The handle rattles. “Da?”
I go still, hardly daring to breathe, as Lachlan answers in that gentle, soothing tone he uses only with Finn. I can’t make out the words, but his low murmur fills the silence.
I edge back a step and bump the counter. Something wobbles, then topples—a shampoo bottle, maybe, hitting the tile floor with a dull thud. I wince, braced for Finn’s small voice:What was that noise, Da?
But there’s only Lachlan’s murmur, calm and reassuring.
A few long minutes tick by before the bathroom door cracks open.
“Blair?” Lachlan whispers. “The coast is clear. Bad dream, but he’s settled now.”
I exhale finally and slip back into the bedroom. “That was close.”
“Aye.” But his voice is strained now, the easy intimacy gone, replaced by tension.
I hesitate, then whisper, “Maybe I should head back to the granny flat tonight. Just in case he wakes again.”
He nods, though reluctance flickers across his features. “Probably for the best.”
The words hang heavy between us, a stark reminder of how quickly passion can turn complicated with a six-year-old down the hallway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LACHLAN
Saturday morning, and the kitchen smells like cheat-morning indulgence. Pancake batter sizzles in the pan while bacon pops and crackles beside it. Gus sits hopefully beside me, nose twitching at every delicious smell, a thread of drool dangling from his jowls. Finn’s at the table in his pyjamas, working on some elaborate drawing of what looks like a dragon fighting a pirate ship.
I stack the first batch of pancakes on a plate and start the next round, humming under my breath. Christ, when did I start humming?
“Fancy nipping round and asking Blair if she wants pancakes?” I ask Finn, reaching for two mugs from the cupboard.
He looks up, already pushing back from the table. “Sure.”
He hops down from his chair, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor, but slows halfway to the back door.
“Da?” Even in just that one word, there’s a careful note to his voice, like he’s testing the waters.
“Aye?”
“I was wondering... was Blair in the en suite last night?”
Shiiiiitttttt.
“Why do you say that?” I manage, buying myself time while my brain races. Christ. He’s six. Too young for this. Way too young.
“I thought I heard her,” Finn says matter-of-factly. “When I came into your room after my bad dream.”
Fuck.
I switch off the hob and draw a steadying breath. “You might’ve done,” I say slowly, turning to face him properly. “Tell you what. How about just us lads have breakfast this morning? You and me. And we can have a proper chat.”
Finn shrugs and wanders back to the table, resuming his drawing. As if he hasn’t just turned my world upside down with one innocent question.
I finish plating up the pancakes, hands steadier than they’ve any right to be, mind racing. What do I say? How much is too much? And how little is too little? Douglas and Struan already know. If I brush Finn off now and something slips out at the Pit... no, better he hears it from me. Straight from his da.
I set his plate down and slide into the chair opposite him. “There you go. What do you think?”
He takes a massive bite. “It’s yummy.” He swallows, then brightens. “Do we have maple syrup? Blair says nothing’s better than maple syrup on pancakes. It comes from Canada. Did you know that? That’s where Blair was born, even though she lives in New York.”
