a fish out of water. Facing him again was not something she was looking forward to. He had a knack for making her feel awkward and out of her depth, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she even liked him.
Abby had promised to wait on her out at the front entrance so that she would walk her in, and they had agreed on eight pm to meet. She could walk confidently with her friend’s arm, smile, and look radiant. At least that way, she did not have to look around nervously, trying to find a friendly face.
Rose had woken that morning with a strange churning feeling that followed her through the hours. Excitement and dread at the same time. She was looking forward to a good night of wine, dancing, and music. But her heart thumped every time she thought about that handsome face and his cold steel-grey glare that did crazy things to her insides.
Now that she had made more friends in the town and had Abby, she felt more confident about going, but that nervous anticipation in the back of her mind followed her. She was so restless she could barely concentrate on anything.
She tried sketching some ideas in her art room, walking Muffin to town and back to get rid of some pent-up energy, and only felt more restless. She bathed at lunch and slathered herself in every expensive product she owned. Shaving and moisturising, pruning and preening, and throwing on a light sundress to sit in the garden. She felt like her nerves were on edge and checked her watch every five minutes. Listlessly aware that she was counting the minutes until the ball began.
She had cooked a full breakfast and lunch, trying to kill time through the morning, but only picked at both. Her appetite had deserted her. She had the cottage looking spotless and neat, and nothing on TV interested her.
Abby was helping with the big house today, so there were no morning visits from her either.
Maybe that’s why she felt so agitated.
Maybe she needed some company that was not furry with four legs. Perhaps she just needed human interaction to distract her and jumped in her car for the second trip to town that day. Poor Muffin was exhausted from their walk, so she left him asleep on the rug in the living room, snoring and dreaming of chasing some poor cat. His little legs twitched as he lay stretched on his side with small whimpers and growls as he snorted through a closed mouth.
The short car journey was pleasant as the sun shone brightly in the sky. The weather had been glorious these past few weeks, giving her a deep tan and healthy colour on her face.
She spent half an hour in Bella’s bakery and finally reunited with the woman after all these years when she popped in to check on things. Lots of laughs and cuddles and reminiscing. The large round woman was exactly as she remembered, only with a few greyer hairs and laughter lines. The conversation pulled towards Olivia, and Bella gave her many condolences and a bag of cream confectionaries.
From there, she found the church had an outdoor stall in the town centre selling jumble and books. That killed a lot of time and small talk with the knitting club, who loved nothing more than to shower Rose with affection. They called her their ‘adopted grandchild.’ They gave her a free crochet mug mat for her desk and a bag of dog cookies for the now-famous Muffin.
Everyone in town loved Muffin, her small furry friend. Always happy to see him and shower him with smooches, hugs, and treats under the table. They liked to think Rose couldn’t see, but she chose to turn a blind eye. Although, of late, his little pot belly was becoming obvious. She would soon have to curb all these extra daytime treats.
Rose wandered around for a bit, window shopping and killing time. Lost in her thoughts. She was not paying attention but trying to stretch out her day a little longer rather than going back to clock-watching at home and pacing her rugs until they were threadbare.
She was carrying a large beach bag with a rainbow stripe print, which held all her purchases and gifts; her long lemon sundress touched the ground as she walked, flowing loosely around her legs. It had a fitted strappy bodice showing off her tanned shoulders, arms, and slim figure. It did a great job of making her feel cool in the baking heat. Her long brown hair hung around her shoulders in soft, gentle waves, thanks to her new curling iron, and her face, as usual, with minimal makeup and her favourite cherry lip balm, which stained her full pout to a slight rosy tint.
She looked at her reflection in a boutique mirror and admired the change in her since coming here. It wasn’t just the tan. It was her whole being. She looked happier, healthier, and more relaxed. She fit with this country living more than she ever fitted with the busy city streets and clogged air. Her mood had generally been lighter and more carefree. The smog-free air made her feel like she could breathe living here.
She was unaware of how carefree and elegant she looked as she wandered about, unaware that eyes had been watching her from afar, and as she drew ever closer to them, they did not dare to interrupt her. She looked so lost in thought and stunningly beautiful.
She became aware of the museum looming above her as she wandered aimlessly about. Raising her eyes, she took in the large ancient building with its grey stone walls and gothic arched entranceway. It stretched above her like a massive foreboding castle, so dark against the bright surroundings.
Huge banners gently flapped in the breeze, announcing the current exhibition, and she felt inclined to go in. Something pulled her towards the dark, shadowy entrance. The museum mainly held a lot of Scottish artefacts and history, but the side hall changed every few months to bring in new visitors. Today the banner displayed a modern art-themed exhibition from some aspiring artist who had been a local once. The artwork hinted at the abstract, but she still felt enough intrigue to venture on. She hesitated about going in, then took the plunge and walked forward.
‘Penelope.’ the warm tones in his voice had an immediate impact, and she stopped. That familiar lurch in her breastbone. Swinging around to see where it came from. He was perched on a stone planter by the door in the shade. She had not seen him sitting there.
God knows how long he had been watching her.
He wore another white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves pushed up, exposing those rather hunky arms, a pair of faded jeans, and white trainers. Practically every time she saw him, he was in varying degrees of formal meets casual, which somehow only added to his charm. His short black hair was ruffled on top carelessly and casually styled. He had on sunglasses shielding those stormy grey eyes from sight. She felt a nudge of disappointment that his best feature was shielded from view.
Unlike those London men with shiny, puffed hair do’s and manicured hands. He looked relaxed and smiled. Thousand-watt voltage sprang from that smile, and all Rose could do was dive into her bag to fake look for something so important she instantly needed it. She was aware that it had become immediately difficult to breathe normally.
‘Rob.’ She kept her tone even and eyes down, intent on her hands and their rummaging. Trying to keep herself calm and sane with such a mundane task as sorting through, looking for a plausible item to drag out. ‘And my name is Rose!’ She was keeping the irritation out of her voice. Trying to sound light and carefree. Of course, she did not want him to know how much he annoyed her using that stupid pet name.
Hadn’t she already made it clear that it was not her name? Her heart was pounding through her chest, which annoyed her immensely.
Stupid reactions to this man!
‘I know!’ a voice deep and smooth, sexy. She heard him slide off the planter, and her heartbeat upped a gear; her fingers began trembling as she sensed him moving closer. Aware that she was fumbling.
‘I just think Penelope suits you.’
She ignored him. Well tried to. Cursing inwardly as she still fumbled in her bag. Finally locating her sunglasses, she pulled them out and pushed them on, shielding her eyes and sweeping her hair back from her face to look relaxed and unaffected. Throwing a sarcastic smile, she marched away from him into the museum, annoyed with how juvenile he made her feel.
‘Well, have a wonderful day, Mr Munro. I would love to stay and chat, but I want to see this exhibit before heading home.’ She smiled and made for the Museum doors quickly. Unaware that he was grinning at her sudden need for eyewear when entering a building away from the sun. Or the way he was looking her up and down. She heard him call out a goodbye as she practically hoofed away from him and, in return, threw up a hand in a wave that implied indifference. She would be damned if she let him see how much he got to her. Her heart rate was competing in the Olympics, and she felt slightly faint.
Oh my god, why did this guy invoke such trauma in her just by being near?
She immediately dashed behind a pillar at the open wooden door and turned to peek out. He was walking away. That manly walk that real guys have when it’s not a swagger but not a weak girly trot. Just a typical guy walking, all wide shoulders and strong legs, and going about his day, unaware of the crazy woman peeking out at him from the darkness of the building.
What was he doing here anyway? Did he not have a dance to organise? To oversee? To lord over?
She pulled herself away as he turned out of sight, leaning back against the wall behind her to gather herself and take some deep breaths. Sighing as she tried to push the picture of his tight, jean-clad butt out of her mind’s eye. Cursing herself at the lack of ability to do so. The coldness of the stone in this dark corner, tucked behind the pillar, made her feel instantly calmer. Hidden from his view. Somehow sobering and grounding her. She hated the way he caused her to self-implode like this at every meeting. He would probably enjoy it if he knew how much he affected her. He seemed like a guy who would get a kick out of it. She pulled her glasses back off her face and threw them in her bag.
Excellent choice, Rose! Sunglasses in a dark building! Could you be any more obvious?
She smoothed down her dress and bravely walked back into the room's light. Acting as though nothing had happened. Hiding in the shadows was completely normal. She looked around the vast hall, deserted on such a sweltering day, and tried to find some poster or sign with information or at least directions to the art exhibit.
While in Rome!
There were large wooden doors to the left and right, but both were firmly shut with No entry signs screwed in place. She figured she would kill some time surrounded by art, which always had such a soothing effect, and try and forget what that smooth voice and dazzling smile had done to her. Not that it had an impact in a good way.
Hell no! It rattled her in a really, really bad way. In a ‘he’s so annoying and irritating’ way. Such a jerk.
A jerk with a nice ass in a pair of jeans, though.
Damn him!
Her heartbeat finally tried to regain its calm rhythm, but her hands still trembled. She pushed it away and focused ahead. The large hall echoed as her sandals clip-clopped across to a wall-mounted glass case at the far end with huge welcome signs hanging from the ceiling. Inside all the information she had been seeking, several small artefacts surrounded the posters and brass-etched signs on glass floating shelves. There was a door off to her left with an ‘Office’ plaque above, and a red rope stretched across, preventing her from venturing further. There was a glass sliding window beside the glass case, with a large etched sign reading ‘Admissions’ above it and a placed bell to ring for assistance. The entry fees were printed on a laminated A4 card, propped up in the sliding window, and a cheery old lady with curly grey hair was sitting inside with her nose stuck in some trashy novel. Rather than ring the bell, Rose gently knocked on the glass smiling.
Once She had purchased her entry ticket, the lady came out, moved the rope for her to pass, and pointed her in the direction she had been seeking. The museum was much like most she had been in. Large, old-world, airy buildings with polished floors, old wood stairs and beams, glass cabinets, and that distinct musty smell of old things. Large gothic windows kept the place bright, draped with heavy red curtains and gold tassels. The windows, however, were frosted, so she could not see out into the surroundings. The familiar echoed noise caused people to whisper as she moved around the polished floors slowly.
The halls she passed through had the odd browsing tourist peering into the lines of cases and displays. She could hear some documentary film playing in another room, the noise faintly echoing throughout and the sounds of a battle thrashing to some bagpipe music. Overall the place was deserted.
The art exhibit was in one of the rear halls, at the furthest part of the museum, a huge white-walled room with soft floaty music gently pouring over you as you entered. There were huge abstract paintings on the walls and large sculptures on plinths. There was a table with pictures and information about the artist and a pile of brochures. She browsed the pamphlet quickly, taking in the man’s mature face and grey hair, background history, and the basis behind his work before turning and strolling eagerly into the room.
Nothing she could identify as a real object, just more abstract design made from various mediums in a flowing graduation of colour. It was almost as though someone had melted a wax rainbow and frozen it mid-pour. He seemed to like working through colour graduations, sometimes sticking to one colour and working through tones and sometimes the entire spectrum running from one blended colour to another. She found herself captivated by all the colours and fluidity in his work, like being pulled into a colourful dream in a magical wonderland made of melted things. She could see why many of his words related to flowing and freedom in the descriptive plaques. She was standing to ponder a large, almost sunset-like piece on a stand in the corner and lost in thought when a voice interrupted her.
‘Afternoon Ma’am. You like that one?’ She was slightly startled but smiled, covering her reactions and focusing on the art piece. It was an easy American drawl, southern sounding and male.
‘Yes, there’s something about it, like you’re standing on a tropical beach watching the sun rise.’ She kept her gaze on the painting as the voice came closer and moved to her side.
He was a very tall, very muscular blonde American. Classically handsome in that chiselled American way, with piercing blue eyes. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and immediately made her think of the movie Thor. She had to admit. He was pretty hot. All women loved a bit of hunky eye candy, which was appreciated.
‘The artist is my uncle’ He smiled, showing some overly pearly whites and a dazzling cheeky smile. She smiled back, blushing slightly. Aware that all good-looking men could make her feel awkward. Maybe it was the ugly duckling syndrome from being a non-too-attractive child in puberty.
‘So, is that why you’re here? Are you the muscle to make sure people admire his work?’ she laughed and turned more toward this handsome stranger, truly geeky in mentioning his muscles in such a lame line.
‘Something like that.’ He was standing with his hands behind his back, his chest straining behind a grey t-shirt with a designer logo and a pair of jeans straining at his footballer’s thighs. ‘I came with him for the trip when they asked him to show his work here.’
‘He stays in the USA now, then?’
‘Yeah, he moved out there a few years ago. He married my aunt when she came over for a little Scottish holiday, and they spent a long time living here before heading back to the states.’ He smiled Rose’s way, his eyes skimming her appreciatively, and Rose ignored the slight uneasiness.
‘I guess you’re close then, seeing as you came with him?’ She tried to ignore how he was fixated on the tight bodice of her dress and crossed her arms over her waist to cover up a little.
‘Yeah, we are. He’s a good guy, and I needed a break. I have an injury that’s healing. ‘He pointed down to his knee in a manner that suggested he probably was someone who played football. The build on him suggested American football.
‘I couldn’t resist a trip to Scotland to see some castles and haggis.’ his winning smile again had her smiling too, putting her back at ease and forgiving the way he had been ogling her; there was something about his easy manner and a quick smile that made Rose feel a little at ease. Maybe it was just a pretty face that could make you relax, although that seemed the opposite for Rob Munro. That handsome face most certainly didn’t make her feel at ease.
He walked with her to the next painting, explaining his injury and sabbatical. He was from Arizona, hence the southern drawl, and was a career sportsman. He seemed to have a celebrity status back home and was enjoying the peace of being a no-one in this country. He also seemed to enjoy talking about himself without coaxing. Somehow Rose found it a little arrogant.
They admired the next work of art briefly, pointing out the colours and flow of the piece before moving on quickly. Rose started feeling listless again and wanted him to let her browse alone again.
He seemed a decent guy, if not a little bit too self-absorbed. He made all the right noises and acted like an adult anyway.
His name was Matt... Very American! He was twenty-nine, single, and owned his own ranch.
Rose could not help but think of a ton of Mills and Boon romance books that reeked of romantic heroes like him, and the very thought made her blush a little more. It was so stupid.
He was hanging out at the museum while his uncle was upstairs in one of the curator’s offices, discussing some minute details over a painting offered for sale. He was his driver and bodyguard, not that he needed it, but the pretence of his needing his nephew stopped Matt from feeling like a third wheel.
Rose was trying to wander off and put space between them unsuccessfully when Matt’s uncle appeared with a tall woman at the door. Rose was immediately captivated by the woman’s tailored perfection, cream and black Chanel suit on her tall supermodel body, her dark red curls falling like a tumbling brook from the top of her head and her glittering green almond eyes. Black expertly applied winged eyeliner set in pale flawless skin with peachy tones and a spattering of freckles. Her pouty mouth was stained with dark red lipstick giving her a seductive yet dominating appeal. She was stunning in a magical fairy-like way, meets American vogue, businesswoman of the year. How you would imagine a wood nymph or a naughty sexy pixie to look if she was from New York.
She had black high stiletto heels, peeking under her cream slacks and killer French manicured nails in deadly points, tipped with black. She oozed class and sophistication and immediately drew you under a spell at her presence. She gushed over Matt in an insincere tone, exposing ample cleavage under her suit jacket. She had a hint of black lace and a satin camisole as she spread her arms to kiss his cheeks in a French debutante manner, almost enveloping them all in her expensive perfume. Her accent was subtly Scottish, with an upper-class air and silky smooth like honey. She screamed sex and allure with every word, breath, and movement. It was almost impossible not to be drawn in by her.
Matt did not seem overly susceptible to her charms, wary almost, and kept his distance once she released him from her embrace. He almost seemed hostile towards her.
She introduced herself to Rose as Morag Spencer, the museum curator, then dismissed her with a smile before turning her attention to the men. It was obvious Rose was in the way, and the patron sent her every female signal that it was time to go.
Maybe not so alluring after all.
Rose excused herself, feeling unwelcome warmth as Matt placed his large hand on her arm, pulling her over to kiss her cheek rather surprisingly before saying goodbye. It felt strange to have a stranger’s touch on her skin. She was not sure she liked it. She figured it was normal to part ways back home, but it knocked her for six. His aftershave still lingered around her face, slightly catching in her throat as she left the building in a weird mood. Unsure why the handsome man’s brief kiss had unsettled her. It seemed an innocent enough gesture. Common, maybe where he was from.
She could not remember finding her car or driving home that afternoon, lost somewhere in daydreams and thoughts of large American men running around the football field, except it was not Matt’s face she was envisioning. Instead, someone with decidedly darker looks and greyer eyes.