So much for easing into this. He’s steered us right back to Blair. I’d rather have planned this conversation. Talked it through with her first. But here we are.
I cut into my own pancakes, buying myself another moment. “So, about last night...” I clear my throat. “Aye, you did hear Blair in the en suite, Finn.”
He looks up at me, fork suspended halfway to his mouth, waiting.
“You like Blair, right?” I say.
He nods decisively, no hesitation there.
“And I like Blair too. But sometimes when two adults like each other... that can turn into something more than being just friends.”
His brow furrows like he’s working through a tricky sum. “You mean like... wanting to kiss each other?”
Heat creeps up my neck. Christ, he’s sharp. “Aye. Like wanting to kiss each other.”
“And...” He tilts his head, studying me with those serious brown eyes that are so like his mother’s. “Have you kissed Blair, Da?”
My throat feels tight. “Aye. I have.”
Finn considers this, chewing thoughtfully. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the tick of the kitchen clock and Gus’s panting.
Finally, he nods. “Okay.”
That’s it? Just . . . okay?
I wait, expecting more questions, protests, confusion. But he just goes back to his pancakes like we’ve been discussing the weather.
“Do you have any more questions?” I ask.
He pauses mid-chew, thinking. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Well, let me know if you think of anything else. But Blair and I... we’re still figuring this out, all right? Nothing’s changed between you and her. She’s still your nanny, and she’s still going to be looking after you while I’m at work.”
Another nod, another bite. Then, around a mouthful: “I like it when Blair’s here. You smile more.”
His words catch me off-guard. I have to swallow hard before I can speak.
“She makes both of us smile, eh?” I reach out and ruffle his dark hair.
He grins, mouth sticky with syrup. “Aye.”
Well, that went better than expected. Much better. But now comes the next challenge, telling Blair that Finn knows.
A little while later, Finn, Gus, and I are outside the granny flat, Finn pounding on Blair’s door. My palms are damp, which is ridiculous. I’ve captained ferries through Force 8 gales, but telling a woman that my six-year-old knows we’ve been kissing? Terrifying.
Blair opens the door, looking a little puzzled. “Hi! Everything okay?”
I understand her confusion. The last three weekends, we knocked on her door bright and early, inviting her over for breakfast. Today we didn’t and she’s probably wondering why.
“Aye,” I say. “We’re going for a walk into town. Fancy joining us?”
She lights up. “Of course. Just give me a minute to get my shoes on.”
Soon we’re making our way along the path that hugs the shoreline. The sky’s overcast, pewter clouds hanging low, and the sea’s choppy, white caps breaking against the harbour wall. Gulls wheel overhead, their cries sharp on the salt air. There’s tension in the weather that matches what’s twisting inside me.
We pass boats bobbing in the water. Mooring lines strain and creak, and Gus snuffles hopefully at empty fish crates. Finn skips ahead, fascinated by a boat unloading the day’s catch, silver scales glinting in the grey light.
Right. No more putting this off.
