Page 42 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

“Flynn!” Emma shouted. “I need you.” She glowered between the two of us. I wasn’t quite sure how Flynn had managed to explain my presence.

“Sorry,” he said to me, flashing a grin. “I had to tell her you’re weirdly obsessed with me, and that’s why you’re back again.”

Ah. Not far from the truth, then.

I groaned. “I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to kick me out.”

“I’ve had to make a show of loving it,” he replied. “I’ve been quite convincing so far.”

With that, he twisted on one foot, returning moments later with my cinnamon bun. I waited until he went to the kitchen before I wrapped it up for my bag.

The day dragged by like treacle. After several more cups of coffee I sipped at, I left before closing to let them clean in peace. The ancient oak tree across the street provided decent cover while I waited, its branches casting long shadows in the setting sun.

It was blissfully dark when Flynn finally emerged from Rising Dough, pulling his corduroy jacket tight against the autumn chill. He crossed the street, heading straight for me.

“Look, Emma saw you creepily hanging out under this tree watching us, and now she’s even more freaked out. She didn’t believe me when I tried to convince her I was wrong about you firing a gun that night before she arrived. Anyway, she was insisting she had to walk me home, so I’ve had to tell her you’re taking me on a date.” He wrung his hands. “I have to message her every hour to prove I’m alive.”

My chest tightened.A date.The word hung between us, loaded with promise. “And what made you choose that particular excuse?”

He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “It fit with you lurking in the bakery all day.”

“It was hardly lurking.”

“It absolutely was. Especially with your brooding expression.”

I ignored the jab. “Well, I was actually going to suggest we take a longer route back to Killigrew Street. There’s a pleasant spot not far from here that you probably haven’t seen yet.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult.” Flynn kicked at a loose stone. “Mostly, all I’ve seen of London is my creepy apartment, the bakery, and your hotel. Which is also creepy.”

The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly prickled. That sensation of being watched—so similar to the other day—crept over me again, making my shoulders tense. Across the street, in the gap between two buildings, I caught a glimpse of that impossible creature again. Even in the poor light, I could make out its distinctive silhouette—the sloping back, the massive head. The hyena stood perfectly still, a darker shadow among shadows. Those unnatural yellow eyes fixed on me with uncanny intelligence.

“Seb?” Flynn said, hesitant, unsure.

I blinked, and the beast was gone. Was I finally losing my mind? First at the hospital, now here… I forced my lips into a smile. “Follow me.”

I led Flynn through the winding streets, him filling the silence with chatter about his day. He stopped abruptly as we passed a darkened florist, its windows still displaying the day’s remaining blooms beneath the glow of a street lamp.

“My sister would love this place,” he said softly, reaching for his phone. His fingers hovered over the camera button, screen illuminating his face in the darkness. Then something shifted in his expression—a flicker of pain—and he shoved the device back into his pocket. “She’s got her own flower shop, back home. Nowhere near as posh as this, mind, but…” He trailed off, shoulders hunching as he stepped away from the window.

As we neared our destination, tension coiled within me. Going to my tiny secret marina had seemed great in theory—the perfect spot to show him a different side of the city—but with each step closer, doubt gnawed at my insides.

I’m a fool. A complete and utter fool.

Flynn had moved here from Braymore Bay. A coastal town. With boats. And here I was, dragging him to look at more vessels in the dark and cold like some inconsiderate ass.

“It’s just around this corner,” I managed, my voice tight. Perhaps we could turn back, find somewhere else…

But Flynn had already rounded the bend. He halted abruptly, and my dead heart plummeted.

The marina stretched before us, its waters dark and still. Lights from the surrounding buildings and boats reflected off the surface like scattered stars, creating mirror images that danced with each ripple. The old warehouse conversions loomed above, their windows warm and inviting.

I opened my mouth to apologise, to suggest we leave, but Flynn’s face lit up.

“Wow, this is gorgeous. And so quiet. It’s perfect.” He moved closer to the water’s edge, peering at the boats. Then he stopped dead, his breath catching. “Oh my god, is that… that’s a Hallberg-Rassy 40C.”

The reverence in his voice made me pause. I followed his gaze to where a sleek vessel bobbed gently in its berth, its navy-blue hull gleaming under the marina lights. Even to my untrained eye, there was something distinguished about it—an elegant marriage of craftsmanship and purpose.

“She’s my dream boat,” Flynn breathed, taking an unconscious step forward. His fingers curled around the railing. “Well, one of them. But she’s the perfect offshore cruiser. You could sail anywhere in her. Absolutely anywhere.” He gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Obviously, she’s absolutely out of my price range. We’re talking half a million, easy.”

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