Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
AINSLEY
“I don’t want Granny and Grandpa to pick me up!” Lily’s declaration rings across the nursery playground, and I know—just know—we’re about to have a repeat of yesterday’s packed lunch meltdown. She’s clutching Mr Flops so tight I’m honestly worried the poor rabbit might lose an ear.
I crouch down, keeping my voice even despite the exhaustion already creeping in at quarter to nine in the morning. “But you love Granny and Grandpa. You always have fun with them.”
Her bottom lip starts its warning wobble. “I want to play Barbies with you after nursery. Like last night.”
I hold back a sigh. I’d planned to work late at the salon today. There’s so much to sort before opening—hundreds of tiny details that’ll eat up hours. I need time to get everything organised.
“You can play Barbies at Granny and Grandpa’s house,” I try.
“Nobody plays them right except you, Mummy!” The wail that follows could strip paint.
Several parents turn to stare, and outside the playground a dog barks.
I glance over my shoulder. A golden retriever stands at the railings, tail wagging, its owner watching with open curiosity as she passes by with a boy on her way to the primary school next door.
God, can I not even do a nursery drop-off without becoming a spectacle?
Lily’s volume increases. “I WANT YOU TO GET ME! I WANT TO PLAY BARBIES!”
More heads turn. I can feel their eyes—some sympathetic, some judging. My chest tightens. I spent months being whispered about back home. I’ve no wish to be the centre of attention here too.
“Okay,” I cave, hating myself for it. “I’ll pick you up.”
The transformation is instant. Tears evaporate, wailing stops, and she beams at me like I’ve just promised her a pony. “Really?”
“Really.”
She flings her arms around my neck and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. Then she swans into nursery like the picture of innocence. Bloody hell, I was just thoroughly outmanoeuvred by someone who still needs help putting on her shoes.
On my way out, I text Mum.
Ainsley
Change of plans. I’ll get Lily this afternoon x
Mum
No worries, love. Everything okay?
Ainsley
Grand x
It’s not, though. I’d thought Lily was coping well with the move, but maybe these tantrums tell a different story. Back in our old village, Lily loved nursery, practically dragged me there each morning. But that was before her world got turned upside down.
Maybe these meltdowns over seemingly small things—lunch, pickup arrangements—are her way of processing everything. New house, new nursery, not seeing her daddy. Not that Danny was much of a father even when he was around.
Christ, can I really blame Lily for the odd tantrum? Sometimes I wouldn’t mind lying on the ground myself, and having a good thrash and scream about everything that’s happened.
Out on the street, I’m passing the school gates when a gentle touch on my arm stops me.
“I’m so sorry for staring.” It’s the woman with the dog and the boy, though the boy has now disappeared into the school. Her accent is unmistakably American, bright and quick. “That was incredibly rude. I’m Blair.”
Something about her directness disarms me. “With a kid screeching like that, who wouldn’t look?” I say. “I’m Ainsley.”
“The new hairdresser, right?” Her face lights up. “I heard you were young and stylish with a cute little girl. The description fits.”
My cheeks warm. “News travels fast here.”
“Like wildfire.” She grins. “I’m not used to it either. Only been here a few months.”
“Oh? Did you and your son come over from the States?”
“Just me. The boy you saw, Finn, isn’t my son, though I was his nanny over the summer. Then his dad and I . . . well, long story short, we’re together now.”
“Wow. New town, new man, a wee boy, and a dog thrown into the bargain?” I bend to greet the golden retriever. “Hello, gorgeous. What’s your name?”
Delighted, he noses my palm, tail wagging wildly.
“That’s Gus,” Blair says with a laugh. “He has absolutely no concept of personal space.”
“Neither does my daughter. Maybe they’d get on.”
“They probably would.” Blair smiles. “So, what brought you to Ardmara?”
Oof.
Smile, keep it light, don’t let anything show.
I slip into my practised spiel. “I’ve always loved this part of the Highlands, and I’ve always wanted my own salon. It came up at the perfect time.”
Blair nods, though the faint furrow in her brow tells me she senses there’s more. But she doesn’t push, and I’m grateful.
“Speaking of the salon,” she says, “I desperately need a haircut. These bangs are getting out of control.”
Business mode kicks in—safer territory. I pull out my phone and swipe to my portfolio. “What kind of style were you thinking?” I show her some before-and-afters, warming to my subject as she makes appreciative noises.
“These are incredible! I’d love to book an appointment for opening week. Also, if you fancy, we could grab a drink sometime? Compare notes on being newcomers in a town where everyone’s known each other since they were in diapers. Us fresh arrivals need to stick together, right?”
My stomach knots. Drinks means talking. Sharing. Potentially letting my guard down. And after what happened back home . . .
“That’s lovely of you, but childcare’s a bit tricky for me.” A white lie, given my parents literally moved here with me, but hopefully Blair doesn’t know that.
She doesn’t look offended. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”
I walk along the waterfront, the sharp salt air catching in my lungs as gulls wheel overhead.
My nerves are still jangling from Lily’s nursery meltdown, but the moment the salon’s whitewashed windows come into view, something inside me settles.
This is mine, my fresh start. And in two short weeks, it’ll be open for business.
The salon sits between a fashionable boutique bursting with Harris Tweed and a tiny antiques shop crammed with old treasures. It’s a good spot. A hopeful one.
My gaze lands on the Walker Builds van parked outside, and my calm evaporates.
Of course he’s already here.
The sight of the van is enough to trigger yesterday’s memory reel: Struan’s sweat-damp T-shirt clinging to him, that easy grin, the way his forearms flexed as he worked . . .
I exhale hard. Why, in the name of all that’s holy, does my neighbour-slash-joiner have to be hot?
Maybe once upon a time I’d have fallen for his sexy man bun and the lazy grin.
Flirted back. Enjoyed the attention. But not now.
Not after Danny. I didn’t move to Ardmara to get tangled up with another charming man who’ll mess me around.
My priority now is Lily and building a stable life. Full stop.
Inside, the salon is empty. No sign of him.
Good. Maybe he’s nipped out. Gives me space to breathe.
I glance around, and the transformation from yesterday stops me short. The main wall, where the mirrors will hang, gleams with new plaster. The others are already primed white, and the sharp smell of paint fills my nose. It’s starting to look like something real, something mine.
The steady sound of sawing drifts from the back. I follow it past the toilet and kitchenette to the fire door, which stands slightly ajar. I push it open—then stop dead.
Struan’s set up a makeshift workshop from old pallets in the small courtyard. His back’s to me and he’s bent over a plank of wood, sawing with steady, practised movements.
And he’s shirtless.
For fuck’s sake. Of course he is.
His back muscles, broad and defined, ripple with each push of the saw. Sweat tracks down his spine despite the cool September morning, making his skin glisten.
A tiny, ridiculous sound escapes me, half gasp, half . . . something.
Mortification floods hot through my cheeks. Brilliant. Did I actually just make a noise?
He straightens and turns. And now I get the full view.
His chest is lean and sculpted, abs carved from real work, not hours in a gym.
They taper down into that maddening V that disappears into jeans slung low enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers.
Dark blue, if anyone’s asking. Not that I’m looking. Much.
He shoots me his easy grin, like being half-naked at work is the most normal thing in the world. “Morning.”
“Hi.” My voice comes out higher than intended.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on his face.
Except loose strands have escaped his man bun, curling against his neck in a way that’s so effortlessly, infuriatingly attractive I want to throw something at him.
Or maybe at the universe for dangling this walking, talking, man-bun-wearing piece of forbidden fruit in front of me.
“Looking good,” I say, then immediately wince. Great start, Ainsley. “Inside, I mean! The walls. They look good.”
“Aye, got most of them done yesterday. Came in early to skim the big one.” He sets down the saw and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Just working on the bench while it dries. With any luck, might have some colour on the walls by tomorrow.”
The morning sun catches his face, lighting up the gold in his eyes, and I’m distracted all over again.
For God’s sake, Ainsley. Stop it. This man is clearly another Danny—all charm and no follow-through. Remember that.
“I, er . . . right. Anyway, I’ve got a to-do list the length of my arm.” I wave vaguely towards the door. “So I’ll . . . leave you to it.”
One corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile.
Brilliant. He’s noticed I’ve turned into a complete idiot.
“Sure thing,” he says.
I retreat at a frankly undignified speed and slip back inside.
Honestly, Ainsley. You came here to escape men like him, but then he takes his top off and you can barely string a sentence together? Pathetic.
I set up my laptop in the kitchenette and stare at my daunting list for today. Outside, the sawing resumes, rhythmic and steady. I can still picture him out there, all that skin and muscle and—
“Focus, Ainsley,” I mutter. “You’ve got a hundred things to get through, and drooling over your joiner isn’t one of them.”
But an hour and a half later, I’m still stuck on item one—and not because I’m distracted by Struan. No, the booking system keeps throwing error messages about “third-party cookies” that might as well be written in ancient Gaelic for all I understand them.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I glare at the screen. “You absolute piece of shite software. Just bloody work, would you?”
“You okay?” Struan appears in the doorway, dusting wood shavings from his hands.
He’s pulled on a shirt, thank God. Before I can stop him, he’s behind me, one hand on the back of my chair as he leans over to see the screen.
The scent of sawdust and fresh sweat surrounds me, and I have to fight not to squirm in my seat.
Jesus, why does his mere proximity turn my bones to jelly?
“Third-party cookies,” he reads. “Right. I’m good with my hands but useless with technology.” He straightens, and I can breathe again. “My sister works in IT in London. Want me to give her a ring? She’s brilliant with this stuff.”
“No, it’s fine. Thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Aye. I’ll figure it out.”
He nods and starts to turn away—
“I think I’m just having one of those days.” The words tumble out before I even realise what I’m saying. Why am I telling him this?
He turns back. “Oh?”
I hesitate, then admit, “Lily had another meltdown this morning. Demanded I pick her up instead of my parents, so now I’ve got to leave early. And I’ve got no Wi-Fi at home until next week.”
“Ah. Isla didn’t tantrum often as a wee one, but when she did? Epic. Once lay down in the middle of Tesco and screamed because I wouldn’t buy her a whole watermelon.”
I can’t hold back a smile. “A whole watermelon?”
“She was three. Logic wasn’t her strong suit.” He tilts his head. “Tell you what, use my Wi-Fi for now. Should reach through the wall between our houses.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Course you can. Password’s PrettyFlyForAWiFi.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. He grins and shrugs.
“Right, well . . .” I gesture to my laptop. “I’d best get back to it. But thanks for the password.”
“No bother. Just shout if you need anything else.”
The moment he’s gone, I blow out a breath.
Really, Ainsley? Laughing at his lame Wi-Fi pun? Get it together.