Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
LACHLAN
I push through the front door, shrugging off the day’s tension, braced for the usual chaos of boy and dog hurtling towards me like I’ve been gone a year instead of a day.
Nothing.
“Hello?” I call, tossing my keys onto the hall table. The clatter sounds too loud in the silence. No thunder of paws on the floorboards, no shout of “Da!” Strange. Gus never misses my homecoming. The daft beast has an internal clock set to four on the dot.
I wander through to the kitchen and stop short.
Christ.
Dishes piled in the sink. Flour dusted across the work surface. What looks like cookie dough welded to the side of my mixer.
Baking? That sure as hell wasn’t on today’s schedule. A tea towel lies crumpled on the floor, and something sticky is smeared across the table.
I run a hand through my hair, jaw tightening. Really? I don’t want to come home after eight hours of running a ferry to find my kitchen looking like a bomb has gone off.
Muffled voices drift down from upstairs—Blair’s, mostly, doing some sort of theatrical performance by the sound of it. I follow the noise up to Finn’s room, where his door stands ajar.
Through the gap, I can see them settled in the corner on his beanbag.
Blair’s got Zog open across her lap, and she’s putting on quite the show.
Big booming lines for Madame Dragon, squeaky ones for the pupils, even a croaky growl when Zog takes a tumble.
Finn’s in stitches, actual tears on his cheeks.
And there’s Gus, the traitor, lying on his back with his legs in the air while Finn rubs his belly. The dog’s in absolute heaven, a happy grumble rumbling through the room. Well, that explains why he didn’t come running when I got home.
I find myself leaning against the doorframe, oddly transfixed.
I’ve read that book to Finn a hundred times, but never like this.
I just... read it. Normal voice, normal pace.
Gets the job done, and Finn enjoys it well enough.
But watching him now, gasping for breath, it’s clear this is something different.
Then Blair glances towards the door and spots me, and just like that, the magic stops.
“Oh! Hi.” She closes the book, a little flustered. “We were just?—”
“Finishing up,” I say, stepping into the room. My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but the kitchen downstairs is still fresh in my mind. “Finn, how was your day?”
“Brilliant!” He bounces on the beanbag. “We went to the park and I saw Logan and Rosie, and we got top hats from the Lighthouse Café, and Blair does the best voices ever, and?—”
“Sounds like you had quite the adventure.” I look pointedly at Blair. “Though I noticed the kitchen isn’t quite how I left it.”
Her face falls. “Oh God, yes, I’m so sorry. I-I’ll go do the dishes right now.”
The apology is immediate and genuine, but I’m already wound up. I’m probably overreacting but I can’t seem to stop myself. “No, you won’t, because I’m only paying you until four. Besides, when I get home, I want to be able to relax in my own house with just me and my son and my dog.”
Something flashes in Blair’s eyes, and for a second I think she’s going to give me both barrels. Her mouth opens and I brace myself.
But then she swallows whatever she was about to say and nods stiffly. “Of course. I’ll make sure to keep things tidier tomorrow. That is, assuming I haven’t already lost the job?”
“No,” I confirm. “But you’re still very much on trial.”
Gus finally gets up and pads over to me, nudging at my leg with his nose. I ignore him for now. Not the time for behind-the-ear scratches and a chat about his day.
“Right. Well,” Blair says, standing and smoothing down her jeans. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”
She gives Finn a quick smile then slips past me and down the stairs. The back door clicks shut behind her.
The silence stretches. Finn scowls at me.
“Finn—” I start, but he scrambles off the beanbag and digs through his toy box like a lad on a mission. Then he turns to me, wielding a bright orange Nerf gun, and?—
Thwack.
The foam dart nails me square in the chest then bounces off to land at my feet.
“You were mean to Blair!”
Christ. A minute ago he was laughing his head off, completely content. Now he’s firing projectiles at me like I’m the enemy.
“Look, Finn, I’m paying her to keep an eye on you, not to make a big mess I have to tidy up when I get home.”
“But... but...” His lower lip juts out in that stubborn way that means he’s really upset.
This isn’t how things usually go between us. Finn and I get along. We’re a team. But here he is, glaring at me like I’ve committed some unforgivable sin.
Right. Time to reset.
I drop into a crouch and hold my arms out wide, wiggling my fingers menacingly. “Oh no... I think I feel the tickle monster coming...”
Finn’s scowl wavers. “Da, no . . .”
“Aye! The tickle monster is here, and he’s looking for little boys who fire darts at their fathers!”
I lunge forwards, and Finn shrieks with laughter, dodging around his bed. “No! Not the tickle monster!”
“There’s no escape!” I chase him around the room, Gus bouncing alongside us, barking excitedly and trying to join in the game. When I finally catch Finn, I scoop him up and tickle his ribs until he’s giggling so hard he can barely breathe.
“Okay, okay!” he gasps. “I surrender!”
I set him down, and he’s grinning again, the earlier tension forgotten. That’s more like it.
“Right then,” I say, ruffling his hair. “We’d better start thinking about dinner. But first, we’ve got some tidying up to do downstairs. Why were you two baking anyway?”
“We made cookies for Flora,” Finn explains, following me down the stairs. “Because she can’t bake anymore with her hurt wrist, and I felt bad about that. We made some for you too, for after dinner. And maybe I can have one after dinner?”
Something twists in my chest. They made cookies for Flora. And for me. Shit, that was a nice thing to do, and yet I tore into Blair. Was I too harsh on her?
Maybe. Okay, yes. But then the whole point of hiring help is to make my life easier, not harder. I can’t come home every day to a load of dishes to do.
I fill up the basin while Finn chatters away about his day. He talks while I wash dishes and he dries them. He talks while I prep the salmon and he scrubs the potatoes. He talks while we eat. Even with his mouth full of potato—which I’d normally tell him off for—he won’t stop going on about Blair.
“And she knows all about How to Train Your Dragon . All the films and all the books. And she said we can go to the library tomorrow to get some new stories, and?—”
“Slow down there, lad. Chew your food.”
But he barely pauses for breath. “She’s really funny too. She told me not to spill my soup on my pants, but she meant trousers, and we both laughed at that. And—and I really like her smile, Da.”
I nearly choke on a forkful of salmon. Christ, isn’t he a bit young to be noticing things like that?
But then I think about Blair’s smile—how it lights her whole face, how those pale blue eyes crinkle at the corners—and I have to admit he’s got a point.
“Aye, Finn,” I say carefully. “She does have a nice smile.”
Too nice, probably. And those long legs in her jeans, and the way she moves with that easy American confidence...
I shake my head. Where the hell did that come from?
After dinner we try the cookies. Sweet, chewy... annoyingly good, really. Which only twists the knife about how I spoke to Blair earlier.
Even through bath time and the bedtime routine, Finn doesn’t stop talking about her. He’s full of plans for tomorrow: the library visit, art time, maybe another trip to the park. One day together, and apparently they’re best friends.
Christ. If this is what ignoring the schedule looks like, maybe it’s not as important as I thought.
When I finally get him settled in bed with The Gruffalo , he’s still at it.
“Blair knows loads about books because she used to work with them. And she said?—”
“Finn.” I hold up the book. “Story time now. We can talk more about Blair tomorrow.”
He nods but fidgets against his pillow. “Da? Can you do the voices like Blair does?”
The question hits me in the chest, just like that Nerf dart earlier. I’ve been reading to this boy every night for years. And now, after one day with that American lass, apparently I’m not good enough anymore.
“Don’t you like the way I normally read them?” I say, probably more defensively than I should.
“I do, but Blair makes them sound so funny. The snake goes like this.” He attempts a hissing voice then bursts into giggles.
I force a smile and open the book. “Right, then. Let’s just read the story, shall we?”
But even as I start reading, my mind drifts. One day. She’s been here one bloody day, and already Finn’s looking at me like I’m a boring parent who doesn’t know how to make story time fun.
When I close the book, Finn goes back to chattering about what he and Blair are going to do tomorrow, and I have to cut him off.
“If you want to do all these fun things with Blair without getting grumpy, you’ll need your sleep. Time to stop talking and shut your eyes.”
I pace around the kitchen for ten minutes after putting Finn to bed, replaying the whole bloody mess in my head. The way Blair’s face fell when I snapped at her. Finn shooting me with his Nerf gun...
Christ, I was an arse. She did something thoughtful, something that made my son happy, and I tore into her for making a mess. The right thing to do would be to apologise. Not my strong suit, but there it is.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m out the back door and walking the path to the granny flat. Light glows in the window. Right. Here goes nothing. I knock, maybe harder than necessary, but only because my nerves are getting the better of me.
“Just a second!” Blair’s voice is muffled through the door, then I hear footsteps.
The door opens, and Christ alive, I should have thought this through better.
She’s in her pyjamas: thin cotton shorts riding high on long legs and a top that clings to every curve and hollow, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Her nipples are tight against the fabric, clear as day, and for a second I’m frozen.
All higher brain functions go offline while my body reacts like I’m eighteen again.
Eyes up. Eyes up! For God’s sake, man, look at her bloody face!
But her face throws me too, because she’s gazing at me with a mixture of surprise and wariness, nothing like the easy warmth she showed Finn earlier. I’ve well and truly wiped that away.
“Lachlan.” She crosses her arms over her chest, probably trying for modesty, though all it does is draw my attention back to what she’s trying to hide. My throat goes dry. I force myself to look anywhere but there, scrambling to remember why I came out here in the first place.
“Didn’t think I’d be getting any visitors. You made it clear after four o’clock it’s just you, your son, and your dog.”
I nod dumbly, fighting the urge to stare at my boots like an awkward teenager. “Aye, well...” I swallow and focus determinedly on a spot just over her left shoulder. “Look, I just wanted to say... sorry. I was a bit off with you earlier.”
“No, you were crystal clear. You don’t want to come home to dishes, and I told you, it won’t happen again.”
“Aye, but...” I tap my knuckles against the doorframe. “I could have been a bit more polite about it.”
“Yeah, you could have.”
I catch a whiff of something floral—her shampoo, maybe. No, Lachlan, stop getting distracted.
“Aye, well, that’s all I wanted to say. Oh, and thank you. Finn had a good time today. Hasn’t shut up about you all night.”
A ghost of a smile crosses her lips, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it.
“And that was a nice thing you did,” I continue, the words coming easier now. “Dropping in baking for Flora. Thanks for that. And obviously, if you go to the shops to buy anything, like ingredients for baking, I’ll cover all that. You just tell me how much I owe you.”
“Understood. Well, if that’s everything... good night, captain.” A hint of mischief curling her lips, she eases the door shut, like she’s having the last word. Which, of course, she is.