Chapter 5 #2
Before I can decide what to do, a boy edges into view, peering around the doorway. Same dark hair as his father, but with wide brown eyes and an adorable gap-toothed smile that just about knocks the wind out of me. “Are you the new nanny?” he asks.
Lachlan coughs. “Well, we’ll see about that. I was just asking Blair if she’d like to come in and chat about it some more.”
Oh God. There’s no way I can bolt now. Not with the kid watching me. His dad may be all storm clouds and scowls, but the boy beams like it’s always summer inside. I can’t say no.
So I force a smile, nod, and step on in. The dog—Gus, was it?—bounds inside too, tail wagging in welcome.
Lachlan leads me through to the kitchen.
The space is spotless. Countertops gleaming, not a crumb or coffee ring in sight, not even a rogue Lego or bit of kibble on the floor.
It’s the polar opposite of what I glimpsed through the window of Granny’s old house the other day.
That place was all scattered toys and delightful domestic mayhem.
Here, everything is neat almost to the point of being sterile.
The only pop of colour comes from a cork board on the wall, covered in children’s drawings: neon-bright dinosaurs, stick figures with enormous grins, a rainbow that tips drunkenly to one side. Otherwise, the kitchen is muted greys and careful order.
“Take a seat,” Lachlan says, gesturing to the oak table. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Milk, no sugar. Thanks.”
As he busies himself at the counter, the golden retriever flops onto a bed in the corner, and the boy slides into the chair beside me, legs swinging, eyes bright with curiosity.
“Oi,” Lachlan says without turning around. Classic parental superpower: eyes in the back of the head. “This bit isn’t for you, Finn. It’s grown-up business. Go play for a bit.”
“But I’m really good at asking questions,” Finn protests.
I can’t help but smile. Honestly? I’d rather be interviewed by the kid.
“Off you go,” Lachlan says, not unkindly but firm.
Finn drops to the floor with a quiet, “Fine.” He shoots me a quick grin before hurrying off.
Lachlan sets a mug in front of me, puts down another for himself, and takes the opposite chair, folding his broad arms across his chest. Interview stance: defensive, expression neutral, all business.
He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Right, then. What sort of childcare experience do you have?”
“Well, I worked in children’s publishing for years,” I say, aiming for breezy confidence. “Thinking deeply about what kids want, what they respond to, what engages them...”
His expression doesn’t change. At all. I plough on.
“And I babysat through high school. Board games, bedtime routines, the works.” Ten years ago, but it still counts, right?
Lachlan takes a slow sip of coffee, like he’s giving my answer time to marinate. “If you used to work in publishing, what are you doing applying to mind a bairn? Seems a bit of a step sideways.”
I shrug, keeping it light. “Needed a break. Figured it was time to remind myself there’s more to life than the inside of a Manhattan office.”
His expression doesn’t shift, but at least he doesn’t press. He does, however, say, “References?”
“From my babysitting days?” I laugh a little too brightly. “I could track down one of the families, if you really want. Their kid’s probably in college now, but hey, nobody died on my watch.”
One dark eyebrow lifts, unimpressed. I’m definitely not winning him over with my sparkling wit.
“I’ve also become friends with Ellie Macpherson,” I try. “She’d vouch for me.”
The name doesn’t seem to register. Strange. I thought this was a small town where everyone knows everyone else. “She works at the library?” I add.
He gives a small grunt. Approval? Disapproval? Impossible to tell.
“Look,” I say, leaning forward. “I’m reliable. Flexible. Good with mess. And I give really excellent hugs.”
Nothing. Not even the twitch of a lip.
“Hugs aren’t part of the job description,” he says flatly. “And I’m not a fan of mess.”
I glance around the pristine kitchen. You don’t say.
We talk through the basics: hours, duties, expectations.
He asks me a few more questions, and I notice he glances down at his phone before each one, like he’s working through an interrogation script he wrote in advance, point by point.
When we get on to transport, I mention I’ve got a rental car, so I’d be able to take Finn on day trips or shopping or whatever.
“And you do know we drive on the left here?” Lachlan says. “Because a lot of tourists seem to forget that partway through their visit. I swear, the number of times?—”
“Oh my God, you drive on the left ?” I interrupt. “How did I drive up four and a half hours from Glasgow without realising that?”
For a split second, genuine alarm flickers across his face before he realises I’m just pulling his leg. He doesn’t seem to find it funny.
Okay, new tack. “Can I ask about Finn?” I venture. “What’s he like?”
For the first time since I walked in, something shifts in Lachlan’s posture. He relaxes slightly. And when he speaks, his tone is softer, a little warmer. “He’s a good lad. Smart. Curious. Big imagination.”
Ah. So there’s the human being hiding under all that gruffness.
“And . . . his mom?” I ask gently.
The warmth vanishes. “Not on the scene.” The finality in his tone makes it clear that topic is off-limits.
Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Living with this level of grumpiness would wear any woman down. Can’t blame her for bailing.
Before I can think of a safer follow-up question, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and frowns. “Sorry, I need to take this. Give me a few minutes.” He steps out the back door and into the yard, phone already at his ear.
I’m left alone with my coffee and the muted sound of his voice through the glass. A moment later, small footsteps pad into the kitchen and Finn settles back into the chair beside me, a stuffed dragon under one arm. “So, are you going to be my nanny?”
I grin at his directness. “I don’t know yet. What do you think? Am I nanny material?”
He studies me with comical seriousness, chin tilted, eyes narrowed. Then he nods. “You seem nice. And you’re not scary-looking. I think you’d be good.”
Nailed it.
“Any tips for getting your dad to smile?” I whisper.
Finn considers this. “Maybe tell him something about boats? He likes boats. He’s a ferry captain, you know.”
“Boats, huh?” I file that away. “Good to know. Now, what do you like?” I glance at his toy. “Dragons?”
He nods enthusiastically. “My favourite film is How to Train Your Dragon . Have you seen it?”
“Seen all the movies. Read all the books.”
His mouth drops open. “ All of them?”
“Every single one. Isn’t Astrid just the best?”
He looks aghast. “What? No, Hiccup and Toothless are the best. Astrid is all right for a girl, I suppose .”
It turns out knowing How to Train Your Dragon is the only cue Finn needs to unleash a torrent of dragon facts upon me, complete with swooping hand gestures and sound effects.
I listen, nodding seriously as he explains the difference between a Deadly Nadder and a Monstrous Nightmare, or tells me about how he’s been practising his dragon-training skills on Gus.
Talking with this kid is a lot easier than talking with his dad.
All I have to do is throw in a comment here or there, then I can sip at my coffee as he chatters away.
Best interview I’ve ever had, hands down.
After a little while, a flicker of movement catches my eye, and I glance toward the back door to find Lachlan standing there, phone call apparently finished. He’s watching us, expression unreadable. How long has he been listening?
He steps back into the kitchen. “What did I say about grown-up business?” he asks Finn, but his tone is more resigned than annoyed.
“Sorry,” Finn mumbles, though he shoots me a smile that suggests he’s not sorry at all. “Blair knows all about dragons, Da.”
“Does she now?” Lachlan’s eyes flick to me—still impossible to read—then back to his son. “Off you go. Blair and I have to finish up here.”
Finn disappears down the hallway, and the kitchen is suddenly a whole lot quieter. As Lachlan sinks back into his chair, I remember Finn’s advice. Boats. Right, worth a shot.
“You know, I come from Staten Island,” I say. “I used to take the ferry every day for work. Finn mentioned you’re a ferry captain?”
“Aye,” Lachlan says. And that’s it. He doesn’t go off on some passionate monologue about boats the way his son did about dragons. He confirms his occupation and says no more. Shuts the conversation down. So much for my attempt at small talk. That sank fast.
I shift awkwardly. “Anyway . . .”
“That was my neighbour on the phone,” he says. “Flora. She usually helps with Finn, but she’s injured her wrist.” He studies me for a moment. “Flora knows everyone, so I asked her about Ellie at the library. She had her number, so after I finished talking to Flora, I gave Ellie a call.”
My stomach drops. I did offer him Ellie’s name as a reference, but I hadn’t expected him to check up on me quite so quickly, literally while the interview is still ongoing.
“She had nice things to say about you.”
Relief washes over me. “Oh. That’s good.”
He nods once then fixes me with that steady green stare.
“Look, I’ll be straight with you. You’re the only person who’s applied.
It’s two days till the summer holidays, and I’m out of options.
Finn’s usually shy with folk he doesn’t know, but he wasn’t with you.
He was blabbing away to you about dragons like you’ve been pals for years, and I reckon that’s as good a sign as any. ”
He pauses, then adds, “So, if I’ve not scared you off, how about a trial? You can do Wednesday to Friday, then we’ll see where we’re at come the weekend. What do you think?”
I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth. After weeks of humiliation, it’s just nice to be offered a job, even one I never imagined doing before this morning.
“Wednesday it is, then,” I say. “I won’t let you down.”
I catch sight of Finn peeking around the doorway, still clutching that dragon. He gives me a thumbs-up and a grin that could light the whole room.