Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BLAIR
The morning is overcast and cool as I cross the small yard from the granny flat, arms wrapped tight around myself. I’m still smarting from yesterday’s dismissal, the sting of it clinging harder than it should.
Finn must’ve spotted me through the window because he yanks the back door open before I can knock. Gus barrels out, a furry tornado circling my legs.
“Blair! Guess what? I dreamed about otters last night, and one of them could talk, and he told me his name was Gerald, just like your plant!” Finn insisted I give him a tour of the granny flat yesterday, and that’s when he met Gerald in all his leafy glory.
“That’s amazing, buddy.” I ruffle his hair, grateful for his uncomplicated joy. “Did Dream Gerald have any good stories to tell?”
“He did! He said?—”
“Finn, let Blair in,” Lachlan interrupts, appearing behind Finn, looking every inch the stern ferry captain in his crisp uniform.
Finn scoots back to make room, and I step inside. “Morning,” I offer, aiming for neutral.
“Morning.” Lachlan doesn’t look at me, focusing instead on filling Gus’s food bowl. At the sound of kibble rattling into the dish, Gus hurtles over and drops into a perfect sit, eyes locked on the prize, tail sweeping the floor.
Finn dives back into his dream, words spilling out in a rush I try to follow while I slide bread into the toaster. Behind us, Gus is already crunching his breakfast like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Lachlan clears his throat and, more gently this time, interrupts his son.
“Sounds like a fun dream, Finn. But why don’t you go and get dressed? I’ve laid out some clothes on your bed—don’t worry, not your school uniform this time.” The corner of his mouth quirks before he adds, “That way you and Blair can get started on your adventures as soon as breakfast is done.”
Finn accepts the logic without question and bounds upstairs, leaving me alone with his father, Gus’s noisy crunching the only sound in the kitchen.
After a moment Lachlan turns to me, his green eyes guarded.
“Listen. I wanted to apologise for being short with you yesterday evening. That wasn’t. .. professional of me.”
Not professional? Try all-out mean.
“It’s fine,” I lie, because what else can I say? That his hot-and-cold routine is giving me whiplash?
He nods curtly, like he’s checked that apology off his mental to-do list. The toaster pops and I busy myself pulling out the slices then reaching for the jam and a knife.
I’m not in the mood for more conversation with Lachlan, but he isn’t rushing off like I thought he would.
Instead, he pours Finn’s orange juice, something he’d normally leave to me.
“I was wondering if you and Finn might want to head to the Pit this morning?” he says at last. “Struan’s got Isla—he’ll have her a bit more than usual over the summer holidays. And Douglas is taking the twins. His parents are under the weather.”
I glance out the window at the sky, thick with clouds that look ready to spit rain any second. The Pit sounds a lot more appealing than any of my other plans for today.
“Yeah, sure. We’ll head over there.”
“Great. I’ll let the dads know to expect you.” Lachlan taps out a quick message on his phone then adds, “You should ask Douglas to give you a tour of his house. I’m sure he won’t mind showing you around.”
It takes me a second to realise what this is: an olive branch in grumpy Scotsman wrapping paper.
“I will, thanks.” And damn it, my mouth even tugs up despite myself. But only slightly.
He gives me one of his patented brisk nods and pockets his phone. “Right, then. I’ll go say goodbye to Finn and leave you to it.”
The Pit is pure chaos: shrieks ricocheting, slides thudding, kids swarming the jungle gym like a beehive. My ears are already begging for mercy. And the smells? Yikes. Spilled juice boxes, hand sanitiser, that eau de sweaty sock funk. Consider my senses officially assaulted.
It’s not exactly the Highlands idyll I’ve been soaking up these past days, but here I am on a plastic chair that’s seen better years.
Maybe better decades. Most of the adults are clustered at tables on this side of the room, while a few unlucky ones have been dragged into the mayhem by their energetic offspring.
“So, Blair...” Douglas leans across the sticky table, raising his voice to compete with the noise. “How are you finding Ardmara?”
“I, uh, love it,” I say, though the words come out distracted. Because honestly? I’m still trying to locate Finn. We arrived mere minutes ago, and the second he caught sight of his friends, he bolted straight into the giant maze of tunnels and slides.
Douglas follows my gaze. “Don’t worry, Finn’s a sensible lad. They look out for each other in there... mostly.”
As if summoned by our conversation, Finn’s dark head appears at one of the little bubble windows. He grins and waves madly but before I even get the chance to wave back he’s gone again. He seems happy enough, though.
“Um, Douglas, my grandmother actually lived in the house you’re in now. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come to Ardmara in the first place.”
He nods. “Oh, aye. My parents mentioned that. Said they met you and Finn at the park the other day. I can let you have a look around at some point, if you’d like?”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“I’ll need to give the place a clean before you come around, though,” he adds. “Seeing as it was your grandmother’s home, I’d like you to have a decent impression of it.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” I say. But the photo Lachlan showed me the other day flashes in my mind: post-play carnage in the twins’ room that looked like a bomb had gone off.
He waves it off. “It’s fine. It is a bit easier when they’re at school, though.
Over the summer my folks help with childcare, but only at my place.
Which means when I get home from work, I’m the one tidying the chaos.
” He runs a hand through his scruffy ginger beard, then glances toward the ball pit, breaking into a broad smile at the sight of Rosie “swimming” through the multicoloured balls, laughing delightedly.
“They drive me daft,” he say. “But I love them.”
“Here we go!” Struan reappears with a tray of coffees, juice boxes, and sweet treats.
I met him briefly when I came in, before he went off to grab drinks for us all.
The contrast between the two men strikes me again.
Douglas is solid and steady, a little rough round the edges.
Struan is taller, leaner, younger. And with that tousled man bun and breezy posture, he radiates carefree charm.
“One Americano for the lady,” he says, winking as he slides a cup in front of me.
That’s the other thing about Struan: total flirt. He hugged me like we were old friends when I arrived, grinning wide. Gorgeous, sure, but he doesn’t do it for me. Maybe instead of flirty and in-your-face, I prefer my Scots grumpy and complicated. Preferably in a ferry captain’s uniform.
Seriously, brain? That’s where you go? Considering how that grumpy Scot’s been treating me, I really shouldn’t find him attractive. Not even remotely.
“How much do I owe you, Struan?” I ask, forcing myself back to the here and now.
“Don’t be daft.” He drops into a chair. “Fair warning, you’ll want sugar. The coffee’s dire.”
He isn’t wrong. One sip nearly makes me gag, and I’m diving for the sugar. God. Nothing like the coffee at the Lighthouse Café.
“So,” Struan says, “what do you think of our five-star establishment?”
I glance around. “It’s... lively. The kids seem to love it.”
Struan gives me a look that says he knows I’m being diplomatic.
Douglas chuckles. “This place certainly takes a bit of getting used to. But when your kids are wee and it’s dreich outside, it helps keep you sane.” A rogue plastic ball from the pit bounces off his head; he doesn’t even flinch. “Well, sane-ish.”
We spend the next twenty minutes enduring dreadful coffee while making up for it with the treats Struan brought over: shortbread and “snowballs”, chocolate-coated marshmallow puffs rolled in coconut.
The kids swoop in and out, pausing only long enough to sip from juice boxes before tearing off again.
In one of the pit stops, I finally meet Isla properly. She marches over with her chin up, tawny curls bobbing, and says, “Hi, I’m Isla. Finn says you’re the American nanny.” While her dad pricks her finger, she explains, very matter-of-fact, that she has diabetes and he’s checking her sugars.
In between the kids’ flyby visits, I learn what the dads do.
Douglas is a fisherman in a line of fishermen going back generations.
Struan runs Walker Builds, a construction firm, with his father.
Back home, it feels rare for work to be passed down like that.
Here, it seems woven into the fabric of the place.
Then Finn’s voice carries across the play zone. He’s perched at the top of the fire pole, grinning like a daredevil. “Blair, watch me do this!” He shoots down in one quick blur.
“Great job, buddy!” I give him a thumbs-up. He beams then vanishes back into the chaos.
“You and Finn are hitting it off,” Douglas observes.
“Finn’s great,” I say. Unlike his grumpy father , I add silently.
Struan stretches his long legs out in front of him, his grin lazy. “You know, I’m the one you should be thanking for landing this nanny job.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
He spreads his hands. “I’m the one who suggested Lachlan put out an ad for a nanny.” He quirks a brow. “So? How’s it been living in close quarters with the man himself and having Lachlan as a boss?”
I take a bracing sip. Tastes like regret and burnt rubber. Am I supposed to lie? Is it wildly inappropriate to rant about your boss behind their back? Then again, it’s also inappropriate for your boss to be unfairly dismissive and snarky.