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As they drift off, the wee woman who gave me a dressing-down outside the flower shop—Emmy, her name was—pushes through. “Briony, what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Briony says, though she still looks wound tight. She fills Emmy in.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Emmy says. “Do you want to go home?”

I’m sure Briony is going to say yes, which means I’ll be going too. I’ll be making sure she gets home safe tonight.

What Briony says, though, is “We were having fun!”

“We were having fun,” Emmy agrees.

“Why should that schmickhead ruin our night?”

Schmickhead? Is that some insult I haven’t heard before?

“He shouldn’t,” Emmy says. “So, do you want to stay out a little longer?”

Briony nods, and Emmy hugs her. When they release each other, Emmy turns to me.

“Thanks for looking out for my pal. It almost makes up for all the grief you’ve caused her. Almost.”

Beside me, Niamh chuckles, then holds out a hand to Emmy. “I’m Niamh. We’ve no been introduced. I’m the one who was standing there the other week while you tore strips off Ryan.”

“Emmy.” She takes Niamh’s hand. They hold each other’s gaze—and each other’s hands—for longer than an introduction requires.

“Oh, it was you with Ryan the other week?” Briony says.

Sounds like she pictured me with someone else. I wonder who.

“That’s right.” Niamh offers Briony her hand. “Remember me? I let you in at Ryan’s flat-warming.”

“I remember,” Briony says as they shake hands.

This time, there’s no lingering, though Niamh does take in Briony’s outfit. “Nice to see you out of your pyjamas.”

Briony’s cheeks go pink. Niamh’s right, though: it is nice to see Briony in something besides pyjamas and dungarees. Her curls are clipped back, with a few left loose round her face and the rest falling down her back. She’s done something to her eyes that makes them even bluer than usual. As for the dress, there are tiny white daisies all over it, because of course there are. The front is gathered and tied with a wee bow that sits right in the middle of her chest.

It’s fucking adorable. It also has me imagining catching one of the loose ends of that bow and giving it a tug. Her wee tits spilling out…

Christ. She’s just had some drunk grab her, and now I’m standing here picturing filth. Get a grip, Ryan.

I’ve been watching Briony for a while from up on the mezzanine. She looked good from up there, but up close? She’s a knockout.

“—and I’m standing there thinking, who is this wee firecracker?” Niamh says.

I realise I’ve been so distracted by Briony’s appearance I’ve not listened to a word Niamh’s been saying. She’s telling some story, supposedly to Briony, but she seems to be paying just as much attention to Emmy. Maybe more.

“I’ve seen grown men in our gym no say boo to him,” Niamh goes on, “and she’s telling him to his face he’s been a dick.”

Hang on. They’re talking about me.

“Yeah, well, he was being a dick,” Emmy says. “He’s redeemed himself a little tonight, though.” Catching my eye, she sticks her tongue out at me.

“More than a little,” Briony says. When I look at her, she gives me a small smile. “Thank you. Again.”

“Ach, it was nothing.”

“Here,” Niamh says, “we’ve got a booth up on the mezzanine. Why don’t you two join us for a drink?”