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Ryan just looks at me and waits.

I cast about for something. Anything. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man. I really don’t want to be taking up your time when you’ve got⁠—”

“My next fight hasnae been booked yet. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands. Besides, the doctor wants me to take things easy for the next few weeks, so I’m gonnae be sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I hate having nothing to do.”

Emmy gives me a look that says, Well?

Penny, the traitor, chooses this moment to get up from my ankle, trot across the shop floor, and sit down on Ryan’s foot. Apparently, everyone is in favour of this except me.

“Fine,” I say. “Okay. You can teach me self-defence.”

“We’ll start tomorrow,” Ryan decides. “After you’re done in the shop, come on up to my flat.”

This has terrible idea written all over it. A self-defence lesson in Ryan Sloan’s flat? I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

And yet I hear myself telling him that I should be there around seven.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BRIONY

It’s two minutes past seven, and I’m hovering outside Ryan’s flat, wondering why on earth I agreed to this.

Emmy said to wear something comfortable, so I’m in leggings and an old baggy T-shirt. Penny is downstairs, fed and curled up on the sofa. I’ve had a slice of toast. I’m here and I’m ready, but I’ve still not even knocked his door.

Is it too late to back out of this? I’ve got Ryan’s phone number—he gave it to me when he ordered that flower basket. Maybe I should just go back downstairs and fire him a quick message to say I’m a bit tired and am not really feeling up to this today.

Yes, that seems sensible. I think I’ll do that.

I’m just turning to make my escape when Ryan’s door opens.

“Ah, there you are. Did you knock and I didnae hear? Had you down as the type to be bang on time for things.”

I turn back, trying not to look like someone who was quite obviously about to leave.

“No,” I say. “I was just—” Actually, I have no idea how to finish that sentence. “Anyway, I’m here. Shall we?”

“We shall,” Ryan says, his lips curling. He steps back and gestures for me to come in. Hearing my own phrasing thrown back at me in his broad Glaswegian accent makes me realise how ridiculously formal I must have sounded.

I hesitate at the doorway. I still have my doubts about this whole thing. After all, we’ve been talking for all of ten seconds, and already he’s annoyed me twice. He’s mocked the way I speak, and he’s suggested I’m the type of person to arrive “bang on time”.

Which, fine, I am. I hate being late. It makes me anxious. But that’s not the point. He barely knows me. How does he know that?

My annoyance becomes rather harder to maintain when I take a proper look at him. He’s in black shorts and a plain grey T-shirt, nothing particularly remarkable as outfits go, except that the T-shirt fits snugly across his shoulders and the shorts show a great deal of muscular, tattooed thigh.

Oh, this is going to be difficult.

His feet are bare too, which shouldn’t have any effect on me. I mean, who’s attracted to men’s feet? Weirdos, that’s who.

So…yeah. Maybe I’m a wee bit weirder than I thought.

But no, it’s not his feet specifically, it’s the whole package. He just looks…good. Distractingly so. How am I supposed to spend the next hour learning how to get away from an attacker when my instructor looks like this? Because who’d want to get away from him?

Well, me, a minute ago. But that’s only because⁠—

Ryan tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow, and I realise he’s still waiting for me to come inside. I’ve been standing here on his landing having an entire conversation with myself, and he’s been watching me the whole time.

Flustered, I finally step inside.