Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

‘It’s Ella,’ I murmur. ‘I think Louis and I would like that a lot.’

‘And don’t forget stinky Charles Rififi,’ Louis calls as he runs from the room.

‘That’s his wee dog.’ Mac’s voice is low as I follow Louis out.

‘I like her,’ Fin says quietly.

I don’t stop to clarify that Charles Rififi is a him.

‘Wait, I have one more queshion,’ Louis says as I slide the second book away.

‘Just one more?’ I turn back, flipping off his lamp, the glow from his nightlight and the arc cutting in from the hallway the only thing illuminating the room. I bend and straighten his bedding, tucking his favourite teddy bear under the covers with him. It’s not a teddy, Waf. It’s a bear. I goes woooar!

‘Go on, then. What number question is this tonight?’

Louis’s eyes roll to the ceiling as though the answer might be there. ‘Number eleventy-five million, I think.’

‘So . . . many . . . questions,’ I say as he holds out his arms. So I place my palms on either side of him and lower my head almost to his. ‘Eleventy-five million and one.’

‘Why have you got lines on your head tonight?’ he asks, taking my face in his hands.

‘Have I?’

‘Yep, and now they are worse,’ he says, mirroring my expression, his pudgy little fingers moving to smooth the lines.

‘Is that better?’ I ask, retracting my eyebrows into my hairline.

‘Now that looks silly.’ He giggles. ‘But don’t worry, Waf. You’re still very pretty with lines on your head.’

‘Why, thank you, kind sir.’

‘Do you think Waf is pretty, Daddy?’ My heart literally stops as Mac’s shadow falls over the room.

‘Ella is the prettiest of ladies, and we’re lucky to have her.’

I can’t look at him, so I keep my eyes on his son instead. I’m going to miss this little face in September. As Charles Rififi’s claws clatter on the wooden floor, I decide I won’t miss him. He jumps on the bed, circles twice, then flop into a fuzzy heap.

‘Night, night.’ I give Louis a quick peck on the head.

‘Night, night, Waf.’ I straighten to make my way out of the room.

At the doorway, Macs fingers are light on my arm, causing me to stop. ‘We need to talk,’ he says softly.

‘Sure.’ I nod. Because I’ve things I want to say, too. ‘But I’m going out in an hour.’

His expression clouds. ‘I thought . . . I thought we had things to iron out.’

‘We do,’ I agree, ‘but you had company, so I made other plans.’ For no other reason than once Louis was bathed and in bed, what else was I supposed to do? Take refuge in my tiny bedroom? Feel like a second-class citizen? The hired help?

Which is exactly what I am, I suppose.

‘Fin’s an old family friend.’ I smile, though I feel sad. For us both.

‘I could see that. Come on.’ I pat his arm. ‘Say your good nights. I’ll pour us a whisky.’

In the kitchen, I open the booze cupboard and the open box of condoms falls out; only this time, the contents scatter across the floor. It’s with anger and the bite of tears stinging my eyes that I shove the foil packages back into the box, throwing it in the back of the cupboard.

I add a couple of fingers of whisky in two glasses and carry them out of the kitchen while Mac reads Louis his third story of the night. I deposit them on the dining table, one on either side. I figure this is a conversation we need to have with something more than just our lust between us.

‘This is a touch formal, no?’ Mac asks, strolling into the room. He hasn’t changed and is still in his suit pants and shirtsleeves. I can’t say the same. I’m hardly dressed for a night on the town, but I have taken the time to shower quickly and throw my hair up in a knot. With a lick of lipstick, a silk camisole, palazzo pants, and a cap-sleeved cardigan, I’m at least dressed appropriately for a wine bar. Dressed to impress in under ten minutes, not that I have need of impressing my companion tonight.

‘I’d like to talk to you without’—touching you—‘any kind of distraction.’

‘I thought we’d said you would sit on my knee?’ From the other side of the table, his fingers dance against the chair back as though he doesn’t think I’m serious. Eventually, though, he pulls the chair out, sitting down.

‘Fin seems nice.’ The words feel like glass in my throat.

‘She is. She seems to have taken a shine to Louis. Said nice things about you, too.’

‘It was painful for you, seeing her here.’ His expression clouds, playing confused. ‘You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like it if you felt you could.’

‘She’s like family.’

‘You tell yourself that, I’m sure, but you didn’t look at her very sisterly.’ I take a sip of my whisky and tell myself that’s why my eyes cloud with tears.