Chapter 9 #2
“That was amazing, Da,” he says, throwing himself down next to me. “You’re the best dragon ever.”
I sit up and run a hand through my hair. “Aye, well, don’t tell the other dragons. They’ll get jealous. Anyway, as fun as that was, I reckon it’s time for Blair to head back to the flat. She’s probably got things to do, and we need to start thinking about din?—”
“No!” Finn jumps up, his face falling. “She can’t go yet.”
“Finn—”
“Can Blair stay for dinner?” he asks, those big brown eyes doing their thing. “Please?”
Blair laughs awkwardly and holds up her hands. “Oh wow, that’s really sweet of you, but I should?—”
“ Please? ” Finn turns to her now, and I can see her resolve wavering. “It’s silly for you to go eat by yourself when we’re eating here. We should all eat together.”
Christ. Can’t argue with that logic, but . . .
I look at Blair, hoping she’ll decline and save me from this awkwardness. Instead she watches me with raised eyebrows, waiting for my response.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Blair can stay if she wants.”
Finn whirls back to Blair, practically bouncing on the spot as he waits for her answer.
“In that case,” she says, “I accept.”
Well, shit. How has this happened? This is supposed to be our space—me, my boy, and the dog. No one else. And yet here she is, slotting herself in like she belongs.
I’m pretty sure she knows exactly how uncomfortable this makes me. Maybe that’s why she’s staying—payback for all my grumpiness.
If so, well played, Blair. Well played.
In the kitchen Blair asks, “So, what’s on the menu?”
“It’s a Saturday, so... spaghetti bolognese,” Finn says.
“You have that every Saturday?”
Finn nods solemnly. “Aye. Sundays are roast chicken, Mondays are chilli con carne, Tuesdays are baked potatoes...”
“Really?” Blair turns to me, genuinely surprised. “And you never change it up?”
I pull the mince from the fridge and set it on the work surface. “Makes shopping simple. I know what I’m cooking, and I know we’re eating well.”
“Sure, but...” She tilts her head, studying me. “Don’t you ever want to mix things up a bit? Try something new?”
I shrug, already reaching for the onions. “Not really.”
But as I begin to chop them, I catch Finn leaning towards Blair, cupping his hand around his mouth. “I do,” he says in what he probably thinks is a subtle whisper. “I’m so bored of chilli.”
The little traitor even rolls his eyes. Isn’t he a bit young to be giving me attitude about my perfectly sensible approach to family nutrition?
“Right,” I say. “Finn, you can help me with the bolognese. Blair, if you want to make yourself useful, the cutlery is in that drawer there.”
Soon Finn is on his usual stool beside me, stirring the onions and garlic while I add the mince to the pan.
Blair moves around the kitchen setting the table, and I try not to notice how naturally she navigates the space, opening the cupboard to grab plates like she’s been here for months, not days.
She didn’t need me to point out the cutlery drawer.
Gus does circuits between us, sniffing at Blair’s heels before trotting back to check for dropped food.
“Can you put my place next to yours?” Finn asks Blair.
Really? He normally sits next to me. But I’m thirty-one, not six—I’m not about to sulk about my pal choosing another seat. Not much anyway. I add the tinned tomatoes to the pan.
Once the sauce has been bubbling for a bit, I dip the wooden spoon in for a taste. Needs a bit more seasoning but it’s getting there.
“Here,” I say, offering Finn the spoon. “What do you think?”
He tastes it seriously, considering. “Mmm. Good, but maybe a wee bit more salt?”
“Aye, I think you’re right.” I add a pinch more and give it another stir.
“Let Blair have the next taste,” Finn suggests.
Letting Finn taste off the spoon is one thing. Letting her? Feels... different. Too bloody intimate. I jab the spoon back into the pan, staring at the sauce like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
“Da?” Finn prompts.
Nope, not happening. I taste another spoonful and nod with finality. “There you go. Perfect.”
Finn frowns. “Blair, Da’s being weird and won’t give you his spoon, but here—” He rummages in the drawer, comes up with another, and hands it to her. “You can use this one.”
Blair steps closer, amusement tugging at her lips. She takes the spoon, tastes the sauce, and I definitely don’t watch the way her mouth closes around it. Definitely not. If my face feels hot, it’s just the steam from the pan. That’s all.
“Mmm, that’s really good,” she says. “Perfect amount of salt.”
The spaghetti is ready a few minutes later, and I plate up: three for us and one for Flora, with another plate on top of hers to keep it warm.
I glance out the window. Looks like there’s a break in the rain, so I tell Finn to get his shoes on then hand him Flora’s portion. “Right, wee man. Can you take this round to Flora for me?”
“Aye, Da.” He takes it carefully in both hands, and I hold the back door open for him.
“Don’t run,” I warn. “You’ll spill it everywhere.”
I close the door again behind him, leaving Blair and me alone in the kitchen. The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of Gus’s hopeful panting and the tick of the wall clock.
“That was nice of you,” Blair says finally.
“What was?”
“Looking out for your neighbour like that. Even grumpy ferry captains have their soft spots, apparently.”
I raise an eyebrow at that, but she smiles innocently.
“Flora’s been very good to us over the years. It’s the least I can do.”
“Still, it’s sweet. Very . . . community-minded.”
“Hmm.” I turn to the hob and busy myself wiping it down.
A minute later the back door bursts open and Finn crashes back in, cheeks flushed, obviously having run the whole way back.
“Flora says thank you and that it smells brilliant,” he announces, kicking his shoes off. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”
We settle around the kitchen table and tuck in.
“Wow, this is really good,” Blair says after her first bite. “You two are quite the cooks.”
Finn beams proudly.
“It’s just bolognese,” I mutter, twirling spaghetti around my fork.
“Still, it’s delicious.” She nods toward the window. “And what a view to eat it with. I bet you never get tired of looking out at the water.”
I glance out at the grey sea, choppy with whitecaps. “It’s all right.”
Christ, I sound like a right misery. But something about having her here, in our space, at our table, has me on edge. This is where Finn and I have our best conversations, where he tells me about his day, where we make our plans. It’s ours.
Finn, thankfully, seems oblivious to the tension. He’s already got sauce around his mouth and is slurping up long strands of spaghetti, not a care in the world.
“Finn,” I warn. “Manners.”
“But it’s more fun this way.” He demonstrates by sucking up an especially long piece, which snaps back and flicks sauce onto his chin. Blair laughs, the sound warm and easy.
Finn isn’t the only one playing up. Gus positions himself by Blair’s chair, chin resting on her thigh, angling for scraps.
“Gus, no begging,” I say.
“It’s okay.” Blair reaches down to give him a pat. “He’s not bothering me.”
“Trust me, he’s shameless. Don’t encourage him.”
“All right. Sorry, Gus. This princess isn’t sharing with the castle guard dog. But Finn, why don’t we tell your dad about our adventure at the library on Thursday?”
And just like that, Finn’s off. Between mouthfuls, he gives an animated account of their trip to see Blair’s friend Ellie, how they picked out new books, how Blair helped him find a series about Vikings he’s now obsessed with.
He doesn’t stop there, though. He tells me all about the other stuff they’ve got up to these past few days, with Blair chiming in now and then, reminding him of things he’s left out, like their failed attempts to teach Gus new tricks, or the hot chocolates they sipped down at the harbour.
Soon the two of them are talking over each other in their excitement, swapping memories and nudging each other’s laughter along until it’s like I’m eavesdropping on a secret world they’ve built together.
And as awkward as it feels having Blair in our space, I’ve got to admit I enjoy these glimpses into my boy’s days.
Aye, I heard bits and pieces the last few evenings from Finn, but Blair has this way of telling stories that makes me feel like I was there, experiencing it all alongside them.
She remembers the little details, and finds humour and wonder in ordinary moments.
It’s a gift, really. Her ease with words, her ability to bring stories to life. No wonder she used to work with books.
Plus, she’s clearly already had a positive impact on Finn. There’s something about him tonight—more confidence, more chatter, more of everything. And aye, I get it. A pretty American lass giving him her undivided attention day after day? That’d put any boy in a good mood.
I’ve not exactly been great at welcoming Blair, but maybe I could start by being less of a monosyllabic bastard. Ease off, just a little.
“Sounds like you two have crammed a lot into three days,” I say. “And Vikings, eh? Did you know they made themselves at home on these shores for a few hundred years?”
Blair’s eyes brighten. “ Really? I wonder if any of their descendants are still around. Anyone in this town grumpy, gruff, and fond of travelling by boat?”
Finn snorts with laughter, nearly choking on his spaghetti. “That’s you, Da!”
I shake my head, but damned if a reluctant smile doesn’t tug at my mouth.
The laughter dies down, and for a minute we’re all busy with our plates. Then Finn, out of nowhere, looks at Blair and says, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Wow, where did that come from?
Blair chuckles. “Uh, no. No boyfriend.”
“Why not?” Finn probes.
“Finn,” I say. “That’s not something you ask.”
“Oh.” He shrugs and gives Blair an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologise.” Blair gives him a smile back, the same one Finn told me the other day he likes. Warm, bright, too bloody easy to look at.
And damn if I’m not more interested than I should be in Blair’s declaration that she doesn’t have a boyfriend.
Unhelpfully, an image flashes through my mind—Wednesday night, Blair at the door of the granny flat, those skimpy pyjamas clinging to her body, the outline of her nipples clear through the thin fabric.
My pulse quickens, and a flush of heat crawls up my neck.
Christ, Lachlan. She’s the nanny. You’re her employer. What the hell is wrong with you?
I focus on my plate, twirling my spaghetti like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Finn’s chatter fills the silence, but I’m only half listening, too busy telling myself off for letting my head go where it bloody shouldn’t.
After we’re all done, I waste no time collecting our dishes and dumping them by the sink. “All right, lad. How about you and me watch a bit of telly before we start the bedtime routine, eh?”
Finn nods enthusiastically. “Can Blair stay too? And can she do my story tonight? She’s so good at it.”
His words land like a kick in the gut. Bedtime is our thing. My one constant with my boy, no matter what else the day throws at us. And now he wants her instead?
But before I can say anything, Blair steps in.
“Oh, I’d better get going, but I’ve had the best time with you today, Finn.
Besides, we both heard your dad’s dragon impression earlier.
He can do voices when he wants to. So tonight, when you’re snuggled up in bed for a story, you tell him, ‘Da, you have to do the voices, for all the characters.’ Okay? ”
Finn giggles and glances my way. “Will you do the voices, Da?”
Well, shite. I don’t know whether to feel grateful to Blair for excusing herself, or annoyed at this sneaky wee move. How’s a father meant to keep his son’s respect when he’s squeaking like a mouse or shrieking like a frightened princess?
Still, Finn’s so tickled by the idea that all I can do is say, “Aye, fine. I’ll give it a shot.”
Finn is delighted. I shoot Blair an unamused look. She smiles right back at me, fluttering her eyelashes with mock innocence.
Bloody woman.