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“Go ahead. I should say I do make one exception. Sausage. But only when a man has been very well behaved.”

I stare at her. Her cheeks are pink, but she goes back to reading the menu like she didn’t just drop a bombshell.

Did Briony Sinclair—the woman who says “shiitake mushrooms”—really just make a joke about putting my cock in her mouth?

Fuck. I take a sip of water.

Our drinks arrive, and we order food. We settle on eight dishes, plus bread and olives.

After the waiter leaves, Briony asks me how I got into fighting, and I try and focus on that question and forget all about the sausage comment. Easier said than done.

“When I was fourteen, Niamh, who I knew from school, suggested I try her da’s gym.” I shrug. “I liked it. Davie, Niamh’s da, gave me rules. Turn up on time, leave your ego at the door, that sort of thing. I needed that.”

“And when did you turn professional?”

“Nineteen. It was another few years before I could do it full-time, though. The purses barely covered anything at first, so I worked nightclub doors. Training during the day, dealing wi’ drunk arseholes at night.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Aye, it was. It paid off, though.”

The food arrives. Two plates, then three more, then the rest, until the table is a mess of small dishes.

“So, flowers. How did that happen?”

“Ah.” She spears a piece of pepper in one of the dishes. “Well, I was a disaster at school.”

“Bollocks. I don’t believe you.”

“I was! I was good at Art and Home Ec, and I quite liked Biology. Well, the plant stuff, anyway. Everything else? Not so much.” She grins. “I got a D in Higher English, and my mum lectures in English literature.”

“Bet she loved that.”

“Not at all. I left after fifth year to study floristry at college and work in a florist’s. You’d have thought I was joining the circus.” She helps herself to some of the tortilla. “My parents wanted me to stay for sixth year, get a few better Highers, then go to university—especially after paying for private school for so many years.”

“How’d they take it?”

“There was lots of, ‘We just want you to keep your options open, darling.’ But I knew what I wanted. So off I went to sweep floors and strip thorns for two years.”

“And now? Are they happy about what you do?”

“Yeah, they’re really supportive now. Once they saw how much I loved the work, they came round.”

We reach for the patatas bravas at the same time. Our hands brush, and Briony smiles at me. I take her hand in mine and give it a wee squeeze. We stay like that for a moment, until Briony’s phone buzzes.

“Emmy,” she says, checking it. “She wants to know how things are going.”

“Aye? And how are things going in your opinion?”

“Hmm.” She considers. “Pretty good.”

“I’ll take that.”

“You know,” Briony says as she taps out a reply, “on Thursday Emmy wanted to cut off your private parts with the shop scissors. I was supposed to pull your joggers down. She said the key was taking you by surprise.”

My knees come together automatically. “Christ, Briony. That’s fucking terrifying.”

“I vetoed the idea,” she says, looking up from her phone and beaming at me.