“Is she now?” Ellie shoots me an amused glance. “Well then, Blair better get reading.”
I carefully slip the sheet into my bag and thank Ellie again before Finn tugs me toward the children’s section. He points me to the bay window seat and settles beside me. Isla and the twins, meanwhile, have already plopped themselves down on beanbags, and now they’re watching me expectantly.
Great, not just Finn this time. A whole audience. All right, let’s do this.
I open to the first page and begin. “Wallace the wildcat woke in his wee den, whiskers twitching and tummy rumbling...”
I don’t make a production out of it, just enough rhythm to keep them hooked. But within a minute, two kids I don’t even know drift over and plop themselves down, listening in like it’s Storytime at Barnes & Noble. Then another joins. Guess I’m the entertainment today.
And it’s not just the kids. Struan leans against a bookshelf, watching me, amused. Douglas looks grateful for a few minutes of peace. Ellie, at the desk, props her chin in her hand and listens, soft smile in place.
When I finish, there’s a collective little sigh, which in library-speak is basically applause.
“Blair’s writing her own story,” Finn proudly announces to the group. “It’s about an otter.”
“Can we hear that one now?” one of the kids I don’t even know asks.
“Um, no, because it’s not actually finished yet. I’m still working on it.”
“She’s read the start to me, though,” Finn says.
Logan scowls, affronted on principle. “How come Finn gets to hear it and we don’t?”
“Um... Finn’s my test pilot. When it’s ready, you guys can hear it next.”
Logan nods, apparently satisfied with this.
I’m at the kitchen counter preparing a snack for Finn while he sits at the table, tongue caught between his teeth as he draws. His hair is still windswept and his cheeks flushed from our walk on the beach with Gus.
The furball himself sits by my feet, amber eyes fixed on the package of crackers I’m opening.
“Nice try, Gus. I literally fed you an hour ago.” But when he lifts one paw and tilts his head—pure canine innocence—I give in. “Oh, fine. You’re too cute for your own good.”
I toss him a cracker, which he snaps from the air with impressive precision. He then trots off into the hallway to eat it like he’s afraid I might change my mind.Not a chance, buddy. That ship sailed the moment it hit your mouth.
I set Finn’s plate—crackers with cheese and apple slices—on the table and sit beside him with a mug of camomile tea. It’s already past two. Less than two hours until Lachlan gets home.
“That’s a brilliant drawing, Finn.” I peer at the house he’s sketching—clearly his own, complete with the path down to the pebble beach. “Though I’m curious, why no colours? Your pictures are usually so bright. This one’s all grey.”
“I’m making it black and white, just like your granny’s picture. Then maybe I can trick Da into thinking it’s an old photo too!”
My heart does a little flip. His mission is impossible, sure, but if cuteness could bend the rules of reality, we’d be in business.
“That’s a great idea.”
“You know how the library had a picture of your granny?” Finn says, shading the front door now. “Do you think they might have photos of my mum too?”
Oh.
Finn’s never mentioned his mother to me before. I set my mug down carefully.
“I’m not sure, buddy. Maybe.”
“We have a photo album with pictures of Mum, but Da never takes it out.” He stops drawing and looks up at me hopefully. “Maybe you and I could look at it?”
“Oh, sweetheart... maybe that’s something you and your dad should do together.”
Finn’s face falls. “He won’t want to. He doesn’t like looking at old photos.”
