She launches into it—losing her gran, breaking up with her ex, and getting pushed out of her dream job in children’s publishing, all within a year. Heavy stuff, but she tells it with a wry tilt to her mouth, like she’s learnt to make peace with the wreckage.
“So,” she says, “I decided to come to Scotland to escape everything for a while. I took a nanny job to get back on my feet and found myself working for averygrumpy single dad. At least there wasn’t any danger of me catching feelings. Or so I thought.”
I laugh. “Let me guess, behind the grumpiness, he’s not so bad after all?”
“Oh, Lachlan can be stubborn and infuriating, but he’s a decent man. And gorgeous. He’s got a good heart. And...” She shrugs, a little sheepish. “He’s just... him. Rough edges and all. But everyone’s got them, right?”
I snort. “I’m practically made of them.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” Blair reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, giving me a wee smile. “Anyway, what about you? Is Lily’s dad?—”
“He’s not on the scene.”
The familiar tightness grips my chest—that hot, prickling sensation I get whenever anyone gets close to the topic. I should steer us somewhere else. Ask more about Lachlan. Comment on the wine. Anything.
But Blair’s been so open about her own life...
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Blair says. “We don’t need to talk about that. We can?—”
“He was hooking up with my best friend behind my back.”
The words come out blunt. Graceless. Like I’ve coughed them up rather than chosen to say them. Blair’s eyes widen.
“That’s the real reason I came to Ardmara.” I exhale, my fingers tightening around my wine glass. Seeing as I’ve already told her the headline, I might as well tell her the rest. “Everyone back home knew. I couldn’t go to the shops without getting pitying looks or hearing whispers.”
And now I’ve told someone here, I realise. But it feels good to have said it out loud, if a wee bit terrifying too.
“Oh my God, Ainsley, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. Listen, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if youdo, I’m right here.”
I let out a shaky breath. “And if I’m dragging down the mood too much, just tell me to shut up.” I try for a smile. “But honestly? I wouldn’t mind getting some of it off my chest. It’s easier talking to someone who doesn’t know the whole cast list.”
Blair nods, her expression soft.
“Danny—Lily’s dad—and I were always on-again, off-again. That didn’t change during the pregnancy, and it didn’t change after Lily was born. Some weeks he’d stay with us, others he wouldn’t. He never really settled into being a dad, but I kept telling myself that some kind of father was better for Lily than none.”
I trace the rim of my glass with my fingertip, the old humiliation crawling up my neck. “Then, during what I thoughtwas an ‘on’ period, I caught him in bed with Rachel, my best friend since primary school. And in the argument that followed, I discovered it had been going on for months.”
“Jesus.” Blair shakes her head. “Lily’s father and your best friend... that’s a double betrayal.”
“So when this opportunity came up . . .”
“You ran.”
“I relocated,” I correct, though we both know she’s right. I swirl my wine. “I haven’t spoken to him since I told him I was leaving. He didn’t fight it.” A humourless laugh escapes me. “Looked relieved, actually.”
“For what it’s worth, they both sound like assholes who didn’t deserve you.”
This time, a genuine laugh slips out. “That’s one way to put it. I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. Not for me, but for Lily. She doesn’t understand what happened, and I don’t want her overhearing something that might upset her.”
“I won’t say a word,” Blair promises. “Not even to Lachlan.”
“Thanks.”
The sound of instruments tuning pulls my attention to the small stage area. I do a double take—because Struan’s there, guitar in hand, sitting between a woman with a fiddle and an older man with an accordion.
For the love of... he’s everywhere! Working in my salon, living next door to me, sitting in ball pits, catching me when I fall off chairs. And he plays guitar in a band too?
“That’s the Celtic Kicks,” Blair says, following my gaze. “The fiddler, Ellie, is a friend. Works at the library.” She catches my expression. “Oh, you’re not into folk music? I totally forgot to say they’d be playing.”
