BLAIR
I wake alone in the granny flat to the hush of the sea and the cries of gulls overhead. Peaceful enough—for a moment. Then my thoughts tumble back to last night.
God, the way he’d eaten me out was like... like his life depended on it. I’ve never experienced anything like it. My cheeks flush just thinking about it. But then afterward... the way he’d shut down, called it a mistake, acted like we’d committed some kind of crime against humanity.
I roll over and check my phone. Nearly nine o’clock. Normally I’d have been with Finn for an hour by now, but with him at Douglas’s sleepover, I had the luxury of sleeping in. Which also means I didn’t have to face Lachlan before he left for work. Small blessing.
After a quick shower and some coffee, I head into the main house, pat a very excited Gus, then clip his leash to his collar. “Come on, boy. Let’s go collect your favourite little human.”
Naturally, Gus stops to sniff every streetlight and front gate, but before long we reach Braeview Drive. The sounds of chaos spill out before I even knock: kids shrieking with laughter, feet thundering across floors, and what sounds like a wrestling match in progress.
Douglas answers the door looking like he’s survived a natural disaster. His red hair is sticking up at odd angles, and there’s what appears to be cereal stuck to his shirt.
“Blair! Perfect timing. I was just about to send up a flare for rescue services.”
Behind him, Logan streaks past wearing nothing but underwear and a superhero cape. Rosie barrels after him in full princess regalia, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sceptre.
A beat later, Finn and Isla appear together, looking almost civilised after the storm that just blew through. When Finn spots me, he grins so wide it nearly splits his face. “Blair! You’re here!”
“Hi, buddy! Good to see you—and fully dressed! Unlike some.”
Finn giggles then drops to his knees for a Gus reunion. The dog smothers him with wet kisses.
“Hi, Blair,” Isla says to me, calm as you please, like we’ve been friends for years. Then she turns and races off after the twins, yelling, “Logan, capes don’t make you invincible!”
“Have you had a good time?” I ask, ruffling Finn’s already messy hair.
“The best! We stayed up until ten thirty, and Logan taught me how to make armpit farts, and we built a spaceship and flew to Mars, and?—”
“All right, lad,” Douglas interrupts with a chuckle. “Maybe save some stories for the walk home. Blair, would you like the grand tour? Fair warning, though, I’d planned to have the place spotless for you, but with four kids staying over...” He gestures helplessly at the chaos around us.
“I’d love to see it, and don’t worry about the mess. I’m just impressed you’re all still alive and accounted for.”
While Finn and Gus tear off after the twins and Isla, Douglas leads me through the house, pointing out rooms and making jokes about the various disasters that befell each space duringthe sleepover. The living room, which I glimpsed through the window my first day in Ardmara, is now a minefield of Lego. Douglas warns me to watch my step—says there’s no pain on earth worse than bare feet on Lego. The kitchen, meanwhile, still bears the scars of what he drily calls “the pancake fiasco”.
It’s a lovely house, warm and lived-in, with Douglas’s practical touches everywhere, like shelves clearly built by hand, sturdy if not exactly straight. But as we move from room to room, I keep waiting for that moment of connection, that sense of “this is where Granny grew up”.
It doesn’t come.
At first I think maybe I’m too distracted by last night. But no, that’s not it. I just... don’t feel her here. And I shouldn’t be surprised, really. The house probably looks nothing like it did when she was young, not with the modern appliances and Douglas’s furniture, and with toys scattered everywhere.
But as we head back downstairs, I think of what I told Lachlan, about how important it is to tell stories about the ones we’ve lost. He listened—he told Finn stories about his mom—so maybe it’s time I take a leaf out of my own book.
Douglas leads me back into the kitchen, where the four kids are clustered around the table, picking at leftover pancakes, Gus positioned strategically for any dropped crumbs.
“You know,” I say to the kids, “my granny once told me a story about something that happened in this kitchen when she was your age.”
Four pairs of eyes snap to me. Even Douglas looks intrigued.
“When my granny was little, it was normal for families to keep chickens in their yards. Some even had a goose or two. Not pets exactly, more like noisy alarm systems that also laid eggs.”
“Geese are mean,” Isla declares with authority.
“Well, one day, my granny forgot to latch the back gate. The neighbour’s goose spotted its chance. It waddled into theyard, marched through the open kitchen door, and suddenly”—I spread my arms wide and flap them, honking loudly enough to make the kids jump—“HOOOONK!”
The kids squeal with laughter.
“My granny and her mom were shrieking, running in circles while this great big goose flapped and chased them around the kitchen table. They tried to shoo it out, but it just hissed and flapped harder, until finally her mom grabbed a broom and chased it out the door.”
