Rosie’s eyes are wide. “And that happened inthiskitchen?”
“In this very kitchen,” I confirm solemnly. “And guess what? Granny never forgot to latch the gate again.”
The four kids look at each other, grinning, and then Logan sticks out his elbows, flaps like mad, and shouts, “HONK! HONK!”
The others dissolve into laughter and join in. Gus, excited by the noise, bounces around them, barking like he’s part of the flock.
Meeting Douglas’s amused eye, I bite my lip. “Sorry!”
He chuckles. “Don’t be. That was a brilliant story. But aye, Logan and Rosie are going to be honking the rest of the day now.”
I giggle, but inside something settles into place. I came here hoping to feel my granny in these walls. Instead, I brought one of her stories to life for a new set of children. And maybe that’s even better.
Finn’s tongue pokes out as he concentrates on drawing a lopsided dragon with way too many teeth. He’s beside me atthe kitchen table, and I’m half watching him, half watching the clock. Any moment now?—
Right on schedule, the front door clicks open. Finn’s head snaps up like a meerkat’s. “Da’s home!” He abandons his picture and bolts for the hallway, though Gus beats him there in a blur of golden fur.
Okay, time to make myself scarce. Already got my shoes on—always be prepared for a quick exit.
“Hi, Lachlan!” I call toward the hallway as I edge for the back door. “That’s me off!”
I’m one second from freedom when his voice stops me. “Wait!”
Damn it. Wasn’t quick enough.
“Blair, I wanted to say”—his voice is closer now—“you can stay for dinner tonight, if you want. Or not. Up to you.”
Before I can even process this unexpected invitation, Finn comes tearing back into the kitchen.
“Yes! Please stay, Blair! Please!” He bounces on his toes, eyes wide with hope. “It’s fish and chips night. Da’s the best at making them, honest!”
My hand is on the door handle, escape within reach. But then Lachlan fills the doorway. For once he doesn’t avoid my gaze. He looks straight at me, steady and direct. Still in his ferry captain uniform, crisp white shirt and dark trousers, all authority and command.
“Well?” he prompts. “You staying?”
A beat passes. The kitchen feels too small, the air too thick. Finn’s hopeful face. Lachlan’s unwavering gaze. The memory of his hands on my skin, his mouth on my?—
“Okay... yeah, I’ll stay,” I hear myself say.
Lachlan’s face transforms. A real smile spreads across it, wide and genuine, the kind that makes him look years younger and dangerously attractive.
“Perfect.” He rubs his hands together. “Why don’t you two relax next door and watch some telly? I’ll sort dinner.”
Finn blinks up at his father in amazement. “I don’t have to help?”
And he’s not the only one who’s surprised. Lachlan suggesting screen time? Outside of the sacred schedule? Is it a blue moon?
“Well, you were at a sleepover last night,” Lachlan says reasonably. “I imagine you’re tired. You can relax for the next wee while, then tell me all about it when we’re eating.”
Fast-forward a few minutes, and I’m on the sofa with Finn, watching some cartoon about talking vegetables while he provides running commentary on every single plot point. To be honest, after the emotional whiplash of the past twenty-four hours, mindless kids’ TV is exactly what I need.
“Dinner!” Lachlan calls from the kitchen after a while.
We head through to find the table set and Lachlan changed into a soft grey T-shirt and black sweatpants, his feet bare. In casual clothes he looks... human. Approachable. Definitely not the stern ferry captain. More like the man who held me in his arms last night, however briefly.
As I approach my chair, he pulls it out for me. The unexpected chivalry catches me off-guard, and I glance at him in surprise. But he’s already settling into his own seat like nothing happened.
The fish and “chips”—french fries, not a bag of Lay’s—are perfectly golden. But there’s a suspicious green blob on the side, which I eye warily.
