After ending the call, I head back into Lily’s bedroom. “Right. How’s Sparkle getting along?”
“She had a bad dream so Stwuan Barbie has to sing her a song.” She looks at me expectantly.
“A song?” I lower myself back onto the floor. “What kind of songs do ponies like?”
Lily considers this. “A lullaby. But make it up. Sparkle doesn’t like normal songs.”
“A made-up lullaby for a toy pony. Got it.”
I pick up Stwuan Barbie and clear my throat dramatically. Then, in the softest falsetto I can manage, I start singing absolute nonsense about glittery manes and magical meadows while Lily watches me with solemn approval.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AINSLEY
The headlights sweep across the front of the house as I pull into the drive. I let the engine idle for a moment before switching it off.
I tip my head back against the headrest and let out a long, slow breath. No surgery. No life-altering damage. Just a cast, a hospital bed for the night, and several weeks of healing.
Da’s going to be fine.
According to the dashboard clock, it’s 10:45 p.m. Struan’s had Lily since three. That’s nearly eight hours with my daughter.
I open the car door and step out into the cool night air. A faint breeze carries the salt-and-seaweed tang of the harbour.
On the drive back, my thoughts kept drifting to Struan. The way he offered to collect Lily without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The salon gossip—how quickly I assumed the worst of him, and how wrong I was. The four-hour round trip to Elgin. And the way he listens to me without trying to fix me or smooth things over.
I was so sure I had him pegged. Charming smile. Easy flirtation. A reputation that preceded him.
Just like Danny.
Only, that doesn’t quite fit anymore. Not neatly anyway. Struan’s shown a kind of care and quiet decency I didn’t expect.
I push the thought aside as I open the front door and step inside.
The hall is dim, lit only by the glow spilling from the living room. I slip off my shoes then pad towards the light. And stop in my tracks.
Struan’s stretched out on the sofa, mouth slightly open, fast asleep. Curled against him is Lily, a blanket tucked around her, Mr Flops held close, one small hand resting against Struan’s chest.
On the TV Igglepiggle prances across a moonlit garden, his cheerful song murmuring from the speakers.
I stand there for a moment, taking it in. The steady rhythm of their breathing. Lily’s wee body heavy with sleep.
I swallow then cross to the sofa and crouch beside it. “Hey,” I murmur, reaching out to touch Struan’s shoulder.
He stirs, a soft grunt escaping him. His eyes blink open—unfocused at first, then finding me. He rubs a hand over his face.
God, he looks adorable waking up. All rumpled and?—
Stop it, Ainsley.
“Sorry.” He carefully sits up, his voice rough with sleep. “Ididget her down in her own bed. But she came back down a wee while ago. PutIn the Night Gardenon to settle her, and... well, guess we both conked out.”
“You’ve been amazing, Struan,” I say quietly. “Thank you so much.”
He waves off my gratitude. “Ach, don’t be daft. Happy to help.” He glances down at Lily, who’s still dead to the world. “I’ll take her up.”
“Oh, I can?—”
