“I just wondered if?—”
“Nothing’s happening there. And I’d really appreciate it if people stopped asking.”
Blair’s eyebrows lift. “Oh. Sorry. Of course.”
Guilt pricks at me. She’s only being a friend. It’s not her fault I’m... whatever I am.
“Sorry,” I say, softer. “I didn’t mean to be prickly. It’s just, at the moment my priorities are Lily and the salon. I don’t have the headspace for anything else.”
“Understood.” Blair smiles, no trace of offence. “Subject closed.”
We both take a sip of our drinks.
Blair’s phone pings. She glances at it then smiles to herself—one of those small, private smiles.
“Lachlan,” she says, almost apologetic. “He’s sent over a cute photo.” She turns the screen towards me. “My boys.”
Finn’s tucked against Lachlan on the sofa, Gus sprawled on the floor beside them, all three of them looking half-asleep and utterly content.
A knot twists in my chest. I ignore it.
“Cute,” I say lightly. I drain the last of my wine. “Right, next round’s on me.”
I stand and head for the bar before Blair can say anything else.
Thursday
“Time for your bedtime story, Lily,” I say, pushing open her bedroom door.
I stop short. Because there, taped to the wall above her wee desk—slightly wonky, obviously Lily’s handiwork—is Isla’s drawing. The apology picture. Now pride of place in her room.
“You put it up,” I say, pointing to it.
Lily looks up from arranging Mr Flops on her pillow. “Yep. I like it.”
“You know, you don’thaveto display it. If it reminds you of what happened.”
“It’s fine.” She shrugs. “Friends fight sometimes. But then they’re friends again. Can we see Isla this weekend?”
My stomach tightens. “We’ll see about that.”
“But—”
“Bedtime story,” I say firmly, settling onto the edge of her bed. “Go on, pick one from your bookcase.”
Friday
I shiver as I pull the recycling bin out onto the street. The evening air has a bite to it now. Autumn’s settling in.
Headlights sweep across me, then Struan’s van pulls into his drive. Back from picking up Isla for the weekend, no doubt.
As he kills the engine, he glances over and our eyes meet through the van window. He smiles—quick, familiar.
I turn and head for the house at a pace that’s definitely not running away. Nope, it’s just cold and late, and I have things to do.
I’m inside before he even steps out of the van. I close the door behind me and lean back against it, breath leaving me in a tight rush.
Just the cold, I tell myself.Just the cold.
