Finally, my cock gets the memo and decides to calm down, allowing me to wrangle everything into place.
All right, Lachlan, deep breath. You’re professional. Responsible. Not a total shambles.
I head to Finn’s room, where he’s still curled up under his duvet like a hibernating bear. I set his school uniform out on the chair—grey trousers, white shirt, navy jumper—then give his shoulder a gentle shake.
“Morning, lad. Time to get up.”
Finn opens one eye, peers at the clothes, then frowns. “Da, it’s the summer holidays.”
Shite.
“Right. Of course it is.” I force a laugh that comes out more like a bark. “Just making sure you’re awake.”
Finn frowns, baffled.
I’m rummaging through his drawers for more appropriate summer clothes when a voice calls up from downstairs.
“Hello?”
Blair. Already inside, having let herself in through the back door like I told her she could.
My stomach does something complicated.
“I’ll be right down!” I call back, then I grab Finn some shorts and a T-shirt. “Pop these on then go down for breakfast. Have a great day, okay?” I kiss him on the forehead then head downstairs, steeling myself for normal conversation. Professional interaction. Not thinking about last night.
Blair’s in the kitchen, looking annoyingly put-together for someone who’s about to spend the day chasing after a six-year-old. Hair sleek, a touch of make-up, and, unless I’m imagining it, perfume. Does she really need to make such an effort just to look after Finn?
Not that I can complain about it. It doesn’t interfere with her job. It only distracts me, and I should bloody well know better.
“Morning,” I manage, not quite meeting her eye.
“Good morning!” She’s bright and cheerful, though there’s something slightly forced about it. Like she’s trying just as hard as I am to pretend last night never happened. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Aye. Should be good sailing weather.” I attempt to follow her lead, act normal, take a step towards the work surface?—
And trip straight over Gus, who’s planted himself at my feet.
I stumble but catch myself. “Shit! Sorry, boy.” His tail thumps hopefully against the cupboard. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’ve already had your breakfast.”
Except... has he? Christ, I honestly can’t remember. Between the sleepless night and this morning’s trouser fiasco, my brain feels like porridge.
“Er...” I don’t want to overfeed the daft beast, but I also don’t want him going hungry. Better safe than sorry. I scoop out another portion and dump it in his bowl.
Gus wags his tail like Christmas has come early.
“Finn will be downstairs in a moment,” I tell Blair. “He’s just getting dressed. Have a good day!”
And with that, I escape into the sea breeze, already rattled and the morning hasn’t even properly started.
Christ. This is going to be a long bloody day.
The familiar outline of Corraig grows larger through the bridge windows as I ease theCalabraeinto the final approach. Same rocky headlands I’ve known since I was a bairn. Same cluster of white cottages hugging the harbour. Same weathered pier where I used to fish on summer evenings.
I bring her in by muscle memory—throttle back, adjust for the cross-current, let her drift in gentle as a kiss. The engines rumble to a stop, and I feel the satisfying bump as we settle against the pier fenders.
Below, car engines start up. Foot passengers shuffle ashore. The usual controlled chaos of arrival.
Once the last of them has gone, Kenneth’s voice crackles through the intercom. “All clear on deck, skipper. Next sailing’s not for a while. Fancy stretching your legs and grabbing a coffee?”
