“See?” she says, grinning up at me. “You’re not so bad at this.”
“Don’t speak too soon,” I mutter, but I’m smiling too.
The music swells, Ellie’s fiddle soaring over the top, and I find myself relaxing into it. Into this. Into her. Some of the cheers feel aimed at us specifically, but instead of making me self-conscious, they push me to hold Blair closer.
Off to the side, Finn claps along, beaming at us, until Isla grabs his hands and pulls him into their own little jig beside us. The crowd lets out a collective “aww” at the sight of them, and Blair laughs, her eyes sparkling with joy.
When the song finally ends, I don’t let go. Not immediately. Not with the whole town applauding, not with Blair breathless in my arms, smiling up at me like she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BLAIR
Finn is curled on the couch beside me, still in his pyjamas, strawberry jam smudged at the corner of his mouth. Our breakfast plates are scattered across the coffee table, and cartoons flash on the screen. Lachlan would freak out if he knew we’d snuck food out of the kitchen, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And honestly? With only three days of summer vacation left, we deserve a little indulgence.
“Can we do a treasure hunt today?” Finn asks, bouncing a little against my side. “You hide stuff and I’ll find it.”
On-screen a cartoon pirate is waving a map and shouting about buried gold. Kids really are impressionable.
“Absolutely,” I say, wrapping an arm around him for a squeeze. “But let me caffeinate first.” I lift my mug and take another sip.
After a whirlwind of a weekend, he slept in later than usual this morning. When Lachlan kissed me goodbye before leaving for work, he told me to take advantage of it, so I rolled over and dozed for another hour—until Gus decided I needed company. Seventy pounds of golden retriever leapt onto the bed then sprawled beside me. Pretty sure Lachlan wouldn’t have approved of that either. No doubt I shouldn’t be encouragingGus, but he was so warm and cuddly I couldn’t bring myself to push him out.
Now Gus sits by the coffee table, tail sweeping lazily against the rug, eyes fixed on me with that unmistakable “When are we going for our walk?” look.
Not yet, Gus. Not yet.
I reach for my phone and check it while Finn giggles at something on the screen. A notification catches my attention. An email from Nora Cartwright.
My heart does a little skip. It’s been a few days since Clara asked if she could pass on my email to Nora. I’d begun to wonder if maybe she wouldn’t get in touch after all.
Dear Blair,
I hope this message finds you well. We haven’t met in person, but I’ve followed your work with interest over the past few years.
I know the AI app project at Everhart & Greene was a difficult situation, and it was clear to me you were unfairly made the scapegoat. Please don’t let that episode overshadow what was, until then, an impressive body of editorial work.
One of my senior editors is leaving Cedar House, and as we begin the search for a replacement, your name was the first that came to mind. I’d love to speak with you about the role and think you’d be a terrific fit for our team.
If you’re open to a conversation, please let me know your availability. We’re hoping to move quickly with this hire.
Warmly,
Nora Cartwright
Editorial Director, Cedar House
I read it again. Then a third time. I have to blink a few times, make sure I’m not hallucinating.
A job offer. And not just any job offer, a senior position. A step up from what I had at Everhart & Greene. At Cedar House, a publisher I’ve always admired, with authors I’ve secretly fangirled over for years.
She knows about the AI scandal, but she doesn’t care. This is my career being handed back to me. My professional identity. My reputation. Everything I thought I’d lost forever.
I can hardly believe it. I’m grinning at my phone like an idiot.
Then Finn laughs at something on his cartoon, and I glance up at him. He’s still got that smear of jam on his mouth, his hair sticking up in every direction, pyjamas half twisted around him. Gus, meanwhile, is still by the coffee table, tail swishing, wearing that “When’s our walk?” expression.
A tight, fizzy knot forms just below my ribs.
