“Careful not to spill on your pants,” I say, settling into the chair across from him with my own food.
Finn, who’s just taken a sip of water, chokes on it, nearly spraying it across the table. “Why would I spill on mypants?” he gasps between giggles.
I blink at him. “Um, because you’re six, and statistically six-year-olds are a high-risk group for lunchtime disasters?”
He shakes his head, his grin so wide it shows every gap in his smile. “But... that’d mean spilling on my underwear.”
“Your what now?”
“My pants.” He pats his legs for emphasis. “These are trousers. Pants go under.”
“Oh. Right.” I give him a sheepish smile. “Cultural translation issue. Don’t spill on your trousers. Or your pants, for that matter.”
Finn dissolves into fresh giggles, and I can’t help but laugh too. Note to self: add British clothing terminology to my rapidly growing list of things I need to figure out.
We’re still working our way through lunch—Finn happily dunking his sandwich in his soup while I try not to cringe at the soggy mess—when there’s a knock at the front door. Gus goes into full alert mode, bounding toward the sound with a woof.
“Who’s there, boy?” Finn jumps from his seat and follows after him.
Ah. Could this be the neighbour, Flora? And if so, what’s she going to think about the fact we’re behind schedule? Because Finn and I should really be onto “quiet time: reading or drawing” by now.
I follow Finn down the hallway to the front door and open it up to find an older woman—seventies, maybe—with silver hair pinned in a neat bun, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and her left arm tucked into a sling.
“Hello, dear,” she says to Finn while patting Gus with her good hand.
“Flora! Blair told me not to spill on my pants.” He cracks up again. “That’s really funny, right?”
Flora’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Oh my, that is funny. Though I suppose Blair’s not wrong—spilling soup on your pants would be quite the catastrophe.”
So this is Flora. No clipboard, no stopwatch, just warmth. Thank God.
“Hi. I’m Blair, the new nanny. Well, trial nanny. We’ll see how it goes.” I step back to let her in.
“Lovely to meet you, dear.” She comes into the hallway and reaches into a small bag, pulling out a pack of colouring pencils.“I brought these for you, Finn. Thought you might like a few new colours for your drawings.”
“Brilliant!” Finn takes them reverently. “Thank you, Flora. Look, Blair, there’s even a gold one.”
“Wow, that’s really special.” To Flora I say, “Please, come through to the kitchen. I’m afraid we’re still eating. We’re a bit behind schedule...”
Flora waves away my apology. “Finn seems to be getting on just fine: he’s laughing and having a ball. I don’t think the schedule being a wee bit off is likely to cause him any issues.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, Lachlan can plan things in a little too much detail sometimes.”
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.”
“Oh, aye. Don’t get me wrong, structure is good for bairns, but there’s such a thing as being too rigid about it.”
In the kitchen I gesture toward an empty chair at the table. “Can I get you a tea? Or coffee?”
“Oh, really, I don’t want to impose. I just wanted to pop in and give Finn his pencils.”
“Please,” I insist. “We’d love your company. Wouldn’t we, Finn?”
He nods eagerly.
“Well, in that case, a tea would be lovely, thanks.”
A few minutes later we’re all seated at the table, Flora now with a steaming mug in front of her.
“So you were supposed to look after Finn over his summer vacation?” I ask before taking another spoonful of soup. I’ve already apologised for eating in front of Flora, but she insisted I eat away.
