The name doesn’t seem to register. Strange. I thought this was a small town where everyone knows everyone else. “She works at the library?” I add.
He gives a small grunt. Approval? Disapproval? Impossible to tell.
“Look,” I say, leaning forward. “I’m reliable. Flexible. Good with mess. And I give really excellent hugs.”
Nothing. Not even the twitch of a lip.
“Hugs aren’t part of the job description,” he says flatly. “And I’m not a fan of mess.”
I glance around the pristine kitchen.You don’t say.
We talk through the basics: hours, duties, expectations. He asks me a few more questions, and I notice he glances down at his phone before each one, like he’s working through an interrogation script he wrote in advance, point by point. Whenwe get on to transport, I mention I’ve got a rental car, so I’d be able to take Finn on day trips or shopping or whatever.
“And you do know we drive on the left here?” Lachlan says. “Because a lot of tourists seem to forget that partway through their visit. I swear, the number of times?—”
“Oh my God, you drive on theleft?” I interrupt. “How did I drive up four and a half hours from Glasgow without realising that?”
For a split second, genuine alarm flickers across his face before he realises I’m just pulling his leg. He doesn’t seem to find it funny.
Okay, new tack. “Can I ask about Finn?” I venture. “What’s he like?”
For the first time since I walked in, something shifts in Lachlan’s posture. He relaxes slightly. And when he speaks, his tone is softer, a little warmer. “He’s a good lad. Smart. Curious. Big imagination.”
Ah. So there’s the human being hiding under all that gruffness.
“And . . . his mom?” I ask gently.
The warmth vanishes. “Not on the scene.” The finality in his tone makes it clear that topic is off-limits.
Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Living with this level of grumpiness would wear any woman down. Can’t blame her for bailing.
Before I can think of a safer follow-up question, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and frowns. “Sorry, I need to take this. Give me a few minutes.” He steps out the back door and into the yard, phone already at his ear.
I’m left alone with my coffee and the muted sound of his voice through the glass. A moment later, small footsteps pad into the kitchen and Finn settles back into the chair beside me,a stuffed dragon under one arm. “So, are you going to be my nanny?”
I grin at his directness. “I don’t know yet. What do you think? Am I nanny material?”
He studies me with comical seriousness, chin tilted, eyes narrowed. Then he nods. “You seem nice. And you’re not scary-looking. I think you’d be good.”
Nailed it.
“Any tips for getting your dad to smile?” I whisper.
Finn considers this. “Maybe tell him something about boats? He likes boats. He’s a ferry captain, you know.”
“Boats, huh?” I file that away. “Good to know. Now, what doyoulike?” I glance at his toy. “Dragons?”
He nods enthusiastically. “My favourite film isHow to Train Your Dragon. Have you seen it?”
“Seen all the movies. Read all the books.”
His mouth drops open. “Allof them?”
“Every single one. Isn’t Astrid just the best?”
He looks aghast. “What? No, Hiccup and Toothless are the best. Astrid is all right for a girl, Isuppose.”
It turns out knowingHow to Train Your Dragonis the only cue Finn needs to unleash a torrent of dragon facts upon me, complete with swooping hand gestures and sound effects. I listen, nodding seriously as he explains the difference between a Deadly Nadder and a Monstrous Nightmare, or tells me about how he’s been practising his dragon-training skills on Gus. Talking with this kid is aloteasier than talking with his dad. All I have to do is throw in a comment here or there, then I can sip at my coffee as he chatters away. Best interview I’ve ever had, hands down.
