Ah. So he’s divorced, or separated. Not that it matters. Not that I care about his relationship status in the slightest.
“Do you want to see my room?” Lily asks Isla, bouncing on her toes. “It’s got a view of the sea and everything!”
Isla looks at Struan again, who shrugs. “If Ainsley doesn’t mind?”
“Of course not,” I say lightly, even though I badly need a moment to get my breathing under control.
The girls disappear upstairs, Lily chattering away as they go, not shy of the older girl in the slightest. Which leaves me alone with Struan.
He glances up at the light fixture. “Want me to sort that for you?”
“I can manage,” I insist.
But he’s already grabbed the screwdriver from where it fell and is reaching up, not even needing the chair. He pops off the light cover with ease, the movement casual, effortless. His shirt rides up as he stretches, revealing a strip of lean, toned stomach and that stupid V at his hips—the one no man has any business flaunting. And then there’s the thin trail of golden hair leading down from his navel. My eyes follow it before I can stop myself. I jerk my gaze away, heat prickling my neck.
Nope, Ainsley. Absolutely not.
He removes the current bulb then holds out a hand to me. “The replacement?”
I pass him the bulb I picked up earlier and he holds it up, comparing it to the original. A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I think I see a problem here. The connections are different. The original is a bayonet bulb, but this new one is a screw cap. That’s not going to work.”
“Right,” I say, embarrassed and a little annoyed. I grabbed the same kind I used to get for my old place. Figured it’d be the same here. “Easy mistake.”
“No worries. Think I’ve got one next door. Give me a sec.”
Before I can tell him not to bother, he’s heading for his house. I stand there on my doorstep like an eejit, arms crossed, listening to Lily and Isla’s giggles drifting down from upstairs.
He’s back in under a minute, the correct bulb in hand. Again he reaches up, and again that flash of stomach.
Fuck’s sake, Ainsley. Eyes up.
Within seconds the new bulb is in place.
“All right, want to try it?”
I step inside, flick the switch by the door, and the light comes on.
“There you go.” He gives me an easy smile. “Next time, maybe don’t climb wobbly furniture. You can borrow my stepladder anytime. Or just ask me to do it.”
“Thank you,” I say crisply, “but I’ve already ordered my own stepladder.”
Of course, I haven’t. But the thought of needing to ask him for help, of knocking on his door like some damsel in distress, makes my skin crawl. This fresh start is supposed to be about Lily and me standing on our own feet.
“And next time I’ll know to buy a bulb with a bayonet fitting,” I add, my tone clipped. “Every day’s a school day.”
His grin widens and he nods. “Fair enough. But if you need anything else—boxes moved, shelves put up, furniture assembled—I’m just next door.”
“We’re fine.”
“Course you are.” There’s something about the way he says it, not quite mocking but not quite serious either. “Well, if ever you change your mind, you know where to find me. Anyway, Isla!” he calls up the stairs. “Time for dinner!”
Small feet race across the landing, then both girls appear at the top of the stairs.
“Does Isla have to go already?” Lily says. “I’ve not even introduced her to all my toys yet.”
“Maybe she’ll get to meet the rest of them another time,” Struan says. “But for now Isla needs to come with me and have her dinner. C’mon, princess!”
Isla traipses down the stairs, and Struan glances at me. “I’ll see you Monday morning at the salon. If we don’t run into each other before then.” He winks, then he and his daughter head around the dividing hedge and disappear into their house.
