I glance at my phone. We ate less than an hour ago. “You can have some milk and a snack before bed if you’re still hungry.”
“Okay!”
I open the front door and look up at the light fixture, the one Mum and I stopped Da from meddling with earlier. When Lily and I nipped out for our fish supper, I grabbed a new bulb. Might as well pop it in and see if that fixes the problem. It’d be nice to tick one more thing off the to-do list.
I grab a folding chair—the only seat we have until the furniture arrives tomorrow—and position it beneath the light. Then, screwdriver in hand, I climb up. The fixture is just a bit too high. Even standing on the chair, I still have to stretch.
The cover is held on by two small screws. Balancing on tiptoes, my calves trembling, I try to work the first screw loose. “Come on, you wee?—”
The chair wobbles, just a bit, but enough. My balance goes. I flail, arms windmilling wildly, the screwdriver slipping from my hand and clattering somewhere behind me. My stomach drops,the world tilts, and then I’m falling backwards, a gasp tearing out of me?—
But I don’t hit the ground. Strong arms catch me, and suddenly I’m cradled against a warm, solid chest. My breath catches as my eyes lock with a pair of golden-brown ones.
Oh no. No, no, no. I recognise those eyes. Because they’ve already looked down at me once today.
Of all the people in this town, why did I have to be caught by the man whose lap I fell into this morning? The man I mentally filed underavoid at all costs.
And now he’s got me scooped up princess-style. Of course. Humiliation bingo: full house.
Heat, masculine scent, the press of muscle . . .
I catch myself. “Put me down!” I snap, cheeks burning with a mix of indignation and pure mortification.
He sets me on my feet gently, his hands lingering at my waist for just a second as if to make sure I’m steady. “You all right?”
“Fine.” I step back, putting space between us, and smooth down my top. “I had it under control.”
His lips twitch. “Aye, looked like it.”
“I don’t need—” I stop. Force myself to take a breath. He did just save me from a nasty fall. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He extends a hand. “I’m Struan, by the way. Your next-door neighbour.” He nods to number fourteen. “Your joiner too. For the salon renovation?”
You havegotto be kidding me.
This man? This man with the stupid tawny curls that look like they tousle themselves, and cheekbones you could slice cheese with? This man who screams trouble with a capital T?
He’sMalcolm’s son? My new neighbour and joiner? Clearly, the universe is having a laugh at my expense.
I stare at his outstretched hand for a beat too long before reluctantly taking it. His grip is warm and firm, calluses roughagainst my palm. And I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but a bloody zing shoots up my arm.
I pull my hand back quickly. Swallow. “Ainsley.”
“Andthis,” Struan says, gesturing to the curly-haired girl who’s appeared behind him, “is my daughter, Isla. We didn’t get a proper chance to introduce ourselves earlier. You left rather quickly.”
I don’t take the bait. Instead, I force a smile I don’t quite feel and keep my eyes firmly on Isla, not her father. “Hello, Isla.”
Summoned by our voices, Lily comes pattering down the stairs. “Oh!” She points at the girl. “I know you! You were at soft play earlier. I’m Lily. What’s your name?”
Isla glances at her father, then smiles. “I’m Isla.”
“That’s a pretty name,” I say, keeping my tone polite. “What year are you in at school, Isla?”
“Primary three.”
“At Ardmara Primary? Lily here has just started at the nursery.”
“No, I go to school in Bannock. That’s where my mum lives.”
