Page 89

“Well. Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

When the waiter comes to check on how we’re doing, Briony orders a second sangria. I get a Diet Coke—I’m driving.

As the meal goes on, Briony tells me about the shop: the slog of Mondays without Emmy, the Scottish growers she buys from, some fierce disagreement they had over carnations. I couldn’t pick a carnation out of a bucket, but Briony is waving her hands, making her case, and I’m hanging on every word. Honestly, she could be explaining the bin collections and I’d be sitting here nodding.

God. What is happening to me?

We get onto places we’ve been, swapping school-trip disasters for stories from fight weeks abroad. I tell her about Liam losing four hundred quid in eleven minutes in Vegas, then crying over his pancakes the next morning. She laughs so hard she has to put her glass down. To be fair, I didn’t think it was that funny, but she’s getting tipsy now.

When our plates are cleared, Briony orders a dessert—something involving chocolate, caramel, and cream. I’m full enough to burst, so I stick to coffee.

Her dessert comes out five minutes later, and it’s frankly obscene. At the first spoonful, she makes a small noise that I decide to memorise and think about later—but not now. Then she scoops up another spoonful and holds it across the table.

“Here.”

“I’m full.”

“One spoon, Ryan.”

I lean forward and take it. Christ, that’s good. She looks pleased when I tell her so.

And then she sucks a little cream off her finger. While maintaining eye contact.

Fuck. I shift in my chair.

When she’s done with her dessert, I offer her a coffee, or another drink, but she says she’d best head back. She needs to collect Penny early tomorrow before her mum, dad, and Innes head off to St Andrews for the week.

I’m enjoying myself, so I try to hide my disappointment as I ask for the bill and settle up.

Outside it’s cooler now, the sky fading above the rooftops. Town is louder than earlier. A queue outside a club, somebody singing badly on the corner, a lassie carrying her shoes.

When a group of lads spill out of a doorway, I put my hand at the small of Briony’s back and steer her round them. I don’t take it away afterwards. She doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she leans into me a bit.

I drive us back to Rowanbank Street, then we head upstairs together.

At her door, I can’t help remembering the night of her birthday. Her legs round my waist. Her dress riding up.

No, Ryan. You’ve been good all night. Don’t ruin it now.

I put my hands in my pockets. “I’ve had a really good time. Fancy seeing each other again?”

She grins. “I’d love that.”

“Great. Dinner again? Or lunch? Or…?”

“Don’t we still have some self-defence lessons to get through?” She leans against her door, all innocence.

I give her a look. “Briony. I do want you to learn how to protect yourself, but given how our last session went, maybe we put the lessons on hold while we’re⁠—”

“Not having sex?”

“Aye. That.”

She gives an over-the-top sigh. “Fair enough. As you know, my next week is pretty busy.” On the drive back, she told me about her bridal shoot with Mara Ellis on Tuesday, then the biggest wedding she’s ever done on Saturday. “But I could do Wednesday morning. Coffee and a walk with Penny?”

“Sounds good.”