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“She really was. Honestly, thanks again for⁠—”

I point at her, and she stops.

“That’s the only warning you’re getting tonight, flower girl. Thank me for yesterday one more time and I’m skelping your arse.”

“You’d skelp the arse of someone who’s making you dinner?”

“Aye. And I’d enjoy it.”

I really would. I patted it twice yesterday, and the feel of her under my palm? The way she yelped my name? Fuck, that was hot. But best of all was the look on her face, like she wanted to be outraged but secretly loved it.

Even now, her cheeks have gone pink, but her gaze suggests she might quite enjoy it too. Well, here’s hoping she slips up and thanks me again.

A timer sounds in the kitchen.

“Oh, that’ll be the parmigiana.” Briony puts down her glass and gets up. “Are you okay to eat straight away?”

“Aye, starving. No idea what a parma-whatever is, but if it tastes half as good as it smells, it’s gonnae be amazing.”

I follow her through to the kitchen. “Anything I can do?”

“Sit. I’ve got it.”

The kitchen table is set for two, with a small vase of flowers in the middle. Of course there are flowers. There are plants on the windowsill too, though they look more useful. I recognise the tomatoes, at least.

“You’ve even got a garden in here.”

“Yep. Some of it’s in your dinner.” Wearing oven gloves, she lifts a bubbling dish onto a board by the hob. “The basil went into this, and there are a few cherry tomatoes in the salad.”

“What’s this thing called again?”

“Parmigiana. Aubergine, tomato sauce, and cheese, baked in layers. There’s garlic bread too.”

“You’re too good to me.”

I take a sip of wine while she gets the bread out of the oven then serves the parmigiana onto two plates. She brings the plates over to the table, setting one down in front of me, then goes back for the salad and garlic bread.

Christ, this looks good. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me like this. I eat out. I cook for myself. I pay people to sort meals when I’m in camp. This is different. She’s spent part of her Sunday making something she hopes I’ll like, and now we’re going to eat it together.

She sits opposite me. Penny, meanwhile, plonks herself on the floor between us and looks from one of us to the other pitifully.

“Ignore her,” Briony says. “She’s already had her dinner, but she likes to pretend she’s starved and beg for scraps. Anyway, please, tuck in.”

I try the aubergine. It’s soft underneath the crispy cheese, and the sauce is rich. I go straight back for another forkful.

“Well?”

“Delicious.”

She relaxes into her chair. “Oh, good.”

“Were you worried?”

“A little. I didn’t want you to be disappointed there was no meat.”

“Briony, you’ve covered my dinner in melted cheese. I’m happy.”

“Right. Noted.”