Christ.
On top, a pale pink bra, lace edging visible. Beneath it, what might be matching knickers, simple but soft and feminine. My hand lifts before I even register the movement, just to see if the lace is as delicate as it looks?—
I snatch it back like I’ve been burned.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Thanks for letting me use the machine, Lachlan.” Blair’s voice makes me spin. She’s followed me through, as has Finn. Did they see? I don’t think so.
“I’ll get that out of your way,” Blair adds.
“Right.” My voice comes out sharp. Clipped. “Good. And it’s Lach-lan, not Lock-lan. Remember?”
She blinks, startled. “Oh. Sorry, I?—”
“It’s fine. Sorry, bit of a headache.” I rub at my temple. “Anyway, you don’t need to hang about. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It’s a very clear dismissal, and Blair’s cheeks flush. “Right. Okay.” She picks up the basket. “Bye, Finn.”
“Bye, Blair,” Finn says quietly.
She doesn’t look at me as she leaves, and after the back door closes, the silence stretches until Finn breaks it, his voice small. “Why were you mean to Blair?”
I run a hand through my hair, guilt sitting heavy in my gut. “I wasn’t mean. I was just... tired. Like I said, I’ve got a headache.”
“You were mean,” he insists. “She was being nice and you were mean to her.”
No mercy from him. And he’s right.
“I’m sorry, lad. Sometimes grown-ups get grumpy when they’re tired, just like kids.”
But Finn’s not buying it, and neither am I. He wanders off, and I’m left in the kitchen, furious with myself.
You’re making this worse. You’re making it weird. Stop it.
She’s doing nothing wrong. Nothing except being kind to my son and living in my space and looking like?—
Stop.
Tomorrow I’ll be better. Polite but professional. Detached.
I’ll lock it all away where it belongs. No excuses.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BLAIR
The morning is overcast and cool as I cross the small yard from the granny flat, arms wrapped tight around myself. I’m still smarting from yesterday’s dismissal, the sting of it clinging harder than it should.
Finn must’ve spotted me through the window because he yanks the back door open before I can knock. Gus barrels out, a furry tornado circling my legs.
“Blair! Guess what? I dreamed about otters last night, and one of them could talk, and he told me his name was Gerald, just like your plant!” Finn insisted I give him a tour of the granny flat yesterday, and that’s when he met Gerald in all his leafy glory.
“That’s amazing, buddy.” I ruffle his hair, grateful for his uncomplicated joy. “Did Dream Gerald have any good stories to tell?”
“He did! He said?—”
“Finn, let Blair in,” Lachlan interrupts, appearing behind Finn, looking every inch the stern ferry captain in his crisp uniform.
