Page 17 of Hooked On The One That Got Away (Miss Lovelock’s Agency for Broken Hearts #3)

Chapter Seventeen

‘Now, in my defence,’ Charlie said, ‘I’ve only just moved in.’

They were outside his front door. Which used to be their front door. Charlie was living in their old maisonette, their old home. Willow was angrier about this than anything else Charlie had done.

‘You shit ,’ she said, through clenched teeth.

‘I cried for bloody days when I had to leave here. And I had to pack up all your bloody stuff! I should have burned everything. I should have run over it then burned it. How dare you be here? I am –’ Willow struggled to find a word strong enough ‘– livid !’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Charlie. He sounded genuinely wretched, but Willow would not be appeased so easily. ‘I was looking at online rental listings last month and it came up. And I thought …’

‘You thought what ?’

‘Every stupid thing,’ Charlie replied, with a sigh.

‘That if I was living here, then you’d be more likely to come back to me.

That I could make up for you having to move out because I ran out of money for my share – I’m sorry, I never meant that to happen.

I never meant a lot of things to happen.

That if you didn’t come back, then at least I’d be where we used to be. Where we were happy …’

He paused and raked his hand through his hair. Made it stand up like a mop.

‘I was deludedly optimistic, and it bit me in the arse,’ he said. ‘Story of my life.’

‘Fuck’s sake …’

Willow felt the fight drain out of her. Charlie was sincere, no doubt about that, and it was a good apology. Not 100 carats-worth, but not bad. Plus, the way his hair stood up made him look cute. A little like a Muppet, fair to say, but still cute.

‘I am going to eat half of the new brownie while you watch,’ Willow said. ‘And then I am going to wrap up the other half, take it home, and send you the video of myself eating the rest of it. Slowly, with great enjoyment. And probably whipped cream.’

Charlie’s shoulders sagged in relief. He raised a tentative questioning eyebrow. ‘You wouldn’t consider letting me lick a few crumbs off your naked body?’

‘Don’t push it,’ said Willow. Then added, ‘Possibly.’

‘Er,’ Charlie hesitated. ‘So – do you want to come in? Just checking.’

‘Yes, Charlie,’ Willow replied. ‘But I may well get cross again, so be warned.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll watch my step.’

Charlie unlocked the front door and invited Willow to go first. Her heart began to pound, and her breath quickened, but in she went.

And there it was, the oh-so-familiar living room with the blue-and-white painted fireplace, polished oak floors, and clean white walls.

And there was the tiny dining room, galley kitchen and beyond it the sheltered courtyard.

Upstairs, Willow knew, were their bedroom, the spare room they’d used as a study, and the bathroom.

She knew exactly how the fourth stair from the top would creak, and how hard you had to push to open the right-hand side window in their bedroom.

She knew the bath would take an age to fill but that it was worth the wait.

It was as if the place had kept itself unchanged for her, knowing she would one day come back.

Willow swiped the tears away, but they wouldn’t stop coming. All the hurt and aching sadness of the past months poured out and there was nothing she could do.

Charlie reached out to hold her, but she batted him away.

‘ Dammit , Charlie!’ she choked. ‘I hate you!’

‘And I love you, Willow Taylor,’ he said, quietly. ‘Always have. Always will.’

‘Ohhh …’

Willow sank down on the living room couch. Not their old couch, a new one. Dark blue velvet. It suited the room perfectly. Willow hated it on principle.

Charlie was keeping his distance, watching her. Willow turned her head pointedly away. Her tears had turned into those irritating hiccups that persist way longer than they should.

‘Can I get you a glass of water?’

‘No!’

Willow knew she was being childish but today had all been a bit bloody much. You could forgive a girl for taking a while to process.

She heard Charlie move, and snapped her head round and glared at him. He held up his hands in the surrender position.

‘I, er, I’m going to change, and put these pants in the wash,’ he said. ‘I’ll wash your sweatshirt, too,’ he added. ‘It’s suffered collateral chocolate damage. Is that okay?’

He was genuinely asking her permission. And Willow was running out of energy to stay mad.

‘Don’t use hot water,’ she said. ‘It sets the stain.’

‘Good tip. Thank you.’ Charlie was still treading carefully. ‘I’ll be back soon …’

Willow heard the fourth stair from the top creak, and pictured Charlie in their old bedroom.

He always used to take his trousers off sitting on the edge of the bed.

Didn’t have the balance to pull them off while standing, he claimed.

It was nonsense, he just liked any excuse to bounce on the bed.

Sometimes, he’d even take a flying leap from the middle of the room and twist in mid-air so he could land on his back.

If Willow was reading, she have to hold tight to her book or it'd be bounced right out of her hands.

Dammit, Charlie …

Willow walked into the kitchen and splashed water on her face. As she dried her face and hands on a tea towel, she glanced out at the courtyard. Charlie had bought a cane egg chair, suspended from a stand. They’d always talked about getting one.

She climbed the stairs slowly and breathed deep before peering through the bedroom door. Charlie had his back to her. He was in his underwear, rummaging through a drawer, cursing under his breath.

Willow took a moment to admire the muscle definition of his back and legs. Then she said, ‘Let me guess. All your other shorts and trousers are also in the wash?’

Charlie leapt around, startled. ‘Shit …’ he breathed out. ‘And yes, that does appear to be the case.’

‘Thing is, if you want clean clothes,’ Willow said, ‘you have to do laundry on a regular basis. Otherwise, you get a situation where nothing is clean, and your laundry basket is very, very full.’

‘I’ve been busy,’ Charlie said, mustering his dignity.

He rummaged in the drawer again and drew something out with a triumphant, ‘Ah ha!’

‘No,’ said Willow. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘What have you got against cycling shorts?’ Charlie said.

‘ Everything ! Put them away !’

Charlie’s grin faded. He fidgeted with the Lycra monstrosities in his hand, then said, ‘I’m honestly not sure if I can ever make it up to you, Willow. But I really, really want to try.’

‘I know,’ said Willow, softly.

Charlie stared at her. ‘I have no pants.’

Willow made her way over to him. Took the terrible cycling shorts and chucked them in a corner.

Slipped her hands inside the waistband of his boxer briefs and traced the hollows down from his hipbones with her fingertips.

Heard his sharp intake of breath and saw the stirring as his cock began to rise.

‘That,’ she said, ‘will not be a problem.’