Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts Read Free

voice that he didn’t.
    I thought back to that first second I’d seen Gareth – right outside the flower shop by the Tube – and how I’d known straight away he was the one for me. Him rushing back and buying me a rose once he’d found out my name had helped too, of course.
    ‘ I do believe in love at first sight, yes. But I understand every relationship has its ups and downs, ebbs and flows,’ I added, trying to draw the conversation back to the job on offer. ‘And I would love the chance to bring my skills here, and help display cherished objects from once-happy relationships. Maybe even bring some closure.’ And perhaps a reunion! I kept that last bit to myself, but wouldn’t it be cool to heal a few crushed hearts?
    ‘ Closure. Right.’ Heath rose to his feet and I scrambled up, noticing he towered over me by a few inches. Gareth was a little shorter than me, and I usually had to crouch down to kiss him.
    ‘ Well, despite our differing opinions’ — Heath thrust out a hand—‘Rose Delaney, welcome to the team. If one person can be a team, that is.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘Here, let me try this again. Welcome to the Museum of Broken Hearts.’
    I took Heath’s palm in mine, noting how he squeezed my fingers reflexively. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’

 
    CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Two days later, I was outside number sixteen Fournier Street again, ready for my first day of work. Yesterday, I’d informed my manager at the British Museum I was quitting (he had to ask my name, if you can believe it – sod the leaving notice!), gave Ernie the Skull a final pat, then trotted down the grand stairs of the iconic building for the last time. On the way out, I’d paused to buy a hotdog from the ever-present vendor lingering outside the gates. It was something I’d always meant to do, but my constant hurrying to and from work meant I’d never got around to it. And after the tummy pain I’d been experiencing since ramming the sausage down my throat, it certainly wasn’t something I was keen to do again.
    Even now, I was still feeling queasy , and my face was hot and sweaty. Not exactly the ideal state to be facing your new boss. My stomach rumbled again as I pictured Heath’s solid form, the way he’d shoved back an errant lock of hair, his bobbing bottom . . .
    ‘ Rose!’ A shout made me turn my head , and my cheeks reddened even more when I spotted Heath at the museum’s ground-floor window. ‘Are you going to come in?’ He grinned and I noticed the sparkling whiteness of his teeth. How had I missed that before? Then it struck me this was the first time I’d actually seen him smile.
    ‘ Coming!’ I scurried over to the door , pushing against it the same time Heath swung it open from the other side. ‘Ouf!’ I slammed into his solid chest, breathing in the spicy scent – kind of like cinnamon, nutmeg, and my favourite biscuit ingredients all rolled into one.
    ‘ Sorry,’ we chorused , quickly stepping away from each other. His face had returned to an unreadable mask, and I wiped away the small beads of sweat that had gathered on my upper lip. Just the after-effects of bad sausage, I was sure. Nothing to do with the close proximity of my cookie-scented boss.
    ‘ Come on up to the office,’ He ath said. ‘Let’s run through our work schedule for the next couple weeks until the opening.’
    I nodded, thankful he’d turned away so I could collect myself.
    ‘ Can I take your jacket ?’ Heath asked when we’d entered his barren workspace. Nothing had changed since I’d last been in here – it was still practically Siberia.
    ‘ Sure.’ I shrugged off the turquoise coat Mum had bought me for Christmas (the only good thing about last year’s holiday). It matched my eyes perfectly, setting off my sausage-poisoned pale complexion nicely. I’d made an effort today, dressing in a pair of softly flared grey trousers and a wraparound cobalt-blue top. Hell, I’d even put on my lucky