We eat for a while—until I notice Blair’s gaze flicking my way. Her eyes linger on my bare chest, wet shorts, the sand stuck to my skin. She looks up quickly, meets my eyes, and gives me a smile that feels warmer than the sun overhead.
Then, suddenly: “Oh! Sun cream.” She rummages in her bag.
Finn groans. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, mister. You’ll thank me when you don’t look like a lobster later.” She squeezes some onto her palm and pats the space in front of her. “Come here.”
He shuffles over reluctantly, plonking himself down cross-legged. Blair peels his towel open, freeing his arms and shoulders, then starts rubbing the lotion in, her touch gentle but thorough while he squirms and pulls faces.
“Hold still, buddy,” she scolds lightly. “You want the seagulls to mistake you for a tomato?”
Finn dissolves into giggles, and I find myself chuckling too, more at his delight than the joke. Watching them together, so easy, so natural... it does something to me I can’t quite name.
It doesn’t make sense. A woman like her—smart, beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her—and me. A broken widower with more baggage than sense. She deserves better than someone who’s spent four years hiding from the world.
Then again, she’s not here to stay. She’s only here for the summer. It’s temporary.
The thought should be comforting, but instead it sends an odd pang through my chest. What happens when she leaves? What will that do to Finn, who’s already so attached? And what will it do to me?
I catch myself before the spiral can take hold.Live in the moment, I tell myself firmly. Don’t ruin this.
“Da, can I borrow your phone?” Finn asks.
I hand it over without thinking, then watch as he fiddles with it for a moment before holding it up at arm’s length.
“Say cheese!” he announces. Just then Gus bounds over, shoving his sandy nose into the frame, and Finn laughs as he snaps the picture.
“Let me see,” I say, taking the phone back.
Bloody hell.
There we are—Finn beaming in the centre, Blair’s arm draped casually around his shoulders, me on the other side with something approaching an actual smile, and Gus’s golden head poking into the bottom of the frame. We look... right together. Too right. Natural. Like a family.
And that’s what makes it dangerous.
I shut down the thought before it can take root.
The afternoon stretches on, perfect and golden. Finn builds a sandcastle, Gus digs holes, and we all lie on our backs making shapes out of clouds.
When Finn and Gus wander off to do some paddling, Blair settles beside me on the blanket, following my gaze across the water. Corraig rests on the horizon, a green jewel in the sea.
“Have you ever taken Finn there?” she asks gently. “To see where he spent his first few years?”
I shake my head. “To be honest, even though I sail there ten times a week, I never get off the ferry myself.”
She’s quiet for a moment, not pushing. It’s one of the things I’m learning to appreciate about her. She knows when to speak and when to let silence do the work.
“Well,” she says finally, “maybe it’d be nice for you to go together one day. And if you’d like some emotional support, I’d be more than happy to join you.”
The offer is simple, no strings attached. No judgement for my cowardice, no pressure to decide right now. Just... support, if I want it.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
By late afternoon Finn admits defeat to exhaustion and curls up on the blanket with his head pillowed on my thigh. Gus flops down beside him, equally knackered from a day of hole digging and ball chasing.
Blair and I sit in comfortable silence, watching the light change on the water. Her hand rests on the blanket between us, close enough that I could reach out and cover it with mine, if I had the courage.
For the first time in four years, I’m not trying to be happy for Finn’s sake. I just... am. The weight that’s been pressing on my chest for so long has lifted, just for today. I can breathe.
