“Peeking is such an ugly word. I was... curious. Which is basically the same thing, I know, but it sounds way less creepy.Anyway, I’d love a proper tour at some point. You think Douglas would mind?”
“Nah, not at all. I’ll introduce you. He’s the one who sent through the photo of his kids’ carnage.”
“Yeah, I noticed the name. Pretty sure it didn’t look likethatwhen my granny lived there. She loved fun, but she wasn’t a fan of mess, not that she was as much of a stickler as you are. I actually met Douglas’s parents the other day at the playground. The twins too. Those two are wild, but they keep things interesting.” They’d given their grandparents heart attacks by jumping from the top of the jungle gym. After that got banned, they moved on to launching themselves off the swings mid-air.
I finish off my Scotch, and this time I only slightly grimace.
Lachlan chuckles and nods at the bottle. “I take it you aren’t for a top-up, then?”
“You know what? It might just be growing on me.” I push my glass across the table. “Hit me. But you have to join me. I want to see what you’re like when you’re not all tense and in dad mode.”
That earns me a proper laugh, and God help me, it’s nice. Lachlan looks younger when he laughs, the worry lines smoothing away. For once he’s just... a guy, not Captain Grumpypants.
“Careful,” I tease. “Hide that smile before someone sees it. You’ll lose your shot at the Grumpiest Man of Ardmara award.”
Shaking his head, he refills our glasses.
“How old are you anyway?” I ask. A bit blunt, maybe, but I want to know.
“Thirty-one.”
Only four years older than me. That’s less of an age gap than I’d thought.
And now that I’m really looking at him... wow. His eyes are even greener than I realised, like sea glass caught in sunlight. No, not just green, but flecked with gold near the centre. Hislashes are ridiculously dark for a man, his beard a whole ginger-brown situation, and the way his shirt stretches across his chest...
God, he’s . . . something.
I’m staring. Definitely staring.Abort, abort.
I grab for my newly refilled glass, desperate for cover, and end up knocking it sideways instead. Scotch splashes across the table.
Smooth, Blair. Real smooth.
“Careful!” Lachlan reaches for the toppled glass at the same time I do, his hand covering mine, warm and rough. Distractingly so. My pulse spikes. He rights the glass then withdraws, leaving my skin tingling.
“You could’ve just said no to another drink,” he jokes, standing to grab paper towels. “No need for theatrics. Or is the whisky hitting you already? Do you see one of me or two?”
“One of you is plenty,” I mutter, my cheeks hot. Especially now I’ve noticed just how damn attractive you are. Time to change the subject to something safe and dull. “Uh... washing machine. Do I have borrowing privileges?”
He mops up the Scotch with swift, no-nonsense movements. Which, annoyingly, makes the muscles in his forearm flex in a way I’m trying very hard not to notice. He really shouldn’t look this good while cleaning up a spill.
“Oh, aye, of course. This place was a holiday let once. I thought about continuing that when I moved in but never got round to it. It’s only set up for short stays, so no washing machine. Use the one in the house whenever you like.”
He tosses the wet paper towels in the trash and reclaims his seat. “I’ve got a gym set up in the garage too. If you ever fancy a workout, go ahead.”
Well, that explains the broad chest. And the arms that make wiping a table look like foreplay.
“Since you managed to spill your second glass before you even had a sip, I’d best top you up.” He uncorks the bottle.
“Actually...” Hard liquor plus sudden awareness that Captain Grumpypants is kind of sexy? Dangerous combo. Better not. “On second thought, I’m good, thanks.”
“Ah. Right, then.” For a beat he looks disappointed. Then he drains his own glass, pushes back his chair, and stands. “I’ll let you get back to your evening. Good night, Blair.”
And then, unprompted, he smiles at me. An unguarded smile that hits me harder than the Scotch.
“Uh . . .” I swallow. “Good night.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me with a flickering candle, the faint scent of Scotch in the air, and the startling thought that there’s more to my grumpy boss than I realised.
