The glass nearly slips from my hands. I catch it, set it down carefully, then turn to face him. The raw vulnerability in his expression squeezes my chest.
“Oh,” I manage finally.
“We were childhood sweethearts,” he adds, like he needs to fill the silence. “So... I know what we did last night probably doesn’t mean as much to you as it did to me. You’re from New York... Sex and the City, and all that.”
I blink, then a smile tugs at my lips. “Wow, your references are so up to date. You do realise that started airing in the nineties, right?”
His cheeks flush but he presses on. “My point is... it’s none of my business, but I imagine you’ve had multiple sexual partners. You didn’t grow up on a small Scottish island, like me. So... last night... well, it meant something to me.”
The earnestness in his voice stops my teasing in its tracks. I dry my hands on the dish towel then step closer to him, laying a hand on his arm.
“It meant something to me too,” I say simply.
Relief flashes across his face, softening into something warmer. For a moment we just stand there, my hand on his arm, the kitchen hushed around us.
“Anyway.” I give his arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. “Finn’s not the only one who’s pooped. I’m going to head back.”
Disappointment flickers across his features. Before it can linger, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, breathing in his clean, masculine scent.
“Good night, captain.”
I slip toward the back door, aware of his gaze following me, my heart doing something fluttery and ridiculous in my chest.
Back in the granny flat, I go through my usual bedtime routine on autopilot—face wash, moisturiser, brushing my teeth. But my mind keeps circling back to our conversation in the kitchen, especially that moment when his voice cracked slightly as he said, “There was no one else.”
The raw honesty of it. The way he’d looked at me like he was bracing for rejection.
I spit out toothpaste, rinse, then shuffle toward bed, saying goodnight to Gerald. I’ve only just lain down with my notebook and pen when there’s a knock at the door.
My heart skips. I open the door and there he is, in an old grey T-shirt and navy pyjama bottoms, his hair mussed.
“I just realised,” he says quietly, “you kissed me goodnight... and I never kissed you back.”
The world stutters to a halt.
“So I wanted to fix that.”
He steps closer and cups my face in his hands. His mouth is warm, gentle against mine, nothing like the desperate passion of last night. His beard grazes my skin, his breath carrying the faintest hint of mint. And then, too soon, he’s pulling back. It was only the briefest of kisses, but it leaves me swaying.
“Goodnight, Blair.” His thumb brushes across my cheek.
“Uh . . .” I swallow. “Goodnight, captain.”
He turns and leaves me in the doorway, my lips still tingling.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LACHLAN
Saturday morning, and the house feels lighter somehow. Maybe it’s the sun streaming through the kitchen windows, or maybe it’s the sizzle of bacon and sausages in the pan, the smell of toast. I may have a rigid meal routine, but Saturday’s our cheat morning. Start of the weekend and all that.
My phone buzzes on the work surface. The Dadventurers group chat.
Douglas
Usual time at the Pit today, lads?
Struan
