“Like what?” I smile, happy she can’t see the glimmer in my eyes in the darkness.

“Like…I don’t know. Like I just saved your life or something. You look upset but happy.”

“I am both,” I admit. “And you did,” I whisper softly, knowing she can’t hear.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Mal, but you’re the most confusing, infuriating, hotheaded man I’ve ever me…”

I’m about to take a step toward her and kiss the living hell out of her—feck Shiny Boyfriend and his shiny family and the shiny engagement ring I found in the nightstand drawer in their room when I went back to retrieve The Boar Head’s napkin from the bin (oops).

She’ll never know he wanted to propose before I summoned her for work, never know he forgot the engagement ring there, because he has the same amount of brain cells as a Benadryl tube.

Rory is not going anywhere. She’s staying with me.

She stops talking, but it’s not to welcome my almost-kiss. She lifts her palm and cocks her head, listening. There’s a shriek from behind the barn.

“Don’t you fucking dare move away. Do you know who I am?”

A cow snorts loudly. Rory and I exchange frowns as we take off toward the back of the barn, the grass muddy and slippery beneath our feet.

We round the big barn and find Ashton Richards, the snog-blocker, looking rather blue and thoroughly crazy, still in his golden robe.

He throws his arms in the air. There’s a cow in front of him, but it’s backing off, obviously aware of the fact that between them, it is the more intelligent, responsible creature.

Ashton raises one leg in the air while stumbling after the cow, trying to get on top of it. Feck. He is trying to ride it.

“Come here. Do you know how many women would give up their families to have me ride them? Do you?” he asks, half-laughing, half-crying.

Actual tears, I notice, which makes the situation considerably more bizarre.

He looks…crushed. Devastated. On the brink of a breakdown.

Rory lifts her camera, adjusts the flash, and takes a string of photos silently. Badass, I think. Not just because she’s putting her job first, but because of the stoic look on her face. After she’s satisfied with what she’s captured, she hands me the camera silently and approaches him, yanking at the back of his robe.

“Ashton!”

He spins around and blinks at her, slapping his forehead. “Sex Slave! Damn, girl, your boyfriend has been sulky as fuck since you left. I hope you got it all fixed between you two.”

He pats his breast pocket, producing a soft pack of Lucky Strikes. Suddenly, he is smiling again. There’s something definitely up with this bloke.