Blair tilted her head, studying her. "Aye, that suits you." Her tone was cautious, but there was no edge to it this time.
"It's not glamorous," Sage admitted, "but it feels good to be useful."
Blair fiddled with the stem of her glass, then glanced up through her lashes. "I've got...plans. For the inn—my parents' place in Pitlochry."
Sage blinked, surprised. "The one I first stayed in?"
Blair nodded, cheeks colouring faintly. "Aye. It's a bit tired, you ken? I keep thinking I could do something with it. Refurb the rooms, push for more weddings, maybe even a spa package. Make it a proper destination." She gave a nervous laugh, as though embarrassed by her ambition. "My logic says it's daft, but...I can see it, you know?"
Sage found herself smiling, a genuine warmth stealing over her nerves. "That doesn't sound daft at all; it sounds brilliant. Honestly, I'd come back in a heartbeat."
Blair's lips twitched into the faintest smile, and for the first time that night, the silence between them didn't feel so heavy.
When the men inevitably trooped upstairs to the console after a half hearted offer to help with the cleanup, voices raised in delight over the latestAssassin's Creed, Sage and Blair were left to clear the table.
Blair's gaze shifted, catching on Sage's hand. "That ring's lovely," she said softly.
Sage glanced down, fiddled with the band, and managed a smile. "Thank you."
The silence stretched again, heavier this time, until Sage swallowed hard and blurted, "I'm pregnant." Her voice wavered, and she immediately wished she could snatch the words back. She had no idea what she'd been expecting—a cutting remark, a cold shrug, another wall thrown up.
Instead, Blair's eyes widened, then softened, a shimmer of tears making them brighter.
"We don’t want to know if it is a boy or a girl," she said quickly, fumbling to fill the space, twisting the ring on her finger. "But...we both think it's a girl."
Blair snorted and rolled her eyes, the gesture so ‘Euan’, it startled Sage into a smile. "Och, don't be daft. It'll be a boy. Trust me."
The dry certainty in her voice cracked the tension clean in half. Sage let out a shaky laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. "You sound very sure."
"I am," Blair said simply, and for the first time that evening, her lips tugged into a small, genuine smile. She pressed her lips together, seemed to draw a deep breath and then whispered, "I've been awful to you. I know it. And I'm sorry." Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. "I'm happy Euan found you; you're good for him. Even if we don't have much in common, I am sorry I was such a cunt... Oh sorry... I mean...I... Sorry I was rude."
The sincerity in her voice stole Sage's breath. For the first time, she saw past the stiff posture, the guarded glances, to the girl underneath—all of twenty-two, uncertain, and trying for her uncle.
Sage reached across the table, laid her hand over Blair's. "That means a lot. Thank you."
Upstairs, laughter rang out, Hamish and David whooping at some victory. The sound filled the quiet between the two women, softening it, making it bearable. And Sage thought that maybe, just maybe, she and Blair might find a way to meet in the middle.
It was a boy.
Eight pounds, three ounces, with a cry that rattled the theatre walls and made Sage's eyes sting. She lay on the table, conscious but trembling, the blue drape rising in front of her. Euan, pale as parchment, had suspiciously wet eyes.
The pregnancy had been almost unnervingly smooth. Sage had expected complications, especially at her age, but apart fromthe occasional ache and craving, she'd sailed through. Euan had hovered like a mother hen throughout. Still, when the time came, the consultants didn't risk it, planning a scheduled C-section at 38 weeks. Euan sat rigid in the little consultation room as the tiny lady doctor explained, brisk and precise, the procedure and risks. His eyes widened in panic as she calmly listed them.
"Excessive bleeding is uncommon, but it may require a blood transfusion in severe cases, or possibly further surgery to stop the bleeding."
Euan's throat bobbed.
"Deep vein thrombosis, very rare, but a blood clot in your leg could be dangerous if it travelled to the lungs."
His face had started to lose colour.
"And finally, there's a small risk of damage to the tubes that connect the kidneys to the bladder."
By then he was greenish about the edges, glancing from the doctor to Sage, who felt about the size of a circus tent in her maternity dress, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He looked ready to faint on the spot, but instead he croaked, "Maybe we should just...let the bairn cook a while longer, aye?"
"Don't be daft, Euan," Sage shot back, exasperated. "How much longer do you think the baby should ‘cook’?"
He swallowed hard, trying to muster some authority, but his voice came out weak. "Och, a few more weeks?"
