We emerge from the tunnels like miners from a shaft, Isla pushing sweaty curls off her face while I unfold myself to my full height, joints protesting. Christ. Those things weren’t built for someone six foot three.
The Pit—Ardmara Leisure Centre’s soft-play area, to give it its proper name—assaults all five senses at once. Screaming kids, the smell of chlorine from the pool mixing with chips and stale coffee from the café, primary colours so bright they could trigger a migraine. We’ve been coming here for years, the Ardmara single dads and our wee ones, and somehow it never gets any more bearable. Just more familiar.
Our usual table is in the corner, as far from the speakers blasting kids’ songs as we can get. Douglas looks ready to face-plant into his chips just to drown out his twins’ squabbling. Logan and Rosie are arguing over who gets which juice carton. Lachlan, meanwhile, is wearing his usual expression, somewhere between stern and constipated, though it softens when Blair leans in to whisper something in his ear. I still find it weird seeing him actually smile. A few months ago, before Blair showed up to nanny Finn, I’d have bet good money his face would crack if he tried.
I pull out my phone as we sit down, opening the app linked to Isla’s glucose monitor. The numbers are fine. I give her a smallnod, and she reaches for a chip, already chattering to Finn about sharks with bagpipes.
“Here you go.” The young server—Emma? Emily?—sets down another bowl of chips in front of me. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, not quite meeting my eyes. “We made too many.”
She’s... what, twenty? Twenty-one? Pretty enough, with a sweet face and big brown eyes. A bit young for me, though.
I give her a grin out of instinct—the easy, harmless kind I’ve been throwing at women for years—and she goes pink to the roots before skittering off.
Douglas stares at the bonus chips, then at me. “How come I didn’t get extra? I’m the one raising twins.”
“What can I say?” I lean back and stretch my arms behind my head. “Women love a single dad with a man bun. It’s science.”
“It’s something,” Lachlan mutters, but there’s humour in it. The man’s notquiteas blunt as he once was. Blair’s been good for him, rounded off his rough edges. Though if I pointed that out, he’d probably throw a chip at my head.
Hard to believe the grumpiest of us found love first. Means our wee single dads’ club is down a member. Not that I’m looking for love, mind you. Right now I’ve got the best of both worlds: Isla at the weekends, peace during the week. Monday to Thursday, I can do what I want, see who I want... bring home who I want. Who’d rush to give that up?
“Da, look!” Rosie stands on her chair, a chip balanced on her nose.
“Rosie, sit down,” Douglas says wearily.
“Logan dared me!”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
And they’re off, bickering at a volume that makes my ears ring. Douglas drops his head into his hands while across thetable Finn picks up a chip, eyes it thoughtfully, and lifts it towards his nose—until Lachlan gives him a firm look. Finn grins sheepishly at his da and eats it instead.
Aye, a few days of this kind of stuff each week is quite enough, thank you very much. Not that Isla’s like the twins. Nah, I’ve got to give it to her—she’s normally very well behaved. Wise beyond her years too.
Something catches my eye. Across the room a woman threads her way through the chaos with a wee girl in tow, and Christ, she looks like she’s walked into the wrong place. Everyone else here is in the usual soft-play uniform: hoodies, joggers, messy buns. But this woman’s got glossy espresso-brown hair and a thick fringe so precise it probably required a spirit level. She wears a sharp jacket over fitted jeans and heeled boots.
She’s small—petite, really—but with curves in all the right places and a walk that could make a bishop drop his Bible. There’s something almost defiant about how polished she looks, like she’s refusing to surrender to the soft-play dress code.
She’s definitely not from around here. I’d remember her if I’d seen her before.
Wonder if she’s single. Wait, no, I don’t chase women atsoft play, for crying out loud. If I did, Lachlan would never let me hear the end of it.
A burst of laughter snaps me back to the table. Not to be outdone by his sister, Logan is now proudly displaying a chip shoved halfway up his right nostril. The other three kids cackle while Douglas looks ready to move countries.
“Logan!” Blair says, her New York vowels cutting through the noise. “Get that out of there. Keep fooling around and we’ll have to rethink having you and Rosie over on Monday.”
Logan heaves an exaggerated sigh then yanks the chip from his nose. Of course, instead of disposing of it like a normalperson, he waves it near Rosie’s face. She shrieks and ducks under the table.
“Logan!” Douglas warns. “That’s enough. Bin it—now.”
He grins but obeys, hopping up to lob the chip into the bin then wiping his hands on his T-shirt like that makes him clean again.
“We’re going to have pizza on Monday,” Finn says excitedly. “And we can make a fort and play the floor is lava and...”
I catch the tiny furrow in Isla’s brow. She won’t be there on Monday.
“Of course, you’re welcome to come too, Isla,” Blair says quickly, clearly also clocking it. “It’s just that I know you won’t be around.”
