“Go on. I won’t tell.”
“What the hell. Child-free night.” She places her hands on the fence between our gardens.
“Here,” I say, setting down my guitar. “Let me help you over.”
“I can manage.” She swings first one leg over, then the other, and gives me a satisfied look. “See? No builder assistance required.”
Chuckling, I sit back down and gesture for her to join me. She does, only there’s not much room on the step, so our shoulders brush.
I offer her the joint. She takes it, her lips closing around it, cheeks hollowing as she inhales.
Something stirs low in my gut.
Coughing lightly, she hands it back. “God, that’s stronger than I remember.”
“Aye, well.” I shrug. “Lily at your mum and dad’s?”
“Mm-hmm. She was there for dinner so I could try to make the house a bit more homely. She fell asleep on the sofa sothey’re keeping her overnight. And Isla? Back at her mum’s place?”
“Aye. Dropped her there this afternoon.”
I take another drag then look up at the stars. Maybe it’s the joint loosening my tongue, or maybe it’s just the quiet and the dark, but the words slip out before I can stop them. “Sunday evenings are my least favourite part of the week.”
“Must be hard,” Ainsley says after a beat. “Saying goodbye to your kid every week.”
“Aye.” Another drag. I watch the smoke drift up into the night. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
“How long have you and Isla’s mum been doing the weekday–weekend split? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Pretty much since she was weaned.”
“So you and her were never . . . ?”
“Together? Nah, not really. Isla wasn’t planned. We did give things a shot when Soph was expecting, but we’re better as friends.”
“Still, you’ve made it work between you.”
“Aye. We do our best.” I glance at the joint. “Not much left, I’m afraid. You can finish it.”
As I pass it over, our fingers brush. Brief. Warm. Nice.
“Lily was a surprise too,” Ainsley admits after a moment. “But unlike you and Isla’s mum, it didn’t end well.”
And then, for the second time in three days, Ainsley opens up to me. She starts off hesitant, but once she gets going, the words come easier. She tells me about her ex—the cycle of taking him back, convincing herself this time would be different, only to be let down again. Then the final straw: the double hit of walking in on him with her best friend.
My jaw tightens but I say nothing. Just listen. Still, part of me wouldn’t mind finding this Danny guy and teaching him just how hard a builder’s fist can land.
“It’s my fault, really,” Ainsley says. “I should have realised so much sooner he wasn’t cut out for family life.”
“What?” I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. Your ex and your ex-best friend? Those two arseholes are the only ones to blame. Aye?”
She gives me a wobbly smile and for a horrible moment I think she might cry. Don’t know if I could cope with that. Not when we’re sitting this close. No way I’d be able to resist pulling her into my arms to comfort her.
But she pulls herself together, and a wee edge creeps into her voice. “And to think I used to give that prick and that cow free haircuts. And bloody good ones at that.”
I can’t hold back a laugh.
“All right, no more regurgitating the past,” she says. “Let’s change the subject to safer territory. Like...” Her gaze drops to the guitar beside me. “Can you only play folksy stuff on that thing? Or do you know any modern tunes?”
