Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
The painters and decorators arrived early the next day and were already hard at work.
A lot of them Luke knew from the pub quiz team and, as it was only a quick paint job, they’d bumped him to the top of their list. They were busily transforming the café into something wonderful.
The sunshine-yellow walls really brightened up the place and Rose had agreed to paint the bees and flowers once it was done in return for free coffee and cake for a month once the café was up and running.
Luke had spent the night before painstakingly going through Polly’s list of everything she apparently needed to run the café and ordering the items online.
Blenders, smoothie makers, ice cream makers, bread makers, waffle makers, pancake makers.
There was a machine for everything, even things he had never thought of or heard of before.
Polly had clearly been imagining her dream café for some time, creating her perfect wish-list of gadgets and must-have accessories, and when she found out who was footing the bill she decided not to hold back.
And while he was happy to try and support people’s dreams he was pretty sure the café didn’t need self-heating butter knives for the customers or teapots that could brew two different kinds of tea simultaneously and he was fairly confident that no one in the world needed a strawberry stem remover.
What was wrong with a knife? But while he was well aware he was being taken for a ride here, he was going to go ahead with it because he wanted the café to be a success, which in turn would help the studios back on its feet.
And this was exactly the kind of thing he was running away from.
Over the past year, since everyone had found out who he was, he’d paid out for a new roof for someone after a tree had gone through it and the insurance company had refused to pay out, a new washing machine for a single mother of two, new tyres for a young family’s car, a new oven for a local café, a newly decorated nursery with all the furniture for a couple expecting triplets, a new bike for a kid whose bike had been stolen, a new car, a new van, a new wheelbarrow, a new laptop, a new bed, a new dining room table, a new shed, the list was endless.
And he didn’t know any of these people who suddenly wanted to be his best friend.
Then there were the big things he’d been coerced into buying: a new lifeboat for the town, new enclosures at the local dog shelter, a summerhouse at the local school.
He was all for helping charities, he’d given millions to them over the years, but the constant expectation that he would always put his hand in his pocket and pay out was growing quite tiring.
He was looking forward to walking the streets of Skye and having no one know who he was.
The only people never to ask for anything from him were Audrey and Quinn. In fact, Audrey was quite insistent that she never wanted his money, even when he offered.
And then there was Flick, worried about spending too much, wanting to pay him back, or rather the fictional kitty, out of her profits.
No one had ever wanted to pay him back before.
Granted, things might change once she knew how much money he had in his bank, just like everyone else who looked at him with pound signs in their eyes, but he liked her attitude, at least for now.
Although he knew it was more than that that he liked. She was kind and easy to talk to. She made him laugh.
He was useless with women, never knowing the right thing to say, always awkward, always worried that the women he was with were enjoying themselves.
One of his ex-girlfriends had likened him to a puppy desperate for that pat on the head and to be told he was a good boy.
Although rude, there was probably an element of truth in it.
She’d laughed when he’d asked permission to kiss her and said women just liked to be grabbed and kissed, which didn’t seem very polite or gentlemanly.
She’d mocked him when they’d first made love because he’d asked her if she was OK and if she liked how he was touching her.
She’d said real men went in all guns blazing, they didn’t hold back.
She’d laughed at his love of The Lord of the Rings and ridiculed him when she found out he liked to dress up as Aragorn for comic cons.
Consequently he’d always been a bit withdrawn around women, never showing his true self.
And if he was honest, a bit of a bumbling twat.
But Flick genuinely seemed to like him, he felt like he could truly be himself with her and she wouldn’t judge him or laugh at him.
Even if they would only ever be friends.
He had to admit, his heart had leapt with happiness when she said she wanted to be his girlfriend and then flopped with disappointment when he realised it would only be pretend.
Although she had seemed quite open to the idea of a kiss, maybe even a little bit excited.
Was it possible that she was looking forward to the kiss as much as he was?
Or was he seeing something that simply wasn’t there?
Promising the boys he’d get them pizza for lunch, he went back downstairs to his studio space and carried on working on some of the smaller wooden animals he was making to sell in his studio.
He was actually really enjoying working on the smaller pieces, although he did feel there was probably more attention to detail needed at this size than less.
He wasn’t sure if the other studio owners had decided to create smaller or cheaper items. He knew Katherine had started creating smaller mosaics but he had no idea what the intentions of the other artists were .
Just then Flick appeared in his doorway and he tried to ignore how his heart leapt when she smiled at him.
‘Hey,’ she said, coming in.
He loved the clothes she wore, little dresses with dogs or cats or guinea pigs on them.
Today’s dress sported turtles swimming through the coral with little fishes darting around them.
She moved closer and the sweet smell of coconut and mango washed over him.
He shook his head to clear it. Why was he noticing stuff like that?
After walking in on him naked, she was never going to look at him in any way other than as a friend and with him leaving he shouldn’t want her to want anything more than that.
‘These look great.’ Flick picked up a small wooden owl and he felt a small surge of pride. ‘They look really intricate.’
‘Yeah, turns out I can’t really do something simple.’
‘How long did it take you?’
‘That one, about two or three hours. But I really enjoyed it. The big stag over there has taken weeks, so it’s nice to have something finished in such a short time. I figured I can spend two days a week making these smaller items over the next few weeks and the other five on commissions.’
‘Do you not take a day off?’
‘I do if I have something else to do, if I’m going out or meeting someone. Being my own boss is flexible, I can work whenever I want. But I love doing this, so it doesn’t feel like a job for me. Doing it seven days a week isn’t a chore. ’
‘That’s true. I love making my wish jars. Even after I’ve been at work all day, it feels like a reward to be able to spend time doing that in the evening.’
He noticed the tablet in her hand. ‘Have you completed your shopping list?’
‘Yes, but there’s quite a bit. If you wanted to put a cap on it and stop buying things when I reach that cap, that’s fine.’
‘No, we want to go big with our grand reopening, new café, new gift shop, we want people to be wowed when they come up here.’
‘Ooh, we should do a proper grand reopening, invite people up here for cake or cocktails or champagne.’
‘Three important food groups right there.’
She laughed and he loved that he could have that effect on her.
She handed him the tablet and pointed out the two different internet tabs.
‘This one is all the gifts: the scarves, mugs, candles, etc. This one is all the craft paraphernalia so people can have a go at creating their own masterpieces after walking around and seeing all the ones here in the studios.’
‘Perfect, I’ll get everything ordered today.’
She bit her lip. ‘I would feel better if I knew where all this money was coming from.’
‘I told you, we have a kitty.’
‘Luke.’
He sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to let this go. ‘OK, OK, we have an anonymous donor.’
‘Who? ’
Of course she would want to know who. ‘That’s the beauty of being anonymous, no one knows.’
‘But you know, this money didn’t just magically appear.’
‘Yes I know, but I can’t say anything more than that. I promised them complete anonymity.’
‘Does my nan know who they are?’
He pulled a face, wishing he’d never mentioned the anonymous donor. ‘I think if you asked her she would probably know but I think you should respect the donor’s wishes to remain anonymous and not try to find out.’
She frowned in confusion. ‘OK, but why have they donated?’
‘Because… they believe in the place and the importance of its legacy. They obviously knew the place was in trouble and wanted to help.’
‘But my nan didn’t tell any of the artists, not even you, how much trouble she was in. So why was she sharing it with this random donor?’
‘I don’t know. ‘“Ours is not to reason why.”’
She sighed, clearly not impressed with him quoting Tennyson.
And he didn’t blame her, if he was in her shoes, he’d want answers too.
He wondered if she would be more or less impressed if he quoted Sir Walter Scott.
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive.” Probably less, a lot less.