Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LACHLAN
Saturday morning, and the house feels lighter somehow. Maybe it’s the sun streaming through the kitchen windows, or maybe it’s the sizzle of bacon and sausages in the pan, the smell of toast. I may have a rigid meal routine, but Saturday’s our cheat morning. Start of the weekend and all that.
My phone buzzes on the work surface. The Dadventurers group chat.
Douglas
Usual time at the Pit today, lads?
Struan
Aye, Isla and I will be there.
Lachlan, why don’t you invite that nanny of yours along? She was a laugh the other day. Bonny too.
Something sharp and unwelcome twists in my chest. Bonny too. Aye, she is. But the thought of Struan’s easy charm working on Blair, of him making her laugh the way he does with all the mums at the Pit...
No. Not today.
Lachlan
Nah, too sunny for soft play. Finn and I have other plans. Next time.
I plate up the food and carry it to the table. Finn’s already sliding into his chair, eyes bright, smacking his lips. Gus hovers close, tail swishing hopefully.
“Dig in, lad.”
He needs no encouragement, squeezing ketchup onto his plate then attacking his bacon. I add brown sauce to my own plate then cut a bit off a sausage and toss it to Gus. He catches it midair.
Finn munches away with gusto, but between mouthfuls he’s already thinking ahead. “I can’t wait to play with Isla and the twins later. Maybe we’ll finish the superhero game we were playing at the sleepover. It was so?—”
“We’re not going to the Pit today.”
“What?” His fork clatters against the plate. “But we always go on Saturdays!” His lower lip juts out, full pout engaged.
“Aye, usually. But I thought we could go to Traigh Bàn instead.” I pause, letting this sink in. “And invite Blair along.”
The transformation is instant. His eyes go wide, the pout vanishing like it was never there. “Really? We can invite Blair even though it’s the weekend and it’s not her job to look after me?”
“We can invite her, but I can’t guarantee she’ll say yes. Why don’t we see what she thinks?”
“Now?” He’s halfway off his chair already.
“You’ve got a few mouthfuls left of that sausage.”
He demolishes it in record time then bolts for the back door, Gus bounding after him like they’re off to save the world. I follow at a more measured pace, but I’m no less eager than he is.
Finn pounds on the granny flat door with all the subtlety of a battering ram. “Blair! Blair, it’s us!”
The door opens, and there she is. Hair sleep-ruffled, an oversized jumper slipping off one shoulder, but just as breathtaking as ever. She looks surprised but pleased to see us.
“We’re going on an adventure today, and you’re coming too!” Finn announces.
“Only if you want to,” I add quickly, suddenly feeling like a lad asking a lass to the school dance. “No worries if you’ve got other plans.”
That smile of hers—bright, unfiltered—hits me square in the chest. “Sounds like fun. I’m in.”
Finn whoops with delight, already tugging on her hand. “Can we go now? Can we? I’ll get my bucket and spade!”
Outwardly I’m calm, but truthfully I’m just as pleased as my son. Maybe more.
“Give Blair a chance to get ready first,” I tell Finn. Then, to Blair, “We’ll head off in an hour?”
“Perfect,” she says.
The drive to Traigh Bàn, Gaelic for “white beach”, takes twenty minutes. Finn chatters about sand castles and buried treasure the whole way, Blair occasionally punctuating his monologue with delighted exclamations when the coastal road grants us a particularly spectacular view.
When we crest the final hill and the beach spreads out below us—miles of pristine white sand kissed by turquoise water—Blair goes quiet. Then she breathes, “Oh my God. This place is beautiful!”
I pull into the small car park. As soon as I turn off the engine, Finn rockets out of the car, Gus bounding after him towards the dunes. Blair and I follow at a more measured pace. I carry the rucksack with our supplies while she has the picnic blanket tucked under one arm.
When we reach the beach, we kick off our shoes.
The sand is soft beneath our feet, the air carrying that familiar tang of salt, only today it tastes sweeter somehow.
The breeze teases Blair’s sundress and tugs at her blonde hair, half clipped up but already coming loose.
I have to shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out and tucking a loose lock behind her ear.
“Look, Da!” Finn shouts from ahead. “I can see forever!”
He’s not wrong. The beach stretches endlessly in both directions, dunes rising and falling behind us, sea grass swaying in the wind. A few families are scattered in the distance, but we might as well have the place to ourselves.
“My God,” Blair says. “Back home in New York, a place like this would be packed on a day like today.”
“Aye, well. That’s why I live here and not there.” I shoot her a half-smile. “Not a big fan of crowds.”
“You don’t say? And here was me thinking you were a people person.”
I smirk. Then, spotting a pair of black and white birds picking their way along the shoreline, I point them out to Blair. “Oystercatchers. Listen.”
Their sharp, piping calls carry on the breeze, and Blair tilts her head to catch the sound. “Beautiful view, dramatic birdsong... you’re really spoiling me, captain.”
We spread the blanket near the dunes, far enough from the tide line to stay dry but close enough for Finn to dash between us and the water without me worrying.
The idea is that he and Gus might play by themselves for a bit, but of course, Blair and I have only just sat down when Finn unzips my rucksack, rummages about, and pulls out a ball. “C’mon, you two! Let’s play!”
So, up we get again, and we have a fun game of catch for a few minutes—until Gus intercepts the ball midair and races off with it in his mouth. We all chase after him, Finn shrieking with delight, Blair’s dress flying, me trying hard to focus on the dog and not that dress.
We get the ball back—slobbery but intact—but now Finn wants to head down to the water.
He yanks off his T-shirt without a second thought, and I throw Blair a wry smile before tugging mine off too, stripping to just my shorts.
I give Finn a five-second head start before chasing him to the shore.
When I catch him, I hoist him up onto my shoulders and race through the shallows, Gus splashing alongside us.
Finn whoops, his arms spread out like wings, and Blair’s laughter carries across the beach as she cheers us on.
I run a hundred metres or so before turning and racing back again, then I haul Finn down from my shoulders and dangle him over the water. He squeals, kicking his legs, trying to cling to me.
“Nooo, Da, don’t you dare!”
I grin and plonk him straight in.
He goes under with a splash and comes up sputtering, hair plastered to his forehead, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. Then, with a battle cry, he launches himself at me, skinny arms locking round my stomach.
“Got you now!”
I let him knock me backwards into the surf, water closing over my head. When I surface again, he sits on my chest like he’s just slain a monster, triumphant grin splitting his face.
“Victory!” he crows.
Once he’s milked the moment for all it’s worth, Finn finally clambers off my chest, water dripping from him in streams. Gus shakes himself beside us, spraying both of us with even more. I haul myself up, wringing out my hair and shorts, and together we make our way back up the beach.
Blair’s been watching the whole spectacle, amusement written all over her face. She’s sitting on the blanket, arms wrapped round her knees, sundress fluttering in the breeze.
When Finn gets close, he grins wickedly and holds out his dripping arms. “Wet hug!”
Blair lets out a mock scream and scrambles to her feet. “Don’t you dare, mister!”
Finn barrels after her, giggling, while she races across the sand, laughing and protesting the whole way. Gus thinks this is a great game and tears after them, barking like mad.
I stay where I am, watching, chest still heaving from the run and dunking. And it hits me. This. This is what’s been missing. Laughter. Joy. The way Blair makes everything lighter, makes even an ordinary Saturday feel like a holiday.
Blair, with Finn not far behind, doubles back to the blanket, snatches up a towel, and whirls to face him. “Now I’m going to get you!”
Finn turns tail and runs, but Blair catches him, wraps the towel around him, and squeezes him tight. “One hug, just as requested! Only I get to stay dry.”
He squeals, wriggling, then finally surrenders, turning to face her and grinning as she gives his upper half a quick rub dry. They make their way back to the blanket together, Finn now swaddled like a burrito.
I unpack the rucksack: sandwiches, juice cartons, fruit, and the flapjacks Flora dropped round earlier despite her broken wrist. Blair picks one up, takes a bite, and closes her eyes in appreciation. “These are incredible. How on earth did she make these with her arm in a sling?”
“Stubbornness, mostly,” I reply. “Woman’s got more determination than sense sometimes.”
“Her empire biscuits are my favourite,” Finn chimes in. “I can’t wait till her arm’s better so she can make them again.” He licks his lips in anticipation, earning a chuckle from Blair.
We eat for a while—until I notice Blair’s gaze flicking my way. Her eyes linger on my bare chest, wet shorts, the sand stuck to my skin. She looks up quickly, meets my eyes, and gives me a smile that feels warmer than the sun overhead.
Then, suddenly: “Oh! Sun cream.” She rummages in her bag.
Finn groans. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, mister. You’ll thank me when you don’t look like a lobster later.” She squeezes some onto her palm and pats the space in front of her. “Come here.”
He shuffles over reluctantly, plonking himself down cross-legged. Blair peels his towel open, freeing his arms and shoulders, then starts rubbing the lotion in, her touch gentle but thorough while he squirms and pulls faces.
“Hold still, buddy,” she scolds lightly. “You want the seagulls to mistake you for a tomato?”
Finn dissolves into giggles, and I find myself chuckling too, more at his delight than the joke. Watching them together, so easy, so natural... it does something to me I can’t quite name.
It doesn’t make sense. A woman like her—smart, beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her—and me. A broken widower with more baggage than sense. She deserves better than someone who’s spent four years hiding from the world.
Then again, she’s not here to stay. She’s only here for the summer. It’s temporary.
The thought should be comforting, but instead it sends an odd pang through my chest. What happens when she leaves? What will that do to Finn, who’s already so attached? And what will it do to me?
I catch myself before the spiral can take hold. Live in the moment , I tell myself firmly. Don’t ruin this.
“Da, can I borrow your phone?” Finn asks.
I hand it over without thinking, then watch as he fiddles with it for a moment before holding it up at arm’s length.
“Say cheese!” he announces. Just then Gus bounds over, shoving his sandy nose into the frame, and Finn laughs as he snaps the picture.
“Let me see,” I say, taking the phone back.
Bloody hell.
There we are—Finn beaming in the centre, Blair’s arm draped casually around his shoulders, me on the other side with something approaching an actual smile, and Gus’s golden head poking into the bottom of the frame. We look... right together. Too right. Natural. Like a family.
And that’s what makes it dangerous.
I shut down the thought before it can take root.
The afternoon stretches on, perfect and golden. Finn builds a sandcastle, Gus digs holes, and we all lie on our backs making shapes out of clouds.
When Finn and Gus wander off to do some paddling, Blair settles beside me on the blanket, following my gaze across the water. Corraig rests on the horizon, a green jewel in the sea.
“Have you ever taken Finn there?” she asks gently. “To see where he spent his first few years?”
I shake my head. “To be honest, even though I sail there ten times a week, I never get off the ferry myself.”
She’s quiet for a moment, not pushing. It’s one of the things I’m learning to appreciate about her. She knows when to speak and when to let silence do the work.
“Well,” she says finally, “maybe it’d be nice for you to go together one day. And if you’d like some emotional support, I’d be more than happy to join you.”
The offer is simple, no strings attached. No judgement for my cowardice, no pressure to decide right now. Just... support, if I want it.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
By late afternoon Finn admits defeat to exhaustion and curls up on the blanket with his head pillowed on my thigh. Gus flops down beside him, equally knackered from a day of hole digging and ball chasing.
Blair and I sit in comfortable silence, watching the light change on the water. Her hand rests on the blanket between us, close enough that I could reach out and cover it with mine, if I had the courage.
For the first time in four years, I’m not trying to be happy for Finn’s sake. I just... am. The weight that’s been pressing on my chest for so long has lifted, just for today. I can breathe.
“This has been perfect,” Blair says softly.
I look down at my napping son then across at her and nod. “Aye. It has.”