Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts (7 page)

‘
And you want to start again.’ Heath’s voice was colder than I’d ever heard, and I could just imagine the thunderous look on his face. ‘Tell me this, Mother. Why in God’s name would I want to start again with you, when it’s obvious nothing has changed? You only care about your bloody business. That’s why you’ve come by, isn’t it? Nothing to do with me – you want to make sure to get your hands on the premises when the museum flops. And helping me with the proper planning? Was that just to get me on side, to butter me up?’

Liz snorted
. ‘My, my, you have quite the suspicious mind. I have to admit, I was hoping you’d see I’m not
all
bad, Heath. I do understand you wanted to do something for Gran. But this museum’ – I could hear the disdain in her voice – ‘is a collection of other people’s rubbish. You’re clever enough to see that. ParteePizza is a much more economical use of space.’

I wrapped my arms around myself, cringing at the harsh words. This was
not
how the reunion was supposed to go down. Biting my lip, I prayed things would somehow turn around.

But
Heath just laughed bitterly. ‘Goodbye, Mother. And please don’t bother dropping by again. The less help you give us, the better.’

All I could hear was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, then the sound of Liz’s high heels clicking on the floorboards. And then, with a sen
se of finality, the door thudded closed.

‘
What the
hell
were you thinking?’

I jumped as Heath appeared before me. Risking a glance at his face, I drew back at the anger flashing in his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. I saw you looking at the locket a few weeks ago, and I thought maybe it was time for you to patch things up with your mum. Or, er, she tried to patch things up with you.’

Heath shook his head with
an expression of disbelief. ‘Relationship meddling aside, what on earth gave you the right to tell my mother about our issue with planning permission? That’s confidential information. I should have you dismissed right now.’

What? I sucked in my breath, my heart beating so quickly I felt lightheaded
. He wouldn’t do that, would he? God, I’d never even stopped to think what might happen if he didn’t approve of my . . . interference.

‘
Please don’t fire me,’
I said, trying to keep the tremble from my voice. My face was hot and beads of sweat were breaking out on my upper lip, even though every bit of me felt cold. ‘I’m so sorry. I was only trying to help.’

Heath shook his head and his shoulders heaved in a sigh. ‘I’m not going to fire you, Rose. Even if I wanted to, I need your help for the opening tomorrow. But I
don’t
need your help with the business behind the museum – and certainly not with my mum. Some things can’t be fixed.’

I nodded
, my eyes filling with tears. I couldn’t believe how things had turned out. Mother and son were even further apart than ever. Was Heath right?
Were
some things beyond fixing? My eyes scanned all the objects in the room, detritus of broken relationships and relics of smashed hearts, hopes, and dreams.

Heath’s
dark eyes locked on mine. ‘Do what you must to keep the museum functioning. Just stay
out
of my personal life.’ Each cold word, practically dripping with ice, was like a jab to my heart. He waved a hand in the air. ‘I don’t have time for this. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I watched as he left the room and thumped up the stairs to his office.

I sagged
onto the settee, my heart feeling heavier than ever. Not only had I messed things up with Heath and his mum, but I had a feeling Heath would never open up to me again. And I could forget about that promotion. For God’s sake, the man had almost fired me! I drew my legs to my chest, wanting to disappear.

The Museum of Broken
Hearts was the perfect place for me right now.

CHAPTER
TEN

‘
Everything looks great,’ I said to Heath the next evening, taking in the long-stemmed glasses and bottles of champagne chilling on white-draped tables. Despite the season, the only sign of Christmas was a few sprigs of mistletoe and holly I’d managed to smuggle in. It wasn’t festive, but the museum was definitely ready to face the public.

Dressed in a dark suit with a
n expensive-looking silk tie, Heath looked pretty great, too, although I managed to keep that thought to myself. We’d spent all day checking and double-checking the exhibits, liaising with the caterers, and making sure everything tonight went according to plan – and we’d barely spoken, besides the obligatory business exchanges. I longed to claw off the mask and uncover the Heath I’d seen behind it, but he was keeping me firmly at arm’s length. Not that I could blame him.

Now, it was almost seven o’clock, and I’d changed into my best party dress, a deep pink crushed-velvet number that hugged my body before falling in soft lines to just above my knee. Whenever I’d worn it, Gareth had always said I looked like a Titian painting. My heart twisted when I thought of him. In my many emails, I’d told him the big opening was today, harbouring hope he’d at least respond to wish me good luck. But when I’d checked this morning, there’d been nothing. Not even penis spam!

Lying
in bed last night with Beano curled around my head like a kitty hat, Heath’s words had echoed in my mind.
Some things can’t be fixed.
Were Gareth and I one of those things? Did I really want a happy ending with him, or did I just want a happy ending? Maybe not everything could have a positive resolution. Maybe some things, like Heath and his mum, were just too far apart. Finally, after tossing and turning for hours, I’d managed to drop off to sleep around three.

Thank goodness I’d
plastered on loads of concealer to hide the bags under my eyes, I thought, peering into an old, cracked mirror in the hallway. Heath appeared in the reflection behind me, and I swung around, cheeks flushing as I met his steady gaze.

‘
Ten to seven. Almost time.’

I nodded. ‘Um, Heath? I’m, you know, really sorry about yesterday.’ I was desperate to clear the air before the night began.

Heath sighed, and his eyes softened. ‘I know you are, Rose, and I know you were only trying to help. Hell, you
did
help with the planning issue. I can’t believe you actually went to see my mother, though.’ He shook his head. ‘You really did want us to play happy families, didn’t you?’

Relief flooded through me that he was returning to the man I’d come to know, not that horribly stiff Robot Heath. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.

He reached out and touched my arm. ‘I know. Look, just . . .’ Heath broke off, an embarrassed expression on his face.

‘
What?’

‘
Thank you for caring that much,’ he said. ‘I was furious at what you’d done, but it’s been ages since someone tried to do something like that for me . . . despite the way you went about it.’ He shot me a mock-stern look and I dropped my head, breathing in his cookie scent. Memories of my daydreams shot through my mind, and I could feel my cheeks go even hotter. ‘Rose—’

‘
Rose?’ The voice of my best friend made me jump. I shook my head to clear it, noticing Heath looked as dazed as I felt.

‘
Oh!’
Mel came into the corridor where we were standing, her gaze flitting back and forth between us. ‘I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

‘
No, of course not,’ I said hastily. ‘Come in, come in. Welcome to the Museum of Broken Hearts. You’re the first one here.’ It was so good to see her. With my crazy work schedule for the past few weeks, I’d barely had time for anything other than a few rushed conversations here and there. ‘Mel, this is Heath, the curator. Heath, this is my best friend, Mel.’

Watching
the two of them shake hands, I could tell by the expression on Mel’s face that she liked him right away, despite what she always said about City folk.

‘
I wanted to come
early before the place got packed out,’ she said. Turning to Heath, she shot him a megawatt smile. ‘My friend has been so busy, I’ve barely seen her.’

‘
Sorry about that.
’ Heath grinned back and a small pang of jealousy shot through me at their easy interaction. I shoved it away – why on earth was I feeling
jealous
? ‘But I have to say, Rose has been invaluable. I couldn’t have done it without her.’ He rested a hand on my shoulder and smiled down at me, and my tummy took a funny turn.

‘
It’s been lovely to meet you, but I’m afraid I must go check on the caterers before the hoards arrive. Hopefully we’ll have a chance to chat later.’ Heath smiled again, then strode off into the kitchen.

‘
Well?’ Mel asked.

‘
Well, what?’

‘
Oh, for goodness’ sake. I
knew
you had the hots for him, and the expression on your face tells me I was right. Looks like he has a thing for you, too.’

‘
Shhh!’ I hissed. The last thing I needed was for Heath to overhear her juvenile declarations.

Mel
shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen you look like that since the beginning of the Gareth days.’ She snorted. ‘How
is
the world traveller, anyway?’

I shrugged. ‘Fine, I guess. I haven’t heard much from him lately. And Mel, Heath and I are just colleagues. That’s all.’ That’s what I’d been telling myself, anyway, despite the strange things that happened in my gut each time he was around.

‘
Sure, sure. And Santa Claus is really the Queen.’ Mel rolled her eyes. ‘Look, I’d better let you get to work. I’ll catch up with you later.’ She motioned toward the foyer, now crammed with people jostling to hang up their coats. Pasting on a bright smile, I scurried over to welcome them in.

An hour
later, the museum was swarming with people. Journalists, politicians, and representatives from arts organisations were jammed into the building, all ooing and awing over the unique concept and the tales behind the objects. My mouth was dry from answering so many questions, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. Every once in a while, I’d catch Heath’s eye from across the room. I could see by his smile he was pleased with how the night was unfolding. He should be – if the admiring noises were anything to go by, the Museum of Broken Hearts was a hit.

I was right in the middle
of giving a reporter from
The Star
a tour of the kitchen when there was a tug at my elbow.

‘
Rose. You need to come with me,’
Mel hissed.

‘
I’m just speaking to this gentleman,’ I said, furrowing my brow. What on earth was she doing?

‘
No, you need to come with me
now
.’ She gave the reporter an apologetic look. ‘Sorry.’

He raised both hands. ‘No need to apologise. I’ve got everything I need, anyway.’

I nodded at him as Mel dragged me through the crowd in the foyer and toward the entrance. ‘What’s going on?’ I whispered, trying to keep my voice low.

Instead of answering, Mel just swung open the door. And there in the street – with an armful of red roses – was Gareth.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

My mouth dropped open.

‘
What is he doing here?’ A tsunami of shock and disbelief swept over me.

‘
I asked him the same thing.’ The set of Mel’s lips showed she was anything but impressed with Gareth’s sudden reappearance. ‘He turned up at the door and tried to come in, but I told him it was best if he waited here and I’d go get you.’

‘
Thanks,
Mel.’ I touched her arm, grateful she’d given me a chance to deal with his surprise return in privacy. Well, as much as any street in London could be private. ‘Wow. I can’t believe he’s back.’

‘
Yeah, me neither. You all right
?’

I drew in a deep breath. ‘I guess so.’

‘
Okay. I’m going inside. Come find me if you need me.’

I nodded, then took a few tentative steps toward Gareth. His hair was longer than it had been when he’d left, and he looked like he’d lost some weight. He’d always been rangy, but now he was downright skinny. Heath’s solid frame flashed through my mind, and confusion filled me. Wasn’t this what I wanted: Gareth coming home, the big romantic gesture, the blissful ever after? So why didn’t I feel happy?

Gareth’s face lit up when h
e spotted me. ‘Rosie!’ He rushed toward me, sweeping me into his arms. A thorn from a rose pricked my cheek and I drew back quickly.

‘
I’ve missed you so much. I couldn’t bear to spend Christmas away from you.’ He put his lips on mine and pressed against me enthusiastically.

Just go with it, I told myself, despite my stinging cheek and freezing bare arms. H
ere I was, being kissed on an East London street in the glow of the streetlamps right before the holidays, by a man I’d been longing to hear from for months . . .