Finn blinks, uncertain, clearly not recognising him.
“I’m Torquil,” the man says, crouching a little as he offers his hand. “But everyone calls me Torq. I grew up with your mum and da.”
Finn shakes his hand, a shy smile forming. “Nice to meet you.”
Gus, apparently deciding he should introduce himself next, trots over to Torq and plants himself in front of him, tongue lolling, awaiting his hug or handshake.
Torq ruffles Gus’s ears with a laugh. “And who’s this handsome lad?”
“That’s Gus,” Finn says proudly.
Torq’s gaze swings to me. “And you must be . . . ?”
“Blair,” I say. “I’m the nanny.”
I don’t expect Lachlan to say what he said to Innes, that I’m “a wee bit” more than that. This is different. This man knew Leanne. Grew up with her.
“She’s...” Lachlan begins. “Well, she’s more than the nanny, actually.”
For a beat, everything hangs on Torq’s response. Then he chuckles. “Good for you, mate. I’m glad you’ve found someone. We’ve all been worried about you, you know.”
Relief softens Lachlan, loosening his shoulders, easing the tightness around his eyes.
“Right then,” Torq says. “Let me go round some folk up. Don’t you dare disappear on me, Lachlan Munro.” He strides off toward the next cottage along.
I lay a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder, just meaning to steady him, but he glances away. When he looks back, his eyes are suspiciously bright and he’s blinking hard.
Finn stares at him in horror. “Da? Are you crying?”
Red tinges Lachlan’s cheeks. “Aye, lad. Even Da cries sometimes.”
Without hesitation, Finn grabs one of his father’s hands and squeezes it tight. Then he shoots me a look and jerks his chin toward Lachlan’s other hand, as if to say,Well? What are you waiting for?
I take it, weaving my fingers through Lachlan’s and giving his hand a firm squeeze. A promise that he isn’t facing this alone.
“Lachlan Munro, as I live and breathe!”
We all turn to see a woman with a hand pressed to her chest. A man follows her from her cottage, then three kids tumble out too, wide-eyed and curious. Torq flashes us a grin and heads straight for the next house, knocking on its door too.
“Brace yourselves,” Lachlan mutters under his breath. “Alotof introductions are coming.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
BLAIR
Festival music drifts after us as we walk from the ferry terminal back to the house, a cheerful mix of fiddle, guitar, and accordion. I wonder if it’s Ellie performing. Part of me wants to check it out, but honestly, we’re all too beat to care about anything except getting home.
Finn conked out on Lachlan’s shoulder somewhere between the ferry docking and the harbour road. One minute he was chattering about all the people he’d met today, the next his head was lolling against his dad’s neck, his little arms hanging limp. Lachlan carries him like he weighs nothing, one big hand steady at his back, the other looped around his legs.
When we get back to the house, Lachlan tips his chin toward the stairs and murmurs, “I’ll get him settled.”
I watch him carry Finn up, noting how he takes the steps slowly, careful not to jostle his sleeping son. Then, kneeling, I slip off Gus’s collar. He barely even lifts his head in acknowledgement. He looks wiped too. After a quick drink from his bowl, he flops onto his bed with a small sigh.
When Lachlan comes back down, he sinks into one of the kitchen chairs with a soft exhale. There’s something differentabout him tonight. He’s lighter somehow. Like something that’s been wound tight for years is finally starting to uncoil.
“I was going to make myself a camomile tea,” I say, already moving toward the kettle. “Fancy one?” But when I glance back at him, I can tell tea isn’t what he needs. “Or something stronger?”
“I’ll take a dram of whisky.”
