Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
STRUAN
“Arrr, first mate! There be sharks in these waters!” Isla bellows from somewhere ahead, her voice echoing through the plastic tubes.
I commando-crawl through the maze after her, my shoulders barely fitting through the kid-sized passages. “Aye, captain! Terrible beasties they are too. Did ye know sharks can smell a single drop of blood from three miles away?”
“That’s not even true, Daddy.”
“Course it is. And they’ve got a thousand teeth.”
A dramatic sigh sounds from around a corner. “Most sharks only have fifty to three hundred teeth, Daddy. We learnt that at school.”
“Well, these are special Scottish sharks. Highland sharks. They’ve evolved.”
Her giggle bounces off the walls, and I catch a glimpse of her curls through one of those bubble windows. Seven years old and already too smart for my nonsense, but she still plays along. For now.
“Highland sharks aren’t real!” she protests.
“Oh, they’re real, captain. Vicious too. They swim up the rivers and into the lochs wearing wee kilts—”
“DADDY!”
“—playing bagpipes to lure unsuspecting pirates—”
“You’re so weird.” But I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Struan, mate!” Douglas’s words cut through the plastic walls. “Your food’s here.”
“The crew be calling us to the galley, captain,” I say to Isla.
“Can we finish the game after?”
“Aye, but only if ye promise not to make me walk the plank again.”
We emerge from the tunnels like miners from a shaft, Isla pushing sweaty curls off her face while I unfold myself to my full height, joints protesting. Christ. Those things weren’t built for someone six foot three.
The Pit—Ardmara Leisure Centre’s soft-play area, to give it its proper name—assaults all five senses at once.
Screaming kids, the smell of chlorine from the pool mixing with chips and stale coffee from the café, primary colours so bright they could trigger a migraine.
We’ve been coming here for years, the Ardmara single dads and our wee ones, and somehow it never gets any more bearable. Just more familiar.
Our usual table is in the corner, as far from the speakers blasting kids’ songs as we can get.
Douglas looks ready to face-plant into his chips just to drown out his twins’ squabbling.
Logan and Rosie are arguing over who gets which juice carton.
Lachlan, meanwhile, is wearing his usual expression, somewhere between stern and constipated, though it softens when Blair leans in to whisper something in his ear.
I still find it weird seeing him actually smile.
A few months ago, before Blair showed up to nanny Finn, I’d have bet good money his face would crack if he tried.
I pull out my phone as we sit down, opening the app linked to Isla’s glucose monitor. The numbers are fine. I give her a small nod, and she reaches for a chip, already chattering to Finn about sharks with bagpipes.
“Here you go.” The young server—Emma? Emily?—sets down another bowl of chips in front of me. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, not quite meeting my eyes. “We made too many.”
She’s . . . what, twenty? Twenty-one? Pretty enough, with a sweet face and big brown eyes. A bit young for me, though.
I give her a grin out of instinct—the easy, harmless kind I’ve been throwing at women for years—and she goes pink to the roots before skittering off.
Douglas stares at the bonus chips, then at me. “How come I didn’t get extra? I’m the one raising twins.”
“What can I say?” I lean back and stretch my arms behind my head. “Women love a single dad with a man bun. It’s science.”
“It’s something,” Lachlan mutters, but there’s humour in it. The man’s not quite as blunt as he once was. Blair’s been good for him, rounded off his rough edges. Though if I pointed that out, he’d probably throw a chip at my head.
Hard to believe the grumpiest of us found love first. Means our wee single dads’ club is down a member.
Not that I’m looking for love, mind you.
Right now I’ve got the best of both worlds: Isla at the weekends, peace during the week.
Monday to Thursday, I can do what I want, see who I want .
. . bring home who I want. Who’d rush to give that up?
“Da, look!” Rosie stands on her chair, a chip balanced on her nose.
“Rosie, sit down,” Douglas says wearily.
“Logan dared me!”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
And they’re off, bickering at a volume that makes my ears ring. Douglas drops his head into his hands while across the table Finn picks up a chip, eyes it thoughtfully, and lifts it towards his nose—until Lachlan gives him a firm look. Finn grins sheepishly at his da and eats it instead.
Aye, a few days of this kind of stuff each week is quite enough, thank you very much. Not that Isla’s like the twins. Nah, I’ve got to give it to her—she’s normally very well behaved. Wise beyond her years too.
Something catches my eye. Across the room a woman threads her way through the chaos with a wee girl in tow, and Christ, she looks like she’s walked into the wrong place.
Everyone else here is in the usual soft-play uniform: hoodies, joggers, messy buns.
But this woman’s got glossy espresso-brown hair and a thick fringe so precise it probably required a spirit level.
She wears a sharp jacket over fitted jeans and heeled boots.
She’s small—petite, really—but with curves in all the right places and a walk that could make a bishop drop his Bible. There’s something almost defiant about how polished she looks, like she’s refusing to surrender to the soft-play dress code.
She’s definitely not from around here. I’d remember her if I’d seen her before.
Wonder if she’s single. Wait, no, I don’t chase women at soft play, for crying out loud. If I did, Lachlan would never let me hear the end of it.
A burst of laughter snaps me back to the table. Not to be outdone by his sister, Logan is now proudly displaying a chip shoved halfway up his right nostril. The other three kids cackle while Douglas looks ready to move countries.
“Logan!” Blair says, her New York vowels cutting through the noise. “Get that out of there. Keep fooling around and we’ll have to rethink having you and Rosie over on Monday.”
Logan heaves an exaggerated sigh then yanks the chip from his nose. Of course, instead of disposing of it like a normal person, he waves it near Rosie’s face. She shrieks and ducks under the table.
“Logan!” Douglas warns. “That’s enough. Bin it—now.”
He grins but obeys, hopping up to lob the chip into the bin then wiping his hands on his T-shirt like that makes him clean again.
“We’re going to have pizza on Monday,” Finn says excitedly. “And we can make a fort and play the floor is lava and . . .”
I catch the tiny furrow in Isla’s brow. She won’t be there on Monday.
“Of course, you’re welcome to come too, Isla,” Blair says quickly, clearly also clocking it. “It’s just that I know you won’t be around.”
This happens sometimes. Weekend friends making weekday plans Isla can’t join. It’s just one of those things.
“It’s fine,” Isla says, forcing a smile. “I’ll be in Bannock. Besides, I’ve got dancing on Mondays anyway.”
A juice carton tips over into the middle of the table, prompting a chorus of groans as everyone scrambles for napkins.
Isla giggles when Rosie insists it wasn’t her fault, and just like that, the awkward moment passes.
By the time the spill is sorted, everyone’s laughing again, and before long our plates are cleared.
“Right then, Captain Isla,” I say, pushing back from the table. “Shall we continue our adventure? I believe there were Highland sharks on the loose.”
Isla shakes her head as she slides off her chair. “I want all the kids to play hide and seek instead.”
Result. I wouldn’t mind having a seat for a while longer. “Brilliant idea. Enjoy!”
“Oh, you have to play too, Daddy. You all hide. I’ll count.”
“Er, what about these three?” I gesture towards Douglas, Lachlan, and Blair. “Are they part of the game too?”
Douglas gives me a look that could freeze the North Sea. Don’t even think about dragging me into this, it says.
“They’re too old,” Isla declares with the authority of someone who’s decided thirty is basically deceased.
“Too old?” Blair exclaims. “Your dad is older than me!”
“Yes, but he’s my dad. He has to play.”
The logic is flawless, apparently.
“All right,” Blair says, fighting back a smile. “Well, go on. We’ll watch from here.”
Traitors, the lot of them.
Isla covers her eyes and starts counting loudly. “One! Two! Three!”
The twins scatter like startled pigeons. Logan dives behind a padded cylinder while Rosie crawls into a tunnel. Finn, bless him, freezes until Lachlan hisses at him to hide.
Right, where the hell does a six-foot-three man hide in a soft play designed for people under four feet tall?
Hmm . . . the ball pit. It’s my only option. Not that it’s a particularly good one.
I head over and wade in. Sinking down, I arrange the balls until I’m basically just a nose and a tuft of hair in a sea of garish colours.
“Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen!” Isla calls from the table.
From the top of the twisty slide, a woman’s voice drifts down, calm and coaxing. “It’s safe, Lily. I promise. Look, why don’t I go first, okay?”
I shift, parting a few plastic balls to peek out, and glimpse her—the polished woman from earlier. Without her heeled boots, obviously. No shoes on the equipment.
She pushes off, disappearing into the yellow tube with an “Oh!” of surprise.
Done up like she’s heading to a wine bar, but still happy to shoot down a slide just to show her wee girl it’s safe? That shouldn’t be attractive. And yet here we are.
The slide spits her out at the bottom, and she’s just standing up, laughing and calling up, “See? Easy!”—when a small missile in pigtails shoots down after her.
“Wheeeee!”
The wee girl crashes straight into her mum’s back, sending the woman stumbling forwards—and tumbling directly into my lap.
Balls fly everywhere. I sit up fast, hands instinctively catching her waist, steadying her. She lies across my legs, twisted just enough that I can see her face—wide-eyed and mortified.
“Well,” I say, grinning down at her, “if this is your way of saying hello, I’m intrigued.”
She scrambles off me like I’m electrified, but not before I catch a whiff of her scent—light and warm, gone too fast to name.
“Nope, I don’t do meet-cutes in children’s play areas.
” Her cheeks are flushed pink, and up close she’s even prettier than I thought.
Huge green eyes, accentuated with black liner and sooty lashes, and that perfect fringe somehow still intact despite the slide.
Subtle streaks of caramel run through her hair.
Christ, she’s gorgeous—all polished edges but with fire in her eyes.
She looks at me like I’m trouble. Fair. “Why exactly is a grown man sitting in a ball pit by himself?”
“Excellent question,” I admit. “I’m playing hide and seek with my daughter. She’s around here somewhere . . .”
I glance around but can’t see Isla anywhere. Brilliant.
The woman’s wee girl peers at me with open curiosity. “Why is your hair so long? Do you ever wear it in pigtails like me?”
I chuckle. “Not usually, no. Think it’d suit me?”
She tilts her head, thinking this over. “No. Boys look better with short hair.”
Ouch.
“Daddy!” Isla appears at the edge of the ball pit, hands on hips. “Why aren’t you hiding?”
“I was hiding. Then I got a visitor.” I gesture to the woman, who’s now climbing out of the pit. “By the way, I’m Str—”
Her phone rings, cutting me off, which is probably for the best. I was starting to sound like a man trying too hard.
She fumbles for it, answering quickly. “Hello?” A short pause, then: “The keys are ready? Great. We’ll be right there.”
She grabs her daughter’s hand. “Come on, Lily. Time to go.”
“But Mummy, I want to play a bit more!”
“We’ll come back another time. For now, let’s go see your new room.”
And with that, the woman strides off, her wee girl trotting to keep up. No goodbye, no “sorry for landing on you”, not even a glance back over her shoulder. Just a view of her retreating figure, that impossibly shiny hair swishing with each step.
Bloody hell, she’s something else.
“Who was that?” Isla asks.
“No idea,” I say. But I watch her like an eejit all the way to the exit anyway.
Wouldn’t mind if fate shoved her into my lap again.