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But Briony just smiles. “You’re right, I had a pretty comfortable upbringing. But not, you know, chauffeur-and-country-estate comfortable.”

“Where was it you grew up?”

“Randolph Road. In Broomhill.”

I know it. I’ve jogged down it a few times since moving here. Nice street.

“And you?” she says. “Where did you grow up?”

“East End. Council flat, just me and my maw. No brothers or sisters.” I glance over at her and wink. “It was no Randolph Road.”

I don’t really want to talk about my upbringing, and maybe she senses that because she changes the subject. “So, who do you think will win next month? Cruz or Vale?”

She remembered their names. Considering she doesn’t like fighting, I’m impressed.

“Hard to call. I’d like it to be Cruz. He’s a good guy, and he’s held the belt for four years, which is a long time. I’d rather Vale wasnae the one to finally take it off him. He’s a nasty bastard.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. Some of the stuff he’s got up to outside the cage…” I shake my head. “Let’s just say the NMFC put up wi’ him because he sells tickets. Honestly, though, the fight could go either way. I wouldnae feel confident putting money on it.”

The restaurant I’ve booked is in the Merchant City. I find a parking space a couple of minutes’ walk away, then we head along the pavement side by side, Briony’s hand swinging next to mine. I’m tempted to take it but am not sure what she’d think of that. I’ve half a mind to find out when somebody calls, “Here! Axe King!”

Two lads stop beside us, one already tugging his phone out of his pocket. “Mate, that kick against Kovac! Any chance of a quick photo?”

Not the best timing, but they’re delighted to see me, and I’m not about to be an arse about it.

“Aye, come on, then.”

I stand between them while the one with the phone takes a selfie, then I answer a single question about the Kovac fight. After that, I excuse myself.

“Right, boys, I’m taking this lassie for her dinner. Better get going before she goes off me.”

They laugh and wish us both a good night. Briony gives me a pleased wee smile as we walk on.

From the street, there’s no hint of what the restaurant is like inside. But as soon as you head in, it’s all tiled floors, stone arches, terracotta walls, and statues tucked into alcoves. Iron lanterns hang overhead, candles burn on every table, and Spanish guitar plays beneath the chatter.

Briony stops and looks around. “Wow. I feel like I’ve walked off a street in Glasgow and come out in Seville. I didn’t even know this place existed.”

“Aye?” I say, pleased to have surprised her. “Niamh brought me here once. The food’s good.”

At our table, I pull her chair out. May as well keep up the gentleman act.

The waiter brings water then takes our drinks order—sangria for Briony, a beer for me—and recommends three tapas each. He leaves us to look over the menus.

“Anything you don’t like, or will we just get one of everything?” I say.

“Ryan!” Briony laughs. “There are at least twenty options here. The guy said three each. That’s six. Anyway, I don’t eat meat.”

“Aw, shit, you’re vegetarian? How did I no know that?”

She shrugs. “It’s never come up.”

“Right, we’ll just get the vegetarian ones, then.”

“Nope! Order what you want. My dad and Innes can’t cope without meat. I’m used to it.”

“Thank fuck,” I say unashamedly. “I’ve just come off eight weeks of fight camp and was hoping to gorge myself tonight.”