Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
BLAIR
I leave the granny flat, nerves buzzing despite the sunshine. Through the kitchen window of the main house I catch a glimpse of Lachlan moving around in his ferry captain uniform. Once again those crisp white epaulettes do inconvenient things to my pulse, but I shove the feeling aside.
Focus, Blair. First day. Don’t screw it up.
Ten steps and I’m at the back door. The world’s most convenient job—with the world’s grumpiest boss.
I knock, and it opens almost immediately.
“Morning.” Lachlan checks his watch and gives a curt nod. “Right on time.”
“Wouldn’t want to mess up the schedule on day one,” I say with a smile. He doesn’t return it, but there’s no scowl either, so I’m going to call that progress.
Gus bounds into the kitchen. I know what to expect now, so I’m ready for him when he jumps up. “Uh-uh! No licking.” I push him back to the floor. “But yes, it’s good to see you too.”
I shoot Lachlan a glance, hoping he noticed my excellent dog wrangling, but he gives me nothing.
Next Finn bounces in. “Blair! It’s the holidays. No more school!”
I hold up both hands like I’m fending off a tidal wave of enthusiasm. “Wow, someone’s wired this morning! What did you have, three cups of coffee?”
Finn laughs. “I don’t drink coffee!”
I widen my eyes and give a theatrical little gasp. “You don’t? Then all this energy is natural? Oh boy, I’m in trouble.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think Lachlan’s lips twitch, just a little. A smile from Captain Grumpypants? Because of something I said? That is a good start to the day.
Of course, it’s gone almost as soon as it appears. Lachlan pulls Finn in for a quick hug and ruffles his hair, then he bends to give Gus a scratch. “I’ve already fed this one,” he tells me. “If he gives you the puppy eyes, ignore him. He’s chancing it.”
“Understood.”
Lachlan straightens to his full height and nods at me, a gesture that somehow manages to convey “don’t screw this up” and “good luck” in equal measure. “Right, I’m off. Any problems, you’ve got my number. Otherwise, I’ll see you at four.”
Without another word, he heads for the front door. It clicks shut behind him, and just like that, I’m in charge of a small boy and a large dog. For eight hours.
“Well, then.” Shaking off any doubt, I clap my hands together. “Breakfast time!”
Gus perks up, tail going into overdrive, and I give him a pat. “Not you, boy. You already had yours, remember?”
I prepare Finn’s breakfast as Lachlan described.
Two slices of toast, cut diagonally—not a rectangle in sight—served with strawberry jam.
I set the plate down on the kitchen table, and Finn digs in.
I hover by the table as he chews, the quiet stretching.
Shouldn’t I be, I don’t know, engaging him?
That’s what good nannies do, right? But suddenly I have no idea what to say to a six-year-old boy.
Oh God. Why has my mind gone blank?
I’m about to launch into some inane chatter about the weather when he saves me from myself. “Where are you from?” he asks.
Thank you! That’s something I can talk about.
“New York. Do you know where that is?”
He nods seriously. “Aye. It’s where Spider-Man lives.”
I can’t help but smile.
“Don’t worry, I know Spider-Man’s not real,” Finn adds. “But I’ve seen New York in the films. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is, right?”
“You got it. I used to take a ferry to Manhattan every day for work, and every morning I’d see the Statue of Liberty on the way.”
We chat a bit more about New York, which Finn thinks looks “really busy” but “like a lot of fun”. He says he’s never been anywhere like that before. When he finishes his last bite, I send him to brush his teeth, and exactly two minutes later, he’s back again.
“All done!” he says. “What’s next?”
“Well, the next item on your dad’s schedule isn’t until nine, which makes this free time, I guess. What do you want to do?”
“Want to see my room?”
“Sure.”
Finn leads the way to the bottom of the stairs, where he points at my Converse sneakers. “No shoes on the upstairs carpets.”
“Oh, of course.” His father has him well trained.
I kick them off then follow him up to his bedroom, which unlike the rest of the house explodes with colour.
The walls are papered with drawings: vibrant dinosaurs, rainbow dragons, stick-figure scenes, and what appears to be a very ambitious attempt at painting the view from his window.
It’s chaotic and joyful and absolutely perfect.
At least Lachlan hasn’t imposed his bland, neutral taste on his son’s space.
“This is amazing. Did you do all of these?”
Finn nods proudly and launches into enthusiastic explanations of each piece.
He’s just pointing at a yellow cloud with four legs and telling me, “And that’s Gus, of course,” when Gus himself lumbers into the room, one of my shoes dangling from his mouth.
He comes over to me, tail swishing as if to say, “Look what I found!”
“Um... thanks, Gus. Can you, uh, put it back now?”
He just looks at me, shoe still clamped in his jaws.
“Gus is allowed in your room, right?”
“Of course. He’s part of the family. And I think it’s fine for your shoe to be in my room, as long as it’s not on your foot.”
That logic seems watertight to me.
We spend the next bit looking through Finn’s books and building a small Lego spaceship, with Gus supervising from his spot on the rug (still guarding my shoe). Finn peppers me with the kind of questions that make perfect sense in a six-year-old’s head but would sound mad coming from anyone else.
“What’s your favourite dinosaur?” he asks, carefully attaching a Lego wing.
“Hmm. Probably a Triceratops. They look friendly but could definitely handle themselves in a fight.”
He nods approvingly. “Good choice. If you could live on any planet, which would you pick?”
“Well, not Venus. Too hot. Maybe one of Jupiter’s moons? What about you?”
“Saturn. The rings would be like having a giant playground in the sky.”
I’m just contemplating this delightfully weird reasoning when I catch sight of his clock. “Uh-oh, how did that happen? We’re two minutes late for ‘outdoor play, weather permitting’. And weather is definitely permitting—it’s gorgeous out there.”
I stand, brushing stray Legos off my jeans. “So, Finn, any playgrounds around here?”
“Aye. Down by the seafront, near the Lighthouse Café.”
“Oh, I know that place. They do very good coffee.”
“And top hats!”
I frown at this. Top hats? Yesterday Finn had looked adorable in his school uniform, but surely a six-year-old in a top hat is a bit much, even for British people?
“You like to wear . . . top hats?”
Finn dissolves into giggles. “They’re not actual hats. It’s a marshmallow with chocolate on the bottom and a Smartie on top.” He licks his lips. “They’re so good.”
“Oh. Well, the schedule doesn’t say anything about a morning treat... but it also doesn’t say anything about not having a morning treat. And it is the first day of your summer vacation. Got to celebrate a little, am I right?”
“Aye!” Finn grins.
I wink at him, then look down at Gus, who’s finally abandoned my shoe in favour of following our conversation with the intense focus of someone hoping the word “walk” might come up.
“You coming too, Gus?”
He gives a happy woof that I’m pretty sure means “absolutely yes, and can we go right now, please?”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re down by the pier, and I’ve got a to-go latte as well as a top hat of my own. Because why not?
The marshmallow is soft and sweet, the chocolate base is rich, and the Smartie on top—which, it turns out, is nothing like the tart American candy I expected but more like a tiny M&M—adds the perfect crunch.
“Mmm, that was ridiculously good,” I say to Finn, who demolished his in record time.
“Told you. Oh!” He bounces on his toes. “Look! There’s the ferry. My da is captaining that.”
I follow his pointing finger to a vessel in the distance, cutting through the dark water, gliding toward town, white wake trailing behind it. Squinting, I can just about make out tiny figures moving on the deck.
“Wow. He must really know what he’s doing to steer something that size.”
Finn nods. “He goes to Corraig and back twice every day. That’s the island way out there. The ferry is called the Calabrae , and he says she’s a good ship.”
There’s something sweet about the way he talks about his father’s work, like being a ferry captain is the coolest job in the world.
We make our way toward the playground, and nearly everyone we pass offers a “Good morning” or stops to give Gus a pat, which he accepts like visiting royalty.
An elderly woman with one of those wheeled shopping bags tells me what a “bonny wee laddie” Finn is, while a man out walking his dog asks if Gus is behaving himself.
God, this place really is ridiculously friendly. In Manhattan, smiling at strangers earns you weird looks. Here, it seems rude not to.
We’re almost at the playground when Finn suddenly takes off running. “Logan! Rosie!” he shouts, waving both arms above his head.
Two kids about his age are perched on the jungle gym—twins, by the look of them, both with the most spectacular red hair. The girl waves back enthusiastically while the boy slides down the fire pole to meet Finn.
Within seconds, all three are deep in animated conversation, and I’m left standing there with Gus, feeling a little redundant.
“You must be Finn’s nanny.”
I turn to find an older couple on a nearby bench, both smiling warmly at me. The woman’s red hair is streaked with silver, while the man has a neat beard and weathered features.
“That’s me,” I say, walking over with Gus. “Well, I’m on a three-day trial. Assuming it goes okay, I’ll be Finn’s nanny for the summer. I’m Blair.”
“Donald,” the man says, standing to shake my hand. “And this is my wife, Roslyn.”
“Lovely to meet you both.”