“You’re pretty wise for someone who blushes at sex talk.”
By the time I get back to the granny flat, it’s late. I insisted on treating Ellie to dinner at the Ferryman’s Rest, payback for the meal she made me my first night here, and the picnic she packed for our standing stones adventure. We may have lingered for a drink or two after we finished eating.
I should just crawl into bed. Instead, I find myself padding across the yard. It’s long past Finn’s bedtime, and the main house is lit soft and low. I knock lightly at the back door. After a moment it opens, and there’s Lachlan, in a soft T-shirt that hugs his chest and shoulders, and grey sweatpants that hug plenty too, if you catch my drift.
“Blair.” The corner of his mouth curls. “Wasn’t sure if I’d be seeing you before tomorrow.” He leans in a fraction, nostrils flaring. “Is that wine I smell?”
“Do you have a captain’s hat?” I say, ignoring his question.
His brow furrows. “Aye. But I don’t usually wear it. More of a special occasion thing.”
My gaze drifts down his body, slow and deliberate, pausing shamelessly at the bulge in those sweatpants. He really does fill them out nicely. When I finally drag my eyes back up, a wicked smile tugs at my mouth. “I’d like to see you in it. And only it.”
I lay my hand on his firm chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart through cotton, and push him back a step into the kitchen. I slip in after him, nudging the door shut with my heel.
“Can you sort that out for me, captain?”
His half-smile stretches into something darker, hungrier. “Aye.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BLAIR
Monday
When the front door clicks open at four o’clock, Gus is up like a shot, paws scrabbling as he barrels into the hallway to see Lachlan.
“Da!” Finn leaps up, scattering Lego everywhere. “Come and see what we built!” He bolts out of the living room too, returning moments later, dragging his father by the hand. And, yep, there it is again, that unfair little hitch in my chest when I see Lachlan in uniform. Crisp shirt, epaulettes, the whole package. Apparently ferry-captain chic is my kryptonite.
“Blair.” Lachlan gives me a nod, a glint of warmth in his eyes.
“Lachlan,” I return, aiming for casual. Mostly succeeding.
“Look, Da!” Finn points proudly at the Lego creation on the coffee table. “It’s Ardmara pier! We didn’t have enough white bricks for the lighthouse, so some of it’s yellow.”
“Very impressive.” Lachlan crouches to study the uneven little tower like it’s architectural genius. Meanwhile, I gather up stray Legos and pop them back in the box.
“Oh,” Finn says. “Do we have to tidy up already?” You’d think he’d know the routine by now. When Lachlan gets home from work, that’s when I skedaddle.
But Lachlan surprises us both by saying, “Not just yet. Blair, I was wondering if you’d like to stay for dinner tonight?”
“On a weekday?” Finn asks.
“Aye, on a weekday,” his father confirms, straightening. Then, to me, “What do you think?”
It takes me all of two seconds to decide. “Sure. I’d like that a lot.”
Finn whoops and does a victory lap around the coffee table, arms out like an airplane. Gus, catching the mood, snatches up a ball and parades around, squeaking it over and over.
Lachlan’s lips twitch. “Great. I’ll go start the chilli.”
And just like that, the celebration dies. Finn groans, flopping onto the couch in exaggerated despair. Gus drops the ball and sinks onto the floor, ears drooping in solidarity.
“Chilli con carne,” Finn says sadly. “My least favourite meal.”
Tuesday
I’m sitting at the little table in the granny flat, with only Gerald and a book for company, when movement across the yard catches my eye. Lachlan appears in the kitchen window and lifts his hand in a crisp salute.
