Page 22 of Hooked On The One That Got Away (Miss Lovelock’s Agency for Broken Hearts #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘This water’s like ice !’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘How do you do this without a wetsuit?’

‘Once you’re in, you quickly warm up,’ Willow said.

Charlie dipped his toe – ‘There, I’m in’ – and removed it. ‘Now, I’m out. Which is much better.’

‘Chicken,’ said Willow. ‘Lily-livered giant weenie.’

‘Madwoman,’ Charlie retorted. ‘Ice bath-loving nutcase.’

Willow dived in, swam a few strokes out, then turned and bobbed in the water, grinning at Charlie, who was making a point of shivering dramatically on the bank.

He had on a pair of blue swim shorts that would have shown off his gorgeous body if his arms hadn’t been wrapped protectively around his chest and he hadn’t been scowling like a sulky toddler.

‘Don’t think about it,’ Willow called out. ‘Just jump in.’

She could practically hear Charlie’s inner argument – macho bravado versus a reluctance to die of hypothermia. Willow floated on her back until, inevitably, macho bravado won out and Charlie snapped on his goggles and jumped in.

‘FUCK!’ he yelled, causing a couple of ducks to take flight. ‘It’s freezing !’

‘Swim!’ Willow ordered. ‘Get moving!’

‘I’D RATHER BE FISHING!’ he yelled back, but he got moving.

Willow did, too, making sure she kept ahead, so as to encourage his competitive instinct and prevent him from making a beeline back to the safety of the bank.

She’d chosen the stretch of river that led up to the lock.

It had sentimental meaning now – it was where she’d been fished up by Charlie, where she’d witnessed him in one of his darkest moments, where she’d kissed him for the first time in nearly a year and knew for sure that he still loved her, and she still loved him.

It was a stunning summer morning, and the water in fact wasn’t cold at all. Wait until Charlie tried it in winter, Willow thought. She would let him a wear a wetsuit then. Probably.

The river was busy, a small pleasure craft slowly cruising, rowboats, kayakers and a wobbly paddleboarder.

Joggers sweated along the towpath, skirting walkers, dogs, baby buggies and wayward toddlers.

There were several other swimmers, some serious-looking triathlon types and a gaggle of elderly women, chatting while they breaststroked along.

One was wearing a swim cap studded with bright rubber flowers. Willow was envious.

She paused every so often to check her route ahead was clear, and to check on Charlie, still behind her, despite his best efforts to catch up.

He had good technique, Willow observed. But it seemed his goggles weren’t fitted correctly, and he had to keep stopping to tip water out of them.

Or else he was puffed and using that as an excuse to take a breather.

Willow recalled her early days of river swimming.

Six strokes and she’d been knackered. She’d come a long way, in every respect.

She’d proved she could be tough, and loyal, and determined. Willow was proud of herself.

She was also not above being petty. Charlie had stepped up the pace, and she was in danger of being caught by him. Willow waited until he was almost beside her, then she outstripped him with a series of strong, swift strokes.

Willow made it to the spot where they’d need to turn around. The lock was in sight, and there were a lot of people on the overbridge. She trod water until Charlie caught her up. He ripped off his goggles and glared at her.

‘You did that on purpose,’ he accused.

‘Whatever can you mean?’ said Willow, with a grin.

‘You waited for me, then took off like a missile,’ said Charlie. ‘Or a swordfish, whatever. Something streamlined and mean.’

Willow paddled over to him and leaned in for a kiss as they both trod water. Charlie’s lips were cold, but his tongue was warm.

‘Hope you’re not expecting any underwater funny business,’ he said. ‘My cock’s shrunk to the size of a cashew nut.’

‘Admit it,’ said Willow. ‘You’re having fun.’

Charlie turned slowly and took in the view. ‘It has its good points, I suppose.’

Willow flicked water at him.

‘Oy!’ Charlie flicked water back at her.

Then they had a mad splashing water fight, which Willow was totally winning.

‘Now, now children,’ came a nearby voice.

Panting a little, Willow and Charlie stopped and looked around. Coming alongside was a rowboat, and in it was …

‘Harvey!’ said Willow.

He was wearing cricket whites, complete with grass stain on one knee, and holding a bottle of cider. On the oars was another man, also in cricket whites. A solid, muscular man with grey-speckled dark hair. He manoeuvred the boat to a stop beside them.

‘Willow, may I introduce my old chum from school,’ Harvey said to Willow. ‘P–’

‘Jasper,’ the man said, with a smile.

‘Hello,’ said Willow, with a smile of her own. ‘And this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Harvey and – Jasper.’

As she said it, she looked for a hint of recognition, but neither man showed any sign that they’d met before.

Willow remembered that Harvey had said the group operated in separate cells.

Perhaps she was the only one who knew the connection?

She quite liked that idea. And, of course, would never, ever tell.

‘Match finished early?’ Charlie asked. ‘Thought cricket usually went on until teatime.’

‘There was a bit of a fracas about an LBW call,’ said Harvey. ‘The umpire had to retire on medical grounds. By which I mean he was carted away with a broken nose. Nothing to do with us,’ he added hastily. ‘So, we decided to spend the morning messing around in boats.’

‘Unlike this maniac,’ said Charlie, gesturing to Willow, ‘who thinks being in water is preferable to being on it.’

‘The river’s a gift,’ said Jasper. ‘We should give thanks for how lucky we are.’

And he pulled on the oars to put the boat in motion.

‘Toodles!’ Harvey waved.

‘Toodles? Truly?’ Charlie asked when the men were out of earshot.

‘Harvey’s from a different era,’ said Willow, fondly.

‘And I’m in the ice age,’ said Charlie. ‘Seriously, I’m one giant goosebump.’

‘Weenie,’ said Willow. ‘All right, let’s go back.’ She grinned, wickedly. ‘Race you!’

‘That’s cheating !’ Charlie yelled after her, fumbling with his goggles. ‘You are a VERY BAD PERSON!’

Willow dried herself as she waited for him on the bank. Handed him a towel as he trudged out of the water. He accepted it with a grunt and sat down heavily on the grass.

‘I can’t believe you do this every day,’ he said. ‘I barely have the strength to lift my arms.’

‘Do you want me to dry you?’ Willow asked.

‘Sure,’ said Charlie. ‘And while you’re at it, you can screw up the remains of my dignity and chuck it in the bin.’

She kissed the top of his damp head. ‘Get dressed and let’s go for a walk in the lovely sunshine.’

‘A walk ?’ protested Charlie. ‘You’re an exercise zealot !’

‘You don’t have to use your arms to walk,’ Willow pointed out. ‘And I only want to go to the lock and back. It’s not far.’

‘I was in a bad place last time I went to that lock,’ said Charlie, gloomily.

‘Exactly,’ said Willow. ‘We can put old ghosts to rest.’

Charlie gave her an appraising look. ‘If I agree to this, can I go fishing for the rest of the afternoon?’

‘Of course,’ said Willow. ‘But if you come home smelling all fishy and rank, there’ll be no action tonight.’

‘I hardly ever catch anything.’

‘Then that’s lucky all round,’ said Willow. ‘For you, me and the fish.’

When they arrived at the lock, the people who’d been on the overbridge had gone. They had it all to themselves. Except for …

‘A cat?’ said Charlie. ‘What on earth is a cat doing here?’

It was a black one, and very friendly, twining itself through their legs and purring.

‘Maybe it belongs to the lock keeper?’ Willow suggested. She bent and fondled its velvety ears. Its eyes were a bright green-gold. ‘Or maybe not …’

‘Look,’ said Charlie. ‘Someone’s fastened a love token to the railing.’ He lifted up the red, heart-shaped padlock. ‘M.L. and W.S. Whoever they are.’

‘I actually watched them do it,’ said Willow. ‘Thought it would have been removed by now.’

‘Here’s another one.’

Charlie lifted the second padlock, this one in gleaming brass. ‘Hey! It’s ours!’

‘Wha-at?’ Willow peered at it. Sure enough, the initials on it were C.M. and W.T.

‘Coincidence, of course,’ said Charlie, letting the padlock go.

Willow watched the black cat stroll towards the lock keeper’s gatehouse. Its tail was swinging lazily side to side in a teasingly eloquent way. She slid her arms around Charlie, and he drew her into an embrace. And they kissed for quite some time.

‘I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, Willow Taylor,’ said Charlie. ‘ And having loads of sex.’

‘Good thing you told me about the sex,’ said Willow. ‘I would never have guessed otherwise.’

‘It’s not cashew-nut size, anymore,’ said Charlie.

‘I noticed,’ Willow said, with a smile. ‘And I love you, too Charlie McKay. Don’t leave me again.’

‘ No chance,’ said Charlie. ‘And guess what? I might have thought of something more fun to do this afternoon than fishing.’