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And with that, she walks off across the mats to the cage. I watch her go.

Fuck. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should grovel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

BRIONY

“I’ll castrate him. I swear I will,” Emmy says. “Actually, no. I’m cutting off the whole lot. Big dick included.”

“Emmy!”

“What? He deserves it.”

Thank goodness we’re in a bit of a lull. It’s late morning on a Thursday, the shop is empty, and the only witnesses to my best friend’s threats of bodily harm are several hundred innocent flowers.

This is precisely why I wasn’t going to tell her.

In my defence, I held out for a good few hours. Emmy arrived with coffee, took one look at me, and said, “Right. What’s happened?”

I said nothing had happened. She didn’t believe me, but I stuck to my guns. Then, several bouquets and a tea break later, she tried again, and I gave in. When I explained the self-defence lesson had taken an unexpected turn, her “WHAT?” was so loud Penny shot out from under the counter.

I didn’t give her the details. I don’t do details of that sort with anyone, not even Emmy. But I did admit there had been rather less clothing involved than is normal for a self-defence lesson, and that there had been touching too.

Which is when Emmy, being Emmy, asked about Ryan’s dimensions. And I, a woman who absolutely does not gossip about such things, may have let slip that he is generously proportioned. But then I told her how it ended, which brings us to now and the threats to Ryan’s (generous) manhood.

“Briony,” Emmy says, pacing the length of the shop floor, “you are one of the nicest, kindest, funniest people I have ever met in my life, and he⁠—”

“There’s no point getting angry about it.”

“Oh, I’m not angry, I’m incensed. On your behalf.” She turns at the door and walks back. Her platform boots are loud on the tiles. “What is wrong with him?”

I would very much like to be as incensed as Emmy is. Instead, I actually find myself defending Ryan. “I’m the one who said I was fine with it being a one-time thing. Technically, I’m not sure he actually did anything wrong.”

Emmy stops pacing, plants her hands on her hips, and shakes her head. “Briony, no. Just no. He doesn’t get a free pass to be a dick because he told you in advance he wasn’t looking for more. No one gets to speak to you the way he did. Not if they want to keep their genitals.”

My eyes flick past Emmy to the window, and my stomach drops. Because Ryan has just parked across the street. He unfolds himself from the car in joggers and a plain black T-shirt, then checks the road before crossing.

Emmy follows my gaze. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Right, I’ll get the scissors. You tug his joggers down. The key is taking him by surprise.”

“Emmy! You are not cutting his private parts off.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs, like I’m being a massive bore. “You sure?”

“Quite sure. I appreciate you, Emmy, I really do. You’re the best friend a person could ask for. But I’ll handle this. Without scissors.”

The bell tinkles, and Ryan fills the doorway. He’s as large and imposing a sight as ever, but there’s something different about him that takes me a moment to place. Then I realise what it is. He looks awkward. He hovers just inside the door, shifting his weight. The Ryan Sloan I know does not hover. He strides. He smirks. He takes up space as though the world arranges itself around him.

His eyes find mine. “Briony.”

Before I can reply, Emmy says, “You’ve got some nerve!”

“Emmy! What did I just say?”

Penny comes out from under the counter, tail going, and scurries over to Ryan. He crouches and puts a hand out, and she shoves her whole head into it.

I take the opportunity to suggest that now would be an excellent time for Emmy to deliver the Crawford bouquet sitting in the back.

“Are you sure you want me to leave you alone with him?”