BLAIR
It’s been two days since I arrived in Ardmara, and I’m starting to feel almost human again. The jet lag has finally loosened its grip, and I’ve settled into something that could generously be called a routine. Wake up. Coffee at the Lighthouse Café. Wander around town with no particular destination. Try not to think about my spectacular career implosion.
I’m not entirely succeeding on that last part.
I’m back at my corner table in the café, the same spot I claimed on my first day, nursing my second latte of the morning. My phone sits on the scratched wooden surface in front of me, browser open to a job search site I have no business looking at.
Picture-book editor, acquisitions manager, content coordinator... each listing a tiny knife twist. I’d give anything to have my old life back, but I’ve torched every bridge. My reputation is in ashes. And still I keep looking, even though there’s a beautiful view to be admired out the window.
It’s like picking at a scab. You know it’ll only make things worse, but your fingers have other ideas.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ellie.
Ellie
Fancy a walk along the waterfront later? The weather’s supposed to be gorgeous.
A smile tugs at my lips. Dinner at Ellie’s on Saturday night was exactly what I needed—good food, easy conversation, and someone who didn’t know or care about my professional disasters. She cooked a huge pot of penne, just like she’d promised, and we spent hours talking about books, local folklore, and her life in Ardmara. It felt like the kind of evening I used to have back before work deadlines defined my entire life.
Blair
Sounds perfect. I’ll message you later?
Ellie
Brilliant! x
The little “x” at the end makes me grin. I’d forgotten how naturally affectionate people can be when they’re not constantly stressed about subway delays and rent prices.
I close the chat and go back to the job site before catching myself.
God, Blair. You flew three thousand miles to get away from this crap. Stop torturing yourself!
I put down my phone with more force than necessary, earning a curious look from the woman at the next table.
“Sorry,” I mutter, then down the rest of my latte. I stand and head to the counter to drop off my mug, the kind of small-town courtesy I’m still getting used to. In New York, you leave your dishes and someone else deals with them. Here, it feels rude not to help.
As I’m about to leave, something on the community bulletin board catches my eye. A plain white sheet, taped dead centre, standing out amid the colourful flyers all around it.
NANNY WANTED
Caring for a 6-year-old boy over the summer holidays. Weekdays, 8 to 4. Live-in accommodation available. Must be good with dogs. References required. Immediate start.
A phone number is printed at the bottom in the same no-nonsense black text, along with a request to text, not call. Slightly unusual, but maybe whoever it is can’t always get to the phone.
A nanny? The idea shouldn’t interest me, but it does. Maybe it’s the promise of “live-in accommodation”—a lot better for my bank account than bleeding money on hotel bills. Or maybe it’s that I’m someone who needs a bit of focus, or else I spiral into doomscrolling job boards for a career that’s already gone up in flames.
And then there’s Granny. All those summers in Toronto, she was basically my nanny. There’d be a kind of symmetry in me coming here and looking after a kid, the way she once looked after me.
Of course, there are catches. “Must be good with dogs”? Yeah, I’m more of an admire-from-a-distance person. And “references required”? Let’s just say my glowing professional ones went up in smoke with the rest of my career.
I sigh. Well, that rules that out then.
Except... does it? I mean, I did work in children’s publishing. I like kids. And back in high school, I babysat for pizza money. Maybe that counts for something.
I’m already in Scotland on a whim. What’s one more impulsive life decision?
Before I can overthink it, I punch the number into my phone. I hesitate briefly, wondering if this is madness, then fire off a quick text to ask if the position is still available.
