Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BLAIR
I wake alone in the granny flat to the hush of the sea and the cries of gulls overhead. Peaceful enough—for a moment. Then my thoughts tumble back to last night.
God, the way he’d eaten me out was like... like his life depended on it. I’ve never experienced anything like it. My cheeks flush just thinking about it. But then afterward... the way he’d shut down, called it a mistake, acted like we’d committed some kind of crime against humanity.
I roll over and check my phone. Nearly nine o’clock. Normally I’d have been with Finn for an hour by now, but with him at Douglas’s sleepover, I had the luxury of sleeping in. Which also means I didn’t have to face Lachlan before he left for work. Small blessing.
After a quick shower and some coffee, I head into the main house, pat a very excited Gus, then clip his leash to his collar. “Come on, boy. Let’s go collect your favourite little human.”
Naturally, Gus stops to sniff every streetlight and front gate, but before long we reach Braeview Drive. The sounds of chaos spill out before I even knock: kids shrieking with laughter, feet thundering across floors, and what sounds like a wrestling match in progress.
Douglas answers the door looking like he’s survived a natural disaster. His red hair is sticking up at odd angles, and there’s what appears to be cereal stuck to his shirt.
“Blair! Perfect timing. I was just about to send up a flare for rescue services.”
Behind him, Logan streaks past wearing nothing but underwear and a superhero cape. Rosie barrels after him in full princess regalia, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sceptre.
A beat later, Finn and Isla appear together, looking almost civilised after the storm that just blew through. When Finn spots me, he grins so wide it nearly splits his face. “Blair! You’re here!”
“Hi, buddy! Good to see you—and fully dressed! Unlike some.”
Finn giggles then drops to his knees for a Gus reunion. The dog smothers him with wet kisses.
“Hi, Blair,” Isla says to me, calm as you please, like we’ve been friends for years. Then she turns and races off after the twins, yelling, “Logan, capes don’t make you invincible!”
“Have you had a good time?” I ask, ruffling Finn’s already messy hair.
“The best! We stayed up until ten thirty, and Logan taught me how to make armpit farts, and we built a spaceship and flew to Mars, and?—”
“All right, lad,” Douglas interrupts with a chuckle. “Maybe save some stories for the walk home. Blair, would you like the grand tour? Fair warning, though, I’d planned to have the place spotless for you, but with four kids staying over...” He gestures helplessly at the chaos around us.
“I’d love to see it, and don’t worry about the mess. I’m just impressed you’re all still alive and accounted for.”
While Finn and Gus tear off after the twins and Isla, Douglas leads me through the house, pointing out rooms and making jokes about the various disasters that befell each space during the sleepover.
The living room, which I glimpsed through the window my first day in Ardmara, is now a minefield of Lego.
Douglas warns me to watch my step—says there’s no pain on earth worse than bare feet on Lego.
The kitchen, meanwhile, still bears the scars of what he drily calls “the pancake fiasco”.
It’s a lovely house, warm and lived-in, with Douglas’s practical touches everywhere, like shelves clearly built by hand, sturdy if not exactly straight. But as we move from room to room, I keep waiting for that moment of connection, that sense of “this is where Granny grew up”.
It doesn’t come.
At first I think maybe I’m too distracted by last night.
But no, that’s not it. I just... don’t feel her here.
And I shouldn’t be surprised, really. The house probably looks nothing like it did when she was young, not with the modern appliances and Douglas’s furniture, and with toys scattered everywhere.
But as we head back downstairs, I think of what I told Lachlan, about how important it is to tell stories about the ones we’ve lost. He listened—he told Finn stories about his mom—so maybe it’s time I take a leaf out of my own book.
Douglas leads me back into the kitchen, where the four kids are clustered around the table, picking at leftover pancakes, Gus positioned strategically for any dropped crumbs.
“You know,” I say to the kids, “my granny once told me a story about something that happened in this kitchen when she was your age.”
Four pairs of eyes snap to me. Even Douglas looks intrigued.
“When my granny was little, it was normal for families to keep chickens in their yards. Some even had a goose or two. Not pets exactly, more like noisy alarm systems that also laid eggs.”
“Geese are mean,” Isla declares with authority.
“Well, one day, my granny forgot to latch the back gate. The neighbour’s goose spotted its chance. It waddled into the yard, marched through the open kitchen door, and suddenly”—I spread my arms wide and flap them, honking loudly enough to make the kids jump—“HOOOONK!”
The kids squeal with laughter.
“My granny and her mom were shrieking, running in circles while this great big goose flapped and chased them around the kitchen table. They tried to shoo it out, but it just hissed and flapped harder, until finally her mom grabbed a broom and chased it out the door.”
Rosie’s eyes are wide. “And that happened in this kitchen?”
“In this very kitchen,” I confirm solemnly. “And guess what? Granny never forgot to latch the gate again.”
The four kids look at each other, grinning, and then Logan sticks out his elbows, flaps like mad, and shouts, “HONK! HONK!”
The others dissolve into laughter and join in. Gus, excited by the noise, bounces around them, barking like he’s part of the flock.
Meeting Douglas’s amused eye, I bite my lip. “Sorry!”
He chuckles. “Don’t be. That was a brilliant story. But aye, Logan and Rosie are going to be honking the rest of the day now.”
I giggle, but inside something settles into place. I came here hoping to feel my granny in these walls. Instead, I brought one of her stories to life for a new set of children. And maybe that’s even better.
Finn’s tongue pokes out as he concentrates on drawing a lopsided dragon with way too many teeth. He’s beside me at the kitchen table, and I’m half watching him, half watching the clock. Any moment now?—
Right on schedule, the front door clicks open. Finn’s head snaps up like a meerkat’s. “Da’s home!” He abandons his picture and bolts for the hallway, though Gus beats him there in a blur of golden fur.
Okay, time to make myself scarce. Already got my shoes on—always be prepared for a quick exit.
“Hi, Lachlan!” I call toward the hallway as I edge for the back door. “That’s me off!”
I’m one second from freedom when his voice stops me. “Wait!”
Damn it. Wasn’t quick enough.
“Blair, I wanted to say”—his voice is closer now—“you can stay for dinner tonight, if you want. Or not. Up to you.”
Before I can even process this unexpected invitation, Finn comes tearing back into the kitchen.
“Yes! Please stay, Blair! Please!” He bounces on his toes, eyes wide with hope. “It’s fish and chips night. Da’s the best at making them, honest!”
My hand is on the door handle, escape within reach. But then Lachlan fills the doorway. For once he doesn’t avoid my gaze. He looks straight at me, steady and direct. Still in his ferry captain uniform, crisp white shirt and dark trousers, all authority and command.
“Well?” he prompts. “You staying?”
A beat passes. The kitchen feels too small, the air too thick. Finn’s hopeful face. Lachlan’s unwavering gaze. The memory of his hands on my skin, his mouth on my?—
“Okay... yeah, I’ll stay,” I hear myself say.
Lachlan’s face transforms. A real smile spreads across it, wide and genuine, the kind that makes him look years younger and dangerously attractive.
“Perfect.” He rubs his hands together. “Why don’t you two relax next door and watch some telly? I’ll sort dinner.”
Finn blinks up at his father in amazement. “I don’t have to help?”
And he’s not the only one who’s surprised. Lachlan suggesting screen time? Outside of the sacred schedule? Is it a blue moon?
“Well, you were at a sleepover last night,” Lachlan says reasonably. “I imagine you’re tired. You can relax for the next wee while, then tell me all about it when we’re eating.”
Fast-forward a few minutes, and I’m on the sofa with Finn, watching some cartoon about talking vegetables while he provides running commentary on every single plot point. To be honest, after the emotional whiplash of the past twenty-four hours, mindless kids’ TV is exactly what I need.
“Dinner!” Lachlan calls from the kitchen after a while.
We head through to find the table set and Lachlan changed into a soft grey T-shirt and black sweatpants, his feet bare. In casual clothes he looks... human. Approachable. Definitely not the stern ferry captain. More like the man who held me in his arms last night, however briefly.
As I approach my chair, he pulls it out for me. The unexpected chivalry catches me off-guard, and I glance at him in surprise. But he’s already settling into his own seat like nothing happened.
The fish and “chips”—french fries, not a bag of Lay’s—are perfectly golden. But there’s a suspicious green blob on the side, which I eye warily.
“Uh . . . is that baby food?”
“They’re peas,” Finn says with the patience of someone explaining something obvious to a very slow adult. “They’re supposed to look like that. They’re mushy.”
“If you say so, buddy.” I try them. Soft, buttery, a little salty. Not nearly as tragic as they look.
As we eat, Finn launches into an exhausting play-by-play of every moment of his sleepover.
And I mean every moment. What time they went to bed (ten thirty!), what they had for breakfast (pancakes that looked like spaceships!), how Logan can burp the alphabet (but only got to M before his dad told him to stop).