Page 13 of Hooked On The One That Got Away (Miss Lovelock’s Agency for Broken Hearts #3)

Chapter Thirteen

Geillis was busy serving customers at the bar, so Willow hung back and waited her turn.

Geillis normally wore clothing as black as her hair, but this evening, she had on what looked like vintage Vivienne Westwood, an oversize white tee covered in scribbled drawings and slogans.

Willow made out the words I AM NOT A TERRORIST and wondered if that was, in fact, correct.

As Geillis pulled a pint, Willow noticed a new tattoo on her arm.

A raven. Because of course. Willow had never had been particularly interested in fantasy or folklore, much preferring stories that felt real.

But she was starting to feel that ‘reality’ was more complicated than she’d previously believed, and that forces unknown might well be at work.

Either that, or she was reading far too much into what was genuinely a series of unrelated coincidences. It wasn’t as if Geillis could have planted those swans near her swimming spot, could she …?

‘What can I get you?’

Geillis was right there, with the usual challenging glint in her green-gold eyes.

‘Um, do you have five minutes?’ Willow said. ‘I – need to ask you something.’

Geillis glanced at the door behind the bar, and as if summoned, through it came the pub’s new owner, the pink-haired woman who also sold flowers at the weekend farmers’ market. Willow had absolutely no clue how old she was, anything from forty to a well-preserved seventy.

‘Can you mind the bar for five?’ Geillis asked her boss.

‘Of course, dear,’ was the reply.

Unlike Geillis, the woman had a cheerful demeanour, but Willow was wary of her own ability to judge people. Who knew what lay behind the smile?

Willow followed Geillis through the pub to a far table.

Geillis had on skintight black jeans that showed off her perfect rear end.

In most pubs, a certain type of man would inevitably take advantage of a barmaid coming within bottom-pinching reach, but no one here even looked up as they passed by.

Willow wished she could command that kind of respect. It would make life a whole lot easier.

‘What’s up?’ Geillis said, briskly, as they sat down.

Now that she had Geillis’s attention, Willow was suddenly tongue-tied. Everything she wanted to ask her seemed either risky or ridiculous. But she could feel Geillis’s impatience, so she went with the first thing that came out of her mouth.

‘What do you know about the activist group taking on the water company?’

‘What do you want to know about them?’ was Geillis’s unhelpful response.

‘I–’ Willow thought hard. ‘I want to know what their end game is. Legal prosecution? Or something else …’

Something violent hung unsaid in the air between them.

Geillis’s expression was unreadable. That and her silence dialled Willow’s anxiety up to eleven.

‘My ex – Charlie,’ she continued, trying not to sound pathetic. ‘He’s working for the water company. In quite a senior position. And I’m worried about what will happen to him.’

The lighting was dim in this corner of the pub, so Willow couldn’t have seen what she thought she saw. The tail of the tattooed cat on Geillis’s arm seemed to flick. Just the tip, just for a nanosecond. Willow’s mind was playing tricks on her.

‘You can’t control what other people do,’ said Geillis. Her tone was direct but not unkind. ‘You can only do what you think is best, and trust that the arc of history bends towards justice.’

That saying sounded familiar to Willow, but while she was trying to place the source, Geillis got to her feet. Their five minutes was up.

No, don’t go! Willow almost begged her. Now she knew that Geillis knew, she had so many more questions.

‘I can’t help you,’ Geillis said, reading Willow’s mind, or more likely, her pleading expression. ‘And we won’t have this conversation again, okay.’

It wasn’t a request. Willow nodded and watched glumly as Geillis swept back through the pub to resume her place behind the bar. She and her boss exchanged a couple of words, and the pink-haired woman glanced Willow’s way, just briefly, before she left again through the door behind the bar.

Willow considered ordering a very large glass of wine, but she couldn’t face Geillis again, so she left.

Outside the pub, it was a beautiful summer evening, warm and light-filled; it wouldn’t get dark until after ten.

Willow had intended to walk straight back to the house, but a sudden restlessness made her change course, and she headed instead for the big town park.

On a Friday, and at this hour, it would be full of people of all ages enjoying themselves, and that was what she needed to see right now.

People having fun, making jokes, playing games – taking pleasure in being together.

Willow needed to see signs that the vast majority of humans were good and kind and open-hearted. Not greedy, selfish and cruel.

By the park entrance was a hot dog cart, and Willow bought and ate one, relishing the soft white bun and the tang of ketchup and mustard. Didn’t pay to think too much about what was in the hot dog itself. It was salty and delicious, that’s what mattered.

Willow followed the path past the playground, noisy with kids, past the back of the bowls club, past the statue of a famous sportsman who grew up in the town, and down towards the river and the towpath.

On the way, she spotted the ice cream van, and decided a ninety-nine was exactly what she needed.

She ate the Flake immediately, as was only right and natural, then found a bench to sit on, to finish off the swirly soft vanilla ice cream.

On the other end of the bench, a man sat down.

He was a solidly muscular individual in his fifties, Willow guessed, wearing a crisply ironed long-sleeved shirt that seemed overly formal for a summer evening.

He, too, had a ninety-nine, and Willow watched out of the corner of her eye to see what he did with the Flake.

Some people used them like a spoon to scoop up the ice cream – borderline.

Some saved them and ate them last – unacceptable.

The man chose the path of righteousness and ate the chocolate bar first.

Willow finished her ice cream. Her plan had been to wander the river path for a while, but for some reason, she stayed put.

Maybe she wanted to pretend, just for a moment, that Charlie was here with her instead of a stranger.

Her mouth still tingled with his kiss – nearly two days later, how could that be ?

She’d spent months starved of loving touch, that’s how it could be, and now her whole body craved it, craved Charlie .

She craved his tongue and his caress on her bare skin, and his hardness filling her, and all the blissful ways he used to bring her to orgasm.

She’d been starved of Charlie and now that he was back, she was desperate for him.

Maeve was right. Despite all the hurt he’d caused her, Charlie was the only man she loved, the only man she wanted.

But that didn’t mean she could have him back.

Because what if, in a week’s time, Charlie’s explanation wasn’t something she could accept?

What if it horrified her so much that she had to turn away?

How would she cope, once again, with the pain of him leaving?

Forever, this time? For a year, Willow had held out hope that Charlie would come back, and he had.

And now the thought of losing him a second time was too much to bear.

Her heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. Damn it, she was crying …

‘Here–’

The stranger beside her was offering her the flimsy paper napkin from his ninety-nine. Willow had scrunched hers into a ball, so despite her intense embarrassment, she took it. The napkin disintegrated as soon as she wiped her eyes. Good thing she hadn’t tried to blow her nose.

‘Some things even ice cream can’t fix,’ said the man, with a rueful smile. He had the clipped speech patterns of someone who’d gone to public school or been in the military, or both. Which might explain the well-ironed formal shirt.

‘No,’ sniffed Willow.

‘I’m afraid all I can offer you – apart from a napkin – is an old man’s wisdom. Life throws curve balls at us all the time, and it tends to work out best when we don’t duck but try to catch them on the full.’

With Geillis’ arc of justice and this man’s curve balls, it was obviously the evening for pithy sayings. But Willow had to admit she felt better. The napkin was now in sodden shreds, so she wiped her eyes with her hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said to him. ‘And you’re not old.’

The man raised a sceptical eyebrow but smiled at her. He was handsome in a solid way. His hair was dark with only a touch of grey and his eyes, Willow had already checked, were blue.

‘Well, I must be away,’ he said. ‘Causes to champion, battles to fight. All worth it in the end, though, don’t you think?’

He tapped his finger to his forehead in a farewell salute and walked off, back towards the park entrance. Willow didn’t stare after him, that would be weird. But some detail about him started to nag her. Something she should have noticed …

It wasn’t until she was finally home and in bed that it hit her. When he’d handed her the napkin, she’d seen that his shirt sleeve had a silver cufflink – shaped like a pig.

She must remember to ask Harvey what his old school chum and very good friend looked like.