I check my phone. Eleven. The estate agent won’t have the keys ready until noon at the earliest. “Soon, baby.”
“You said that ages ago.”
“Twenty minutes ago,” I point out.
“Thatisages ago!” She crosses her arms and her lower lip trembles. Oh God. We’ve had so many meltdowns lately, and I really can’t handle one in front of Malcolm. “Tell you what, why don’t we go to the soft play after we’re done here? Would you like that?”
Her face transforms instantly. “Really? Can we?”
“If you let Mummy finish talking to Malcolm.”
“Okay!” She smiles sweetly, the brewing tantrum forgotten.
“We’re pretty much done here anyway.” Malcolm tucks his pencil behind his ear. “I’ve got everything I need. This place will look great when it’s done, and I’m sure it’ll do well here in Ardmara. What brought you to town, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The question catches me off-guard, and my chest constricts, just for a second. I smooth down a page in my planner,buying myself a moment. “Oh, I’ve always loved this part of the Highlands, and I’ve dreamed of having my own salon for years. When this one became available, it was a no-brainer.” I keep my tone light, breezy. It’s not a lie but it’s not the whole truth either. Not even close. But I’m not about to tell him what I’m running from.
Malcolm nods, accepting the answer without question. “Right then, I think we’re all sorted. Struan will be here Monday morning, eight thirty sharp. Should have you up and running in two weeks.”
Two weeks. I glance around the tired salon again—water-stained ceiling tiles, walls that might have been white once, floors dulled by years of footsteps. Just two weeks until our fresh start officially begins.
Assuming nothing leaks, breaks, or bursts into flames before then.
CHAPTER TWO
STRUAN
“Arrr, first mate! There be sharks in these waters!” Isla bellows from somewhere ahead, her voice echoing through the plastic tubes.
I commando-crawl through the maze after her, my shoulders barely fitting through the kid-sized passages. “Aye, captain! Terrible beasties they are too. Did ye know sharks can smell a single drop of blood from three miles away?”
“That’s not even true, Daddy.”
“Course it is. And they’ve got a thousand teeth.”
A dramatic sigh sounds from around a corner. “Most sharks only have fifty to three hundred teeth, Daddy. We learnt that at school.”
“Well, these are special Scottish sharks. Highland sharks. They’ve evolved.”
Her giggle bounces off the walls, and I catch a glimpse of her curls through one of those bubble windows. Seven years old and already too smart for my nonsense, but she still plays along. For now.
“Highland sharks aren’t real!” she protests.
“Oh, they’re real, captain. Vicious too. They swim up the rivers and into the lochs wearing wee kilts?—”
“DADDY!”
“—playing bagpipes to lure unsuspecting pirates?—”
“You’re so weird.” But I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Struan, mate!” Douglas’s words cut through the plastic walls. “Your food’s here.”
“The crew be calling us to the galley, captain,” I say to Isla.
“Can we finish the game after?”
“Aye, but only if ye promise not to make me walk the plank again.”
