Finn scoots back to make room, and I step inside. “Morning,” I offer, aiming for neutral.
“Morning.” Lachlan doesn’t look at me, focusing instead on filling Gus’s food bowl. At the sound of kibble rattling into the dish, Gus hurtles over and drops into a perfect sit, eyes locked on the prize, tail sweeping the floor.
Finn dives back into his dream, words spilling out in a rush I try to follow while I slide bread into the toaster. Behind us, Gus is already crunching his breakfast like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Lachlan clears his throat and, more gently this time, interrupts his son.
“Sounds like a fun dream, Finn. But why don’t you go and get dressed? I’ve laid out some clothes on your bed—don’t worry, not your school uniform this time.” The corner of his mouth quirks before he adds, “That way you and Blair can get started on your adventures as soon as breakfast is done.”
Finn accepts the logic without question and bounds upstairs, leaving me alone with his father, Gus’s noisy crunching the only sound in the kitchen. After a moment Lachlan turns to me, his green eyes guarded. “Listen. I wanted to apologise for being short with you yesterday evening. That wasn’t... professional of me.”
Not professional? Try all-out mean.
“It’s fine,” I lie, because what else can I say? That his hot-and-cold routine is giving me whiplash?
He nods curtly, like he’s checked that apology off his mental to-do list. The toaster pops and I busy myself pulling out the slices then reaching for the jam and a knife. I’m not in the mood for more conversation with Lachlan, but he isn’t rushing off like I thought he would. Instead, he pours Finn’s orange juice, something he’d normally leave to me.
“I was wondering if you and Finn might want to head to the Pit this morning?” he says at last. “Struan’s got Isla—he’ll have her a bit more than usual over the summer holidays. And Douglas is taking the twins. His parents are under the weather.”
I glance out the window at the sky, thick with clouds that look ready to spit rain any second. The Pit sounds a lot more appealing than any of my other plans for today.
“Yeah, sure. We’ll head over there.”
“Great. I’ll let the dads know to expect you.” Lachlan taps out a quick message on his phone then adds, “You should ask Douglas to give you a tour of his house. I’m sure he won’t mind showing you around.”
It takes me a second to realise what this is: an olive branch in grumpy Scotsman wrapping paper.
“I will, thanks.” And damn it, my mouth even tugs up despite myself. But only slightly.
He gives me one of his patented brisk nods and pockets his phone. “Right, then. I’ll go say goodbye to Finn and leave you to it.”
The Pit is pure chaos: shrieks ricocheting, slides thudding, kids swarming the jungle gym like a beehive. My ears are already begging for mercy. And the smells? Yikes. Spilled juice boxes, hand sanitiser, thateau de sweaty sockfunk. Consider my senses officially assaulted.
It’s not exactly the Highlands idyll I’ve been soaking up these past days, but here I am on a plastic chair that’s seen better years. Maybe better decades. Most of the adults are clustered at tables on this side of the room, while a few unlucky ones have been dragged into the mayhem by their energetic offspring.
“So, Blair...” Douglas leans across the sticky table, raising his voice to compete with the noise. “How are you finding Ardmara?”
“I, uh, love it,” I say, though the words come out distracted. Because honestly? I’m still trying to locate Finn. We arrived mere minutes ago, and the second he caught sight of his friends, he bolted straight into the giant maze of tunnels and slides.
Douglas follows my gaze. “Don’t worry, Finn’s a sensible lad. They look out for each other in there... mostly.”
As if summoned by our conversation, Finn’s dark head appears at one of the little bubble windows. He grins and waves madly but before I even get the chance to wave back he’s gone again. He seems happy enough, though.
“Um, Douglas, my grandmother actually lived in the house you’re in now. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come to Ardmara in the first place.”
He nods. “Oh, aye. My parents mentioned that. Said they met you and Finn at the park the other day. I can let you have a look around at some point, if you’d like?”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“I’ll need to give the place a clean before you come around, though,” he adds. “Seeing as it was your grandmother’s home, I’d like you to have a decent impression of it.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” I say. But the photo Lachlan showed me the other day flashes in my mind: post-play carnage in the twins’ room that looked like a bomb had gone off.
He waves it off. “It’s fine. It is a bit easier when they’re at school, though. Over the summer my folks help with childcare, but only at my place. Which means when I get home from work, I’m the one tidying the chaos.” He runs a hand through his scruffy ginger beard, then glances toward the ball pit, breaking into a broad smile at the sight of Rosie “swimming” through the multicoloured balls, laughing delightedly.
“They drive me daft,” he say. “But I love them.”
“Here we go!” Struan reappears with a tray of coffees, juice boxes, and sweet treats. I met him briefly when I came in, before he went off to grab drinks for us all. The contrast between the two men strikes me again. Douglas is solid and steady, a little rough round the edges. Struan is taller, leaner, younger. And with that tousled man bun and breezy posture, he radiates carefree charm.
“One Americano for the lady,” he says, winking as he slides a cup in front of me.
