I let out a breath then turn to Struan, who’s still holding the Barbie. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s twice now you’ve managed to defuse a tantrum.”
Part of me is genuinely grateful. But another part—the prickly, stubborn part—is slightly irritated thathecan calmmydaughter down so easily when I’m the one who’s been doing this for four years. What’s his secret? A cocky grin and a stupid man bun?
He shrugs. “No bother. She’s a wee firecracker, that’s all. Strong-willed.” His mouth curves. “Wonder where she gets that from, eh?” He winks at me.
Ugh. This man, honestly. Of course he had to wink. Can’t just help out quietly, can he? No, he has to go and be...him.
I sit with Lachlan on the camping chairs while Blair and Struan, over by the barbecue, assemble s’mores for the grown-ups. The kids, having devoured theirs earlier, are now running riot by the sea, Gus darting between them.
I sip my Diet Coke, feeling my earlier headache start to fade. Tantrums and wine-induced dehydration—never a winning combination.
I glance at Lachlan. Tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair touched with silver at the temples, eyes a striking green. Put this man in a captain’s uniform, and I can see why Blair fell for him while nannying his kid. He seems solid. Dependable. The kind of man who wouldn’t wink at you after defusing your daughter’s meltdown.
Take notes, Ainsley. When you finally brave the dating scene again,thisis the sort of man you should go for. Steady. Sensible. No cocky grins or stupid man buns in sight.
I look to the island on the horizon. “So, Lachlan, I hear you sail to Corraig?”
“Aye,” he says. “Twice a day, weather permitting.”
“I’ll need to do the crossing with Lily at some point.”
“When you do, pop into the wheelhouse,” he offers. “She can see how everything works.”
“Really?” I smile. “She’d love that.”
Talk turns to the salon. Lachlan asks if Struan’s pulling his weight or slacking off.
“I can hear you, you know,” Struan calls from the barbecue, mock offended. “And for the record, I did your en suite last year, mate. There were no complaints then.”
I take a sip of my Coke. “I’ve no complaints about his craftsmanship,” I say to Lachlan like Struan hasn’t spoken. “His work ethic seems solid too. Though... he might try keeping his shirt on occasionally.”
Blair’s head snaps up. “I’m sorry—whatnow?”
Struan laughs and holds up his hands. “I was out the back! Doing intense work. I didn’t know she was going to appear out of nowhere.”
“I didn’tappear out of nowhere,” I say. “I walked out the back door of my own salon.”
Blair is grinning like she’s just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip in a decade. Lachlan shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Oh, would you look at that,” Struan says, rapidly changing the subject. “The s’mores are ready. Time to tuck in!”
Blair—still smiling from ear to ear—carries over the tray, and Struan hands the paper plates round. The chocolate oozes; the marshmallows are toasted to perfection.
I take a bite and forget myself entirely. “Dear God, Blair, that’sorgasmic.”
Lachlan chokes on his s’more. Blair’s eyebrows shoot up. And Struan, who hasn’t taken a bite yet, turns to look at me with a slow, deeply entertained smile.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
Heat floods my face. First “I like to eat meat”, and nowthis? What’s wrong with me today? It’s like my mouth has completely disconnected from my brain.
“Orgasmic, eh?” Struan nudges Blair. “That’s high praise.”
Then he bites into his own s’more and lets out this low, appreciative groan—and it’s ridiculous how the sound makes my insides go soft.
Fantastic. Really, just brilliant. Now I’m reacting to a man eating melted marshmallow.
