“Even so... thanks. Really.” Her voice is tight, like thanking me is the last thing she wants to do. Strange. I’m not used towomen being this frosty with me. Maybe she’s just proud. Or private. Or both.
“No bother.”
Lily peers up at me. “Where’s Isla?”
“She’s with her mummy, getting ready for school.”
“Oh.” Lily’s brow furrows. “You don’t live with her mummy, do you?”
Ainsley winces. “Sorry, she’s four. There’s no filter.”
“It’s all right,” I say with a smile. “And no, I don’t live with Isla’s mummy.”
“I don’t see my daddy. Mummy says he’s a bloody b?—”
Ainsley clamps a hand over Lily’s mouth. “Lily! We don’t repeat grown-up words, remember?”
I press my lips together, fighting back a laugh. Lily’s eyes sparkle with mischief above her mum’s fingers.
“Right,” Ainsley says, releasing Lily’s mouth and grabbing her hand instead. “We need to go. Nursery drop-off, then I’ve got a few errands to run.” She looks at me, all business now. “You know what you’re doing here? You and your da went over everything?”
“Aye, all sorted. First, I’ll remove the old fixtures, then I’ll start sanding, patching, and prepping the walls. Actually, I should get your number.”
Her eyes narrow. “My number?” The suspicion in her voice could curdle milk.
“In case anything comes up I need to run by you. Don’t worry, professional purposes only.”
She watches me for a long moment, like she’s weighing up whether this is some line. Then she exhales and recites the digits like she’s handing over state secrets.
“Let me just check I entered that right.” I hit call, and Ainsley’s back pocket erupts with the sound of ducks quacking. Loud, enthusiastic quacking.
I can’t help it—I quack back. Lily dissolves into giggles.
“Lily chose it,” Ainsley says a little defensively.
“It’s brilliant.” I save the number. “Good choice, Lily.”
“Anyway,” Ainsley says, “I’ll be back later.”
“Yes, boss.”
Her mouth tightens—she doesn’t love that—but she lets it go. She steers Lily towards the door, though Lily turns back and waves before she leaves. “Bye, Stwuan!”
That little lisp on my name—Christ, it’s adorable. “Bye, Lily. Enjoy the sandwich.”
The door closes behind them, and I’m left in the sudden quiet of the empty salon. I should get straight to work—there’s plenty to do—but I hover a moment longer, replaying that interaction. Ainsley’s a hard one to read, all edges and defences, but there have been a couple of times now when I thought something else was about to crack through.
And then the walls came back up again.
I shake my head and grab my tools.
Focus, Walker. She’s your neighbour. Your boss for this refurb. And she’s clearly dealing with some shite involving her ex.
But as I set to dismantling the first of the old styling stations, my mind drifts back to Saturday. How she felt in my arms when I caught her—both times. There had been this spark... this pull.
Or at least, I thought there had been. Seems I was the only one feeling it.
Yesterday I’d kept finding excuses to be in the back garden with Isla, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ainsley. Pathetic, really. She and Lily didn’t make an appearance, though I did hear them through an open window at one point—Ainsley doing silly voices while she and Lily played some game, both of them laughing. In those moments she sounded very different to the woman who keeps me at arm’s length with clipped words and cool stares.
