“Exactly like Gerald.”
Satisfied, Finn sinks back against his pillows, his eyes already heavy, the thrill of the story giving way to sleepiness. “Night, Blair,” he murmurs.
“Sweet dreams, Finn.”
I step back from the doorway as Blair slips out, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. She jumps when she spots me.
“What are you doing lurking out here?”
“I heard some of your story.” I shrug. “Sucked me in. Couldn’t stop listening.”
She shakes her head, embarrassed. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it. It’s bloody good.”
I ease past her into Finn’s room, where he’s already drifting off. Leaning down, I press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Love you, lad,” I whisper.
“Mmm. Love you too, Da.”
Downstairs in the kitchen, I pour myself a dram of whisky and lift a questioning brow at Blair.
“Oh, go on then,” she says.
I pour her a glass too, and we settle at the table.
“That story of yours,” I say after a sip. “It really is good. You should do something with it. Get it published. You must have contacts.”
Her smile falters. “Thanks, but . . .”
“I’m not just being polite,” I cut in. “You heard Finn. He’s desperate to know what happens next, and that boy doesn’t fake enthusiasm. That was real. Other people make a living telling stories. Why not you?”
She turns her glass in her hands, gaze on the table. “Because I torched every bridge in publishing. And this...” She shrugs. “It’s just something I’ve always wanted to try. Doesn’t mean I’m any good at it.”
“Bollocks,” I say flatly. “What about self-publishing?”
Her nose wrinkles. “At Everhart & Greene, we... well, we didn’t think much of self-publishing. We saw ourselves as gatekeepers, you know? Making sure only quality books reached the shelves. These days, people can put whatever they like up for sale.”
I lean back in my chair, studying her. “I read an article once about some self-published author making good money. Better than a lot of the ones with big publishers. And you’ve got the experience, haven’t you? Why not use it for yourself? Keep more of the profits instead of giving them away?”
Blair runs her finger around the rim of her glass, thinking it over.
“That...” She pauses, then a grin tugs at her mouth. “That sounds like something I should look into. Tomorrow.” She tips back her glass, finishing the whisky in one go, then sets it down with a decisive clink. Standing, she circles the table and comes up behind me. Her fingers brush my shoulder, then trail down to the top button of my shirt. She slips it open, then another, her fingertips toying with the hair on my chest.
“Because tonight,” she murmurs, voice husky enough to send a shiver down my spine, “I’ve got other plans.”
She takes my hand, tugging it until I rise to my feet. Then she gives another insistent pull, this time toward the stairs. “Come on.”
I don’t need to be asked twice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BLAIR
I’m perched on my favourite boulder on the pebble beach down from Lachlan’s house, phone in hand, the afternoon sun warm on my shoulders. Finn and Gus are closer to the water and in the midst of a fierce but giggly tug-of-war battle with a long strand of seaweed.
Self-publishing. Why couldn’t I do that?
Lachlan’s words from last night have been rattling around in my head, so here I am, scrolling through author blogs and success stories, trying to wrap my head around it all.
