Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts

Chapter Ten

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 an 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.