Page 33
“No need to be sorry. It’s your garden too.”
It’s the most we’ve said to each other since the coffee shop last week. Apart from a couple of hellos on the stairs, we’ve kept out of each other’s way.
I consider putting my T-shirt back on, then decide it would be daft to cover up for one woman when millions have watched me fight half-naked. Besides, judging by the way her eyes lingered, she’s coping. Still, if she asks, I will. I’m trying to be less of a dick to her.
“Penny,” she says, patting her thigh. “Come on. Inside.”
Penny ignores her completely. Instead, she pads across the grass to where a manky tennis ball is sitting, then nudges it in my direction. She looks up. Waits.
I pick it up and toss it across the court. She tears after it like her tail is on fire.
Briony comes over, arms still crossed. I nod at the flowerbeds. “Who keeps all this, then? The factor?”
“The factor cuts the grass. The rest is me.”
I take another look, properly this time. Colourful pots. Two bird feeders. A couple of bumblebees already working the flowers.
So she works with flowers all day in her job, then comes home and…tends to flowers?
Come to think of it, I’m hardly one to talk. MMA is my whole life.
Penny drops the ball at my feet. I throw it again.
“How’s the—” Briony starts, then she reaches out and grabs my forearm. “Don’t move.”
Her hand is warm and soft on my skin, and the contact sends a wee charge through me. I follow her gaze and spot a bee on the slab, less than an inch from my right foot. A big fat one, crawling slowly.
Briony lets go of me and crouches down, her hair falling forward as she studies it. “Are you having a wee rest?”
I’ve seen her give the plants outside her shop a pep talk. Apparently, insects get the same treatment.
“You can’t stay there, sweetheart. You might get stood on.” She puts a hand flat on the slab and waits while the bee climbs onto her fingers. Then she carries it over to one of the pots and holds her hand beside a purple flower until the bee crawls onto the petals. “There you go. You’ll be safe there, and you can have a nice drink when you’re ready.”
She straightens, brushes her palms together, then seems to realise I’ve been watching her this whole time. “Right.” She clears her throat. “I should get breakfast and open the shop.”
She glances around for Penny and finds her in one of the raised beds, digging like there’s a bone down there, soil flying between her back legs, tail going, not a scrap of remorse.
“Penny!” Briony gasps. “The delphiniums. No!”
That is quite possibly the poshest thing I’ve ever heard.
Briony marches across the grass. “Penny, what’s got into you?” She leans over to get hold of her dog, and I know I should look away, but…I don’t. The stretch pulls the flannel tight over her arse, and her pyjama top rides up, baring the small of her back and two neat dimples above the waistband.
Thumbprints, some unhelpful part of my brain offers. Then it runs the rest of it without being asked—her bent over, not a stitch on, my thumbs pressed into those dimples, holding her exactly where I want her.
Christ. Where did that come from?
Briony hauls Penny out of the flowerbed and tucks her under one arm. The dog squirms against her, smearing soil down her white pyjama top. She looks down at the muddy streaks and huffs, blowing a curl out of her face.
I step towards Briony and hold out my hands. “Here, give me her. I’ve no top to get dirty anyway.”
Her gaze flicks over my chest and abs. Quick, but I’ve spent half my life reading tells.
“No. I’m fine, thank you.” I swear her cheeks are pinker than they were a minute ago. “Anyway. Bye, Ryan.” She carries Penny inside.
I stand there for a moment. Those two neat dimples flash through my head again.
For fuck’s sake. She’s not even my type.
