I try again, lining up the headboard with the side bit, but the pre-drilled holes just don’t match. I flip it. Then flip it again. Finally I get a bolt in. I feel a flicker of hope, then shift the frame to grab the next piece and?—
It all crashes down, the headboard narrowly missing my foot.
“Oh, come ON!”
Right. That’s it. I’m done.
I snatch up the instruction manual, storm to the window, yank it open, and hurl the useless thing straight out of it. Good riddance.
I flop onto the carpet and throw my arms over my face. Why, oh why, did I think assembling furniture on a Friday night was a good idea? I’m knackered. Half my day was spent drowning in salon admin, the other half catering to a four-year-old’s every whim.
At least I have a proper mattress now. Still wrapped in plastic and propped against the wall, but it’s here. If all else fails, I can just sleep on that on the floor. Better than the air mattress anyway. Who even really needs a bed frame?
The doorbell rings.
I groan. Who the hell turns up at someone’s door on a Friday night? I’m so not in the mood for visitors.
Dragging myself to my feet, I trudge downstairs, navigating the boxes still cluttering the hall. I’ve tried to make the place feel more like home—hung a couple of photos—but it’s still very much a work in progress.
I peek into the living room, where Lily’s transfixed by Igglepiggle’s antics, then swing open the front door.
Struan stands there with that infuriating grin of his, Isla at his side. He’s in khakis and a navy jumper, hair pulled into its usual messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame his face. Meanwhile, I’m in my rattiest hoodie, joggers that have seen better days, and not a scrap of make-up.
For a split second, I feel a flicker of self-consciousness—then I squash it flat. No, this look is fine. Because I don’t care what this man thinks of my appearance. Not one bit.
“Er... hi?” I say, keeping my voice cool. Isla’s presence stops me from being outright rude, but only just. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Struan holds up some crumpled papers. The instruction manual. “This came flying out your window as we pulled in.”
My cheeks warm before I can stop them. Brilliant. Now I’m embarrassedandannoyed.
“Oh, er... thanks. I was chasing a fly out the window and that... fell out of my hand.” Never in my life have I sounded less convincing.
Struan’s grin widens. He knows I’m talking rubbish.
Before he can call me out, Lily appears beside me, and her face lights up. “Isla!” She bounces on her toes. “Come see my kitchen—it’s in the kitchen!”
Isla frowns, clearly confused.
“She means her toy kitchen set,” I explain. “She keeps it beside the real oven so she can ‘cook’ beside me.”
“Oh!” Understanding dawns on Isla’s face. She looks at me hopefully.
I hesitate. Inviting Isla in means Struan lingers on my doorstep longer. But Lily’s already tugging at my arm, and I can’t exactly say no with both girls looking at me like that.
“Go on, then,” I say to Isla, summoning a smile. “Lily can show you.”
Lily wastes no time, dragging Isla away and chattering about making pretend cakes.
Struan watches them go then waves the manual, one eyebrow raised. “So... a fly, aye?”
I hold his gaze. “A very aggressive fly. The thing was huge.”
“Uh-huh.” He’s not buying it.
I last about three more seconds before I cave. “Fine. I lobbed it. Bloody thing deserved it. It’s been no help whatsoever. I’ve been at it for ages and my bed’s still in pieces.”
“Want me to take a look?”
