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Walking round the stall, Daisy pinged open the drawer on the antique cash register. She lifted out the rolls of change and began cracking them open.
‘How?’ Juno asked, picking up a five-pence roll and ripping off the paper wrapping.
Daisy blew out a breath. ‘I’ve been a complete cow to him. All those things I said to you and Mrs V and everyone else, all the assumptions I made. They all turned out to be a load of old cobblers.’ The tinkle of change hitting the cash drawer’s wooden base couldn’t disguise the shame in her voice.
‘What makes you think he’d care?’ Juno scoffed, but then she’d always been willing to think the worst of any good-looking guy. Daisy wondered when she’d started to adopt the same prejudices.
‘That’s not the point,’ Daisy said. ‘I care.’
‘All you really said was that he’s rich and arrogant. What’s so awful about that?’
‘He may be rich, but he’s not arrogant.’ As she said it Daisy recalled the way he’d kissed her senseless before she’d even woken up properly. ‘All right, maybe he is a little bit arrogant, but I expect he’s used to women falling at his feet.’ She certainly had.
‘So what? That doesn’t give him the right to take advantage—’
Daisy pressed her fingers to Juno’s lips. ‘He didn’t take advantage of me. What happened was entirely consensual.’ Just thinking about how consensual it had been was making her pulse skitter.
‘What exactly did happen?’ Juno’s eyes narrowed. ‘Because it’s beginning to sound as if more than rest and recuperation were involved. You’re not telling me you slept with him, are you?’
Daisy’s flush flared back to life at the accusatory look in Juno’s eyes. How on earth was she going to explain her behaviour to Juno when it had taken her so long to explain it to herself? She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when the rumble of a deep Irish accent had both their heads whipping round to the front of the stall.
‘Hello, ladies.’
Daisy’s heartbeat skipped a beat. He looked tall and devastating in the same worn T-shirt and jeans he’d stripped out of that morning—and amused. His lips twitched in that sensual smile she remembered a little too vividly from the moment she’d woken up in his bedroom.
‘While I hate to interrupt this fascinating bit of chit-chat—’ he gripped the top of the stall’s canopy and leaned over the brightly coloured scarves and blouses ‘—I’d like to have a word, Daisy.’ His forefinger skimmed her cheek. ‘In private.’
Daisy swallowed, feeling the burn where the calloused fingertip had touched.
‘Daisy’s busy. Buzz off.’
He dropped his hand and shifted his gaze to Juno, still looking amused. ‘Who would you be, then? Daisy’s keeper?’
‘Maybe I am?’ Juno blustered, standing on tiptoe and thrusting her chin out—which made her look like a midget with a Napoleonic complex next to Brody’s tall, relaxed frame. ‘And who the hell are you? Mr High and—’
Daisy slapped her hand over Juno’s mouth.
‘It’s all right, Ju,’ she whispered, desperate to shut her friend up. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
All she needed now was for Brody to get an inkling of what she’d said about him to pretty much the whole neighbourhood. This apology was going to be agonising enough, without Juno and her attitude wading in and making it ten times worse.
‘I’ll explain everything later,’ she said into Juno’s ear, holding her hand over her friend’s mouth. ‘Can you look after the stall on your own for half an hour?’
Daisy took Juno’s muffled grunt as a yes and let her go.
‘Fine,’ Juno grumbled. She shot Brody a mutinous look. ‘But if you’re not back by then I’m coming after you.’
Daisy gave Juno a quick nod. Great, she guessed she’d owe Juno an apology too before this was over. She picked up her bag and rounded the stall to join Brody. Right at the moment, though, she had rather bigger fish to fry.
‘I know a café round the corner in Cambridge Gardens,’ she murmured, walking through the few milling shoppers who’d already made it up to the far end of the market under the Westway where The Funky Fashionista was situated.
He fell into step beside her but said nothing.
‘Why don’t we go there?’ she continued, not quite able to look at him. ‘They do great cappuccinos.’
And Gino’s cosy little Italian coffee house was also off the tourist track enough that it shouldn’t be too crowded yet. The last thing she wanted was an audience while she choked down her monster helping of humble pie.
It took them less than five minutes to get to Gino’s. Not surprising given that Daisy jogged mo
