Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
AINSLEY
Blair and I sit in camping chairs on the pebble beach, shades on, glasses of wine in hand.
The afternoon sun glints off the sea, and for once, I’m not thinking about getting the salon up and running or bracing for Lily’s next meltdown.
Down by the water, Finn, Isla, and Lily take turns throwing sticks for Gus, their laughter carrying on the breeze.
Blair’s phone buzzes. She checks it and groans. “Aw, Ellie’s pulled out. I was looking forward to you meeting her properly.”
“Ellie?” I take a sip of wine. “Oh, she was the fiddler the other night, wasn’t she?”
“That’s right.”
I remember her vaguely—frizzy light-brown hair, oversized jumper, sleeves bunched up at her elbows as she played. If I’m honest, my attention had been much more firmly fixed on the guitarist with the half-up ponytail and the voice that could melt butter.
Of course, it really shouldn’t have been. Temporary insanity brought on by the music and dim lighting. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
Blair glances around then leans in conspiratorially. “You know how you confided a secret in me the other night? Maybe I can confide one in you. There’s no way in hell Ellie would’ve pulled out if Douglas had been coming.”
“Douglas?”
“Big red-haired dad? Has twins who are little chaos gremlins? Let’s just say Ellie’s into him. In a big way.” She wiggles her brows. “Entirely unrequited, though. The man is oblivious.”
“Oh.” I’ve not been in Ardmara long, but it seems I’m already being initiated into the town gossip.
“Anyway,” Blair says, settling back in her chair. “How about those two, huh?” She nods to where Lachlan and Struan stand chatting while Lachlan prods at the grill. “Men and fire. An ancient, irresistible pull.”
I thump my chest and intone, “Man . . . need . . . make . . . fire.”
Blair snorts into her wine. “Accurate.”
The breeze ruffles my hair and I let out a long, contented sigh. Aye, this is exactly what I needed today.
I set my glass on the trestle table, which is reasonably steady on the pebbles, then lean back and lace my hands behind my head. “Sun, sea, and”—I nudge a pebble with my toe—“well, not sand, but close enough. This is the life.”
“It really is,” Blair agrees, smiling.
A knot inside me loosens. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe the good weather, or maybe the simple bliss of not being needed by anyone for five blessed minutes. Whatever it is, I feel something I haven’t in a long time: relaxed.
Then a low, warm laugh drifts over from the grill, and my treacherous gaze slides back to Struan before I can stop it. The sunglasses give me the perfect cover to look without getting caught, and apparently I have zero self-control today because I take full advantage.
He’s in shorts, all long legs and easy confidence, the sun catching on the gold hairs on his strong calves. His T-shirt stretches over broad shoulders and a chest that’s burned into my brain, thanks to the shirtless courtyard incident earlier in the week.
If we were at a beach barbecue somewhere warmer, there’s a good chance he’d have his top off right now and I’d be able to—
Stop it.
I give myself a firm mental shake. I didn’t come to Ardmara to drool over toned chests and sun-kissed calves, no matter how distractingly well-assembled the package.
But then a memory flashes into my head. Last night. Struan in my bedroom, standing inches from me, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
My pulse trips. So much for relaxed. Now I’m getting hot and bothered, which is not ideal. At all.
I wrench my attention away and take a long sip of wine, determined to focus on literally anything that isn’t Struan Walker. My eyes land on Isla instead, laughing as she chases Gus along the shoreline. Sweet kid.
So . . . her mum’s partner is a woman.
A flicker of curiosity sparks. Was that why things with Sophie and Struan never worked out? Did she realise she preferred women? Or did they simply grow apart?
None of your business, Ainsley Reid. Absolutely none.
And yet my eyes, far too nosy for their own good, drift right back to Struan. Of course they do.
As if sensing my gaze, he glances over, and despite my sunglasses, I swear he knows I’m staring. My cheeks flush and I look away fast, pretending the sea is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
Too late. He’s already walking over.
“How long till the food’s ready?” Blair asks as I hide behind my wine glass, taking another sip for good measure.
“About ten minutes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him bend and pull two beers from the cool bag.
“Ainsley?”
“Hmm?”
“Lachlan wants to know if you’re veggie?”
He untwists one bottle cap with his bare hand, then the other, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the movement. Incredibly—and annoyingly—sexy.
It’s a bottle cap, Ainsley. Not a striptease. Get a hold of yourself!
“Oh my God.” Blair sits up. “I should’ve asked you that when I invited you! Who invites someone to a barbecue without checking if they’re vegetarian?”
“Oh, no, I like to eat meat,” I say.
I like to eat meat.
Why. Did. I. Say. It. Like. That.
“I’m not veggie” would’ve worked just fine. Or literally any combination of words that didn’t sound like a come-on. But no. I like to eat meat. In front of him. Kill me now.
Struan’s mouth twitches. “That’s . . . good to know.” He takes a swig of beer, eyes still on me, then strolls back to the barbecue.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Blair pushes her sunglasses up. “Okay, I know Struan’s naturally flirty, but that? That was something. He’s definitely interested in you, Ainsley.”
I scoff. “Nah. Just banter.”
“Banter? I could practically smell the pheromones coming off him.”
I wave her off. “Even if he is, I’m not interested in him.”
Blair gives me a look that suggests she doesn’t believe me.
I take another sip of wine and stare very pointedly at the sea.
I’m not interested in him. I’m not.
My patience is fraying fast. A slight wind has picked up and the sun’s hiding behind clouds, making it cooler. But Lily is flat out refusing to put a cardigan on. We’re over by the rocks—because she ran off the second I mentioned the word “cardigan”.
So much for my relaxed, wine-soft mood. I should’ve known better than to let my guard down for five minutes.
“Come on, Lily,” I say, holding out the cardigan and trying to keep my voice calm. “Just pop it on for me.”
She folds her arms, scowls, and stamps her foot. “It’s itchy.”
I feel the first stirrings of a headache—or maybe that’s the two glasses of wine catching up with me. “Lily, you might catch a chill if you don’t put it on.”
She stamps her foot again. “No!”
I exhale sharply. A short way away, Finn and Isla are sitting like angels by the table, chatting away. Both put their hoodies on without a fuss. Why can’t Lily be like that—just once?
“Lily,” I warn, “if you don’t put the cardigan on, we’ll have to go home and there’ll be no toasted marshmallows later.”
The reaction is instant. Lily lets out a shriek that makes Blair, Lachlan, and everyone else look over. Gus pauses from where he’s splashing in the shallows. A family further along the beach turn to stare. I want the pebbles to swallow me whole.
Struan jogs over, Barbie doll in hand—the one Isla and Lily said looked like him. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside us, “this Barbie’s getting cold.” I notice he’s picked out a tiny jacket from Lily’s Barbie bag. “Think you could show her how to put on her jacket by putting yours on too?”
Lily takes the cardigan from me. “Like this, Stwuan Barbie!” she says, proudly putting her arm in one sleeve, tantrum apparently abandoned.
I blink.
“Perfect,” Struan says, putting the doll’s jacket on. “Oh, wow, she feels warmer already.”
While he keeps Lily distracted with the Barbie, I help her with the rest of the cardigan and button it.
Finn runs over and flashes a gap-toothed smile. “Blair’s going to show us how to make s’mores. Want to help, Lily?”
“What’s s’mores?” she asks, eyes wide.
“Chocolate and marshmallows sandwiched between biscuits, all gooey together.”
Lily gasps and holds out her hand for Finn’s. He takes it and they run off towards the others.
I let out a breath then turn to Struan, who’s still holding the Barbie. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s twice now you’ve managed to defuse a tantrum.”
Part of me is genuinely grateful. But another part—the prickly, stubborn part—is slightly irritated that he can calm my daughter down so easily when I’m the one who’s been doing this for four years. What’s his secret? A cocky grin and a stupid man bun?
He shrugs. “No bother. She’s a wee firecracker, that’s all. Strong-willed.” His mouth curves. “Wonder where she gets that from, eh?” He winks at me.
Ugh. This man, honestly. Of course he had to wink. Can’t just help out quietly, can he? No, he has to go and be . . . him.
I sit with Lachlan on the camping chairs while Blair and Struan, over by the barbecue, assemble s’mores for the grown-ups. The kids, having devoured theirs earlier, are now running riot by the sea, Gus darting between them.
I sip my Diet Coke, feeling my earlier headache start to fade. Tantrums and wine-induced dehydration—never a winning combination.
I glance at Lachlan. Tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair touched with silver at the temples, eyes a striking green.
Put this man in a captain’s uniform, and I can see why Blair fell for him while nannying his kid.
He seems solid. Dependable. The kind of man who wouldn’t wink at you after defusing your daughter’s meltdown.
Take notes, Ainsley. When you finally brave the dating scene again, this is the sort of man you should go for. Steady. Sensible. No cocky grins or stupid man buns in sight.
I look to the island on the horizon. “So, Lachlan, I hear you sail to Corraig?”
“Aye,” he says. “Twice a day, weather permitting.”
“I’ll need to do the crossing with Lily at some point.”
“When you do, pop into the wheelhouse,” he offers. “She can see how everything works.”