He was humping furniture in Douglas' neighbourhood, and he had half a mind to call the man when he was done – invite him for a coffee or something – though he couldn't quite decide whether they actually had that sort of friendship. He was already scrolling through the contact list on his phone when he remembered the unparalleled disaster that had resulted from his last visit, so he slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned around to get back to his van.
Unfortunately his reflexes weren't quick enough to avoid the little girl that had materialised at his elbow, and he stared in dismay at the ice cream he'd accidentally knocked out of her hand and onto the pavement.
"I'm really sorry," he hastened to apologise. "I'll buy you another, alright?"
The girl gave him one long appraising glance, then nodded her approval. "Yes, please."
He bought her a double cone with cream on top, ignoring her half-hearted protests that there was no need for him to be so generous. "You sure I didn't hurt you?" he double-checked anxiously, and she shook her head, rolling her eyes for good measure.
"I'm not a china doll, you know," she pointed out wryly. "Stop fretting about it, I'm fine."
"Right. Okay. Right," he stammered, not entirely sure what he was supposed to reply to that. The girl suddenly narrowed her eyes, as if she was busy working out something in that pretty head of hers.
"Hang on," she murmured at length, mirth apparent all over her face. "I know who you are."
"Do you?" he blinked in confusion. He was fairly sure he'd never seen the girl before, and there weren't that many people who even knew about his existence anyway.
"You're Martin, aren't you?" the girl raised her voice in excitement. "Dad's captain, the one who landed the plane on one engine in St Petersburg?"
Oh. So this was Douglas' daughter, and she looked genuinely happy to meet him. He couldn't quite believe that Douglas had mentioned him to his daughter, let alone made him sound like a proper captain.
"I, hum – I am, yes," he muttered when he realised she was still waiting for an answer. "Martin Crieff, nice to meet you. And you must be Emily, right?"
"Yep, that's me," she grinned, and he was finally able to see how much she actually resembled her father. "I'm so glad to meet you, Dad's told me so much about you."
He cleared his throat, painfully aware of the blush that was spreading on his cheeks. "So he did, didn't he? Is that how you managed to recognise me?"
Emily nodded, her golden curls bouncing about her head. "It wasn't that difficult, with the van and the ginger hair – and the way you get anxious about stuff."
That was more like it, Martin decided with a sigh. Douglas always teased him, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if he and his daughter had a good laugh at his expenses from time to time. Except that Emily kept looking at him as if he was some sort of sky god – which didn't make sense at all – and he didn't know what to make of it.
"Well, I guess we should get you back to your Dad," he announced. "He'll be wondering where you've got to."
"Dad knows I can look after myself," the girl winked, pert little thing that she was. "But I'm sure he'd be glad to have you over for tea, and you simply have to tell me the St Petersburg story all over again."
"All right," he agreed at last. "Show me the way, Miss Richardson."
He drank in the merry sound of Emily's laughter as he fell into step beside her, a warm feeling tingling in his chest. Douglas' daughter liked him, and oddly enough that seemed to make all the difference in the world for some reason.
(And if Douglas looked quite pleased to see him as well, he wouldn't think much of it. Not yet, at the very least.)