“Uh . . . is that baby food?”
“They’re peas,” Finn says with the patience of someone explaining something obvious to a very slow adult. “They’re supposed to look like that. They’re mushy.”
“If you say so, buddy.” I try them. Soft, buttery, a little salty. Not nearly as tragic as they look.
As we eat, Finn launches into an exhausting play-by-play of every moment of his sleepover. And I meaneverymoment. What time they went to bed (ten thirty!), what they had for breakfast (pancakes that looked like spaceships!), how Logan can burp the alphabet (but only got to M before his dad told him to stop).
I’m grateful for Finn’s chatter. It fills the silence between Lachlan and me, all the things we can’t say with little ears listening. But even as I nod and smile at Finn’s stories, I’m hyperaware of Lachlan across the table. The precise way he cuts his fish. The way his mouth quirks when Finn describes the “epic pillow fight that nearly destroyed the universe”.
Finn yawns hugely, rubbing his eyes even as he keeps talking. Poor kid’s running out of gas.
“Here, let me help,” I murmur, reaching over to cut his fish into smaller pieces. The gesture is so automatic, so natural, I don’t think twice about it?—
Until my gaze catches on the photo of Leanne in the frame Finn and I decorated. She’s looking down at baby Finn with such love, and suddenly I feel like an imposter. Today I’m cutting up her son’s fish. Last night I was in her husband’s bed.
No wonder my stomach twists.
“And then,” Finn continues around another yawn, “we played the floor is lava, and in the end it was between Logan and Rosie, but Logan fell in, so Rosie crowned herself queen of the lava and made us bow to her.”
“Sounds like you had quite the adventure, lad,” Lachlan says. “I’m amazed Douglas survived it.”
Finn giggles. “He said next time he’s sending us all to Struan’s house.”
“Poor Struan doesn’t know what’s coming for him.”
I force a smile, but I catch Lachlan looking at me a moment too long before he glances away. The air between us feels charged.
By the time we finish eating, Finn can barely keep his eyes open. He’s swaying slightly in his chair, fighting sleep with the determination of a tiny warrior.
“Right then,” Lachlan says, standing to clear the plates. “Someone clearly needs an early night. I’ll go run you a bath.”
“Can I have a bath tomorrow instead?” Finn mumbles.
Lachlan considers, then nods. “Aye, that’s fine. In that case, it’s time to get into your jammies. Let’s go upstairs.”
Finn slides off his chair and gives me a sleepy wave. “Night, Blair.”
“Night, buddy. Sweet dreams.”
“I’ll sort the dishes,” I say as they head for the stairs.
“Leave them,” Lachlan calls back. “You’re a guest tonight. I don’t want you lifting a finger.”
When Lachlan comes back downstairs ten minutes later, I’m at the sink, elbow-deep in soapy water.
“Finn asleep?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.
“Out like a light. He barely made it through—” Lachlan stops mid-sentence when he spots me. “Oi, I told you not to do that.”
“You cooked, I’m cleaning up. That’s fair.” I set a plate in the drying rack. “Besides, I’m almost done.”
The kitchen falls quiet except for the gentle splash of water and the soft clink of dishes. Lachlan hovers nearby, hands shoved in his pockets. The room feels crowded with everything we’re not saying.
Finally, he clears his throat. “Blair, about last night. The things I said afterward... I’m sorry. I panicked.”
I pause, a glass halfway to the rack. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” His voice is rough around the edges. “It’s just... it’s not only that I haven’t been with anyone since Leannepassed. It’s that I was never with anyone before her. There was no one else.”
