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“See?” I flash him a relieved smile, glad the crisis is over. “You can trust me, Robbie. I’m in your corner.”

He raises a brow. “Paying me what I’m owed isn’t exactly some grand gesture of loyalty.”

“True, but I sorted things, didn’t I? Besides”—I grin coyly—“I’ve been loyal in other ways. For starters, I haven’t spilled any of your secrets, such as the one about you having metal, you know . . . down there.”

“Robert MacDonald!” a voice exclaims from the doorway. “Have you got a willy piercing? We’re practically brothers, and yet you’ve never mentioned it!”

I whip around to see David Adefope standing there, dressed in an eye-wateringly bright outfit, carrying a tray with mugs, a cafetiere, and a plate of biscuits. He’s looking at Robbie with a mixture of shock and delight.

“Er . . . we’re not brothers, David,” Robbie mutters, actual spots of colour blooming on his cheeks. It’s absurdly endearing.

“Not yet,” David agrees, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “But let’s be honest, it’s only a matter of time before your brother pops the question. I mean, who wouldn’t want to lock this down?” He gestures to himself.

“David? What are you doing here?” I rise and give him a hug.

David moved to Bannock a few years ago. Although I’ve been away for most of that time, we always hit it off whenever we cross paths. Outgoing personalities just gravitate to each other, I suppose.

“I could ask you the same.” He squeezes me then looks between me and Robbie with undisguised interest. “And more importantly, how do you know about Robbie’s . . . embellishment? Is there something going on between you two?”

“Nope,” Robbie says.

David smirks. “Then why have your cheeks gone all pink?”

Robbie shoots him a murderous look.

“I once dated a guy—before Johnny, of course—who had an intimate piercing,” David says, totally nonchalant, as if dick piercings are just part of everyday chat. “What type is yours? Is it a Prince Albert? An ampallang? A frenum ladder? Or⁠—”

“We’re not discussing this,” Robbie says.

David pouts for a moment, but then he brightens and turns to me. “Fancy a coffee?”

“I’d love one!”

“She’s not staying.”

David just winks. “I’ll grab you a mug, Cat.” He vanishes into the kitchen.

No sooner has he left than my gaze zeroes in on the plate. “Oh! Tunnock’s wafers. My favourite.” I snatch up one of the shiny red and gold parcels, peel back the wrapper, then sink my teeth into the glorious chocolate, biscuit, and caramel goodness.

“Help yourself,” Robbie grumbles.

David reappears with another mug and pours coffee for us all. “So, Cat . . . I noticed some knickers in Robbie’s garage. Were they yours by any chance?”

“Er . . . blush-coloured and lacy?”

Robbie, who’s grabbed a wafer of his own, nearly chokes. David nods.

“Aye, they’re mine,” I say, entirely unbothered. I take another bite of the Tunnock’s.

Robbie takes a swig of his coffee, looking anywhere but at me. David’s got a glint in his eye and is clearly ready to dig for more juicy details, but—feeling a sudden pang of sympathy for Robbie—I jump in before he can strike.

“So, are those papers about the case?” I nod at the file on the coffee table.

The atmosphere in the room shifts. David looks to Robbie, but neither speaks.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Connecting the dots, I ask, “David, did Johnny give you those papers to bring over?”

“He did,” David admits. “Said they might be helpful.”