She Hates Me Not: A Richer in Love Romance (12 page)

B
y 5:45 p.m., the café was remarkably tidy.  Kip helped Moggie with the front of the house.  Lou cleaned the back while Beryl prepped ingredients for the next day.

It was a never-ending cycle, Kip knew, that wove itself into the substance of life.  Tasks became routines.  Routines became rituals.  And somehow in the midst of it, people remained connected to what made the work truly matter.

Lou had literally danced herself through the day.  Now, as she scrubbed skillets and pots, she sang with the music which played twice as loud.  She seemed more at ease than Kip had ever seen her.  She glowed with joy and peace.

“Are you sure about this?”

Moggie’s serene voice tugged Kip from his daze.  “About what?”

“Pursuing our Lou.”

“I am,” Kip confessed softly.  “And growing more so by the minute.”

“Bit of advice?”

Welcoming it with a nod, he handed Moggie the dustpan and broom.

“Be patient with her.  As patient as you can.”

Easier said than done, Kip thought – especially now that he knew Lou wasn’t hiding because she was a wallflower.  The prospect of a public festival made her light up like a sunrise, and Kip couldn’t imagine a finer treat than to experience one alongside her.  Lou was a bird who deserved to be free of her cage.  Kip hoped he could help make it so.

Even though the skies were threatening rain, they chose a rambling route to Lou’s narrowboat.  Exiting the court on Wood Street, they crossed its busy lanes before turning right.  At the town’s central roundabout, Lou stopped in a pocket of unoccupied space outside a men’s clothing store.

“Are you still walking me home?” She raised her voice to be heard over the roar of a passing coach.

“As often as you’ll let me,” he replied.

When Lou offered her hand, Kip took it with euphoric relief.  Precisely where he ought to be.  The sureness of it made him lightheaded.

They strolled down the High Street which was lined with parked cars and swarming with pedestrians, many of whom were in a rush to reach the supermarket or pub.  Interspersed between the modern shop fronts were half-timber buildings that harkened to Shakespeare’s era.  Most tourists were gone for the day, back to London or the Cotswolds or Oxford.

When they reached the distinctive Garrick Inn, Lou pulled Kip to the left down Sheep Street.  They were headed for the river now – a realization that made Kip shorten his strides and slow his steps.  No need to rush what might not happen again for a while.  This time tomorrow, he’d be in a car on the outskirts of London.  The day after that seemed as dull and uncertain as the sky.

After darting across Waterside, they continued toward the Avon on a broad footpath paved with grey stone.  Pigeons scavenged for bread crusts and chips beneath benches.  A few hearty folks napped on patches of grass while others queued at the ice cream van.  Summer happened in England no matter the weather.

As they approached the water, Kip glanced over his right shoulder at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre.  He found the spot on its terrace where Lou first kissed him.  His eyes drifted to where she’d professed her undying hate. Across the Avon, he spotted the Evangeline.  Had it only been three days?

“This way, Clyde.”  Lou tugged him to the right.

Kip groaned as he fell in beside her.  “That’s not going to stick, is it?”

“Maybe.  And I’d like to point out that the man who never, ever lies was Clyde for an entire afternoon.”

“Let’s call it a bit of amateur acting,” he suggested.  “I enjoyed not being myself today – or at least not who the world thinks I am.  Besides, I doubt Imogens needs its ambiance disrupted by silly girls with smartphones.  Nor do you wish to end up a hashtag.”

Lou’s panicked look was instantaneous.  “Are you a hashtag?”

“Several, actually.  All painfully uninteresting.”

A few massive raindrops slapped the pavement as they reached the Bancroft Gardens.  Rather than dash for Lou’s home, they took the long way round the Gower Memorial, past bronze statues of Falstaff and Lady Macbeth, Hamlet and Prince Hal.  Shakespeare himself held court on its central stone pedestal, seated yet leaning like he intended to rise.  A few lingering tourists snapped his picture.

Better the Bard’s than ours, Kip thought as they crossed the Avon on its slender pedestrian bridge.  Lou’s reaction to their photo from the gala had been borderline catastrophic.  One more incident like the first, and she might cut line entirely – unless they cleared up this messy business about the missing money.  Then Lou could live without looking over her shoulder.  And, hopefully, with him.

“You know one thing I love about us?” Kip said when they’d reached the other shore.  “I can’t seem to fashion one of those ridiculous nicknames from ours.  LouKip.  KipLou.  LouLing.  It simply doesn’t work.”

“You’re right,” she agreed.  “Not even with Clyde.”

“Which is not my name,” Kip reminded her.  “And I still don’t know yours.”

“Sure you do.  It’s Lou.”  She wrapped an arm around his.  “Captain Lou to you,
mon cher
.”

“Captain Lou sounds like an old seadog who peddles frozen fish fingers to kiddies.”

Her smoky laugh echoed across the water.  “Too bad ’cause it’s the only name I’ve got.  Captain Lou Aucoin.”

“Not if you marry me someday.”

Stopping short, Lou pulled away.  “I can’t marry you.”

He pressed his luck.  “Why not?”

“Because…”  Her gazed roamed in a circle.  “Because I hate you, remember?”

“That old chestnut.”  Kip leaned down to pluck a daisy growing wild beside the footpath.  “Here, we’ll let fate decide for us.”

She frowned at the daisy.  “Decide what?”

“If you really hate me.”

Lou crossed her arms.  “You think I don’t know what I feel?”

“I think we both know what we both feel,” he said cheekily.  “But let’s consult the daisy to be sure.”

“Aren’t daisies supposed to tell us who we love?”

“I’m sure it understands our dilemma.”  Kip pulled the first white petal free from the base of its bright yellow eye.  “She hates me.”

In spite of her protests, Lou smiled.  “
Coullion
.”

He let a second petal trail the first to the ground.  “She hates me not.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Not at all.  Perfectly rational.  She hates me.”

Lou heaved a frustrated breath. 

“She hates me not.”  Kip flicked the petal in her direction.

“This could go on forever.”  Lou eyed the flower like it was a stinging nettle. 

“I wouldn’t mind.”  Concerned that she might quit the game, Kip picked several petals in rapid succession.  Then he paused to count how many remained.  Suppressing any reaction, he checked Lou’s face.

She gazed at him, and not the flower, with a look he’d seen at lunch.  Sweet.  Hopeful.  Incredulous yet compelled to believe that something lovely might grow from such an inauspicious beginning.

He removed another.  “She hates me not.”

Lou’s arms unfolded.

“She hates me.”

Lou stepped close enough for their toes to touch.

“She hates me not.”

As Kip tucked the last petal into his pocket, Lou slid her hands around his waist.  Eagerly Kip kissed her, resisting the need to stroke anything more than her hair.

It was a good thing they kept doing this in public.  Without witnesses he might not be so restrained.  Lou tempted him like nothing else, and he repeated Moggie’s advice as though it were a sacred chant.  He would be patient.  He would be patient.

When raindrops splattered their faces, Lou pulled away, and Kip sheltered her brow with his hand.  They weren’t far from her narrowboat, and the clouds were about to part.

“Permission to come aboard, captain?” he asked.  “I’d like to see where you live.”

Reluctance furrowed her features.  “All you want is a tour?”

“I want whatever you’ll give me.  And nothing more.”

It was the correct response, he could tell, from the way Lou’s shoulders relaxed.  “Permission granted.”

The last time they’d walked the Avon’s south bank, Kip dragged his feet like a peevish child.  Now he fought to keep from sprinting as they approached the Evangeline.  When he started to follow Lou on board, she stopped him by pressing a hand to his chest.

“Hold on, Kip.  I need to check something.”

“Did you leave your knickers on the clothes horse?”

Her rapid laugh was also strained.  “How’d you guess?”

Kip paced while he waited for the all-clear.  Clearly this was a test from the Almighty himself.  Patience was most certainly not his virtue.

Finally, Lou waved him aboard.  Hopping onto the boat’s front deck, Kip noticed the change from solid earth to a watery foundation.  Even though his sea legs were adequate, he still clasped Lou’s outstretched arm.

A pair of crest-shaped windows flanked the slim double doors.  Next to one of those, a cluster of metallic necklaces dangled from a peg.  Their lustrous colors matched the Evangeline – purple, green, and gold.

Kip threaded a finger through them.  “What are these?”

“Mardi Gras beads,” Lou told him.  “During parades the krewes toss them from floats, but you can buy them any old time in the Quarter.  By Ash Wednesday, New Orleans is covered in them.  I give them out whenever I’m traveling.”

After ducking through the double doors, Kip stayed near them to get his bearings.  Although he was able to stand up straight, his hair brushed the cabin’s ceiling.  Lou had opened all of the hopper windows to create a cross breeze of cool air.  Rain tapped lightly on the boat’s flat roof.

Everything inside the cabin seemed compressed and cleverly shaped without a centimeter to spare.  Kip could walk the boat’s length in ten paces.  The cabin’s central aisle was half the width of his stride.  To his left was a cast iron fuel stove, and to his right was a short chest of drawers.  A small pewter medal – was it a Catholic saint? – hung above the double doors.

Constrictive or not, the Evangeline was charming.  Pale green curtains matched the cushions of rectangular bench seats that faced one another.  The bench to his right was split, like a booth, by a white plastic tabletop.  At the cabin’s midpoint was a kitchenette.  All the furnishings were attached to the walls.

Despite its limitations, it was cheery and clean with a feminine, but not frilly, décor.  As Kip wiped his boots on a door mat with a yellow
fleur de lis
, he glanced down at a half-dozen framed photographs arranged atop the cabinet.  Some revealed younger versions of Lou, of her sister and parents also.

Kip itched to examine them one by one.  Instead he made himself pay attention to Lou’s tour which, judging from the size of the Evangeline’s cabin, should last fifteen seconds at most.

Lou pointed to her left which was, for the moment, Kip’s right.  “If you sit down on the port couch, you’re in the dining room.”  She pointed right.  “Sit on the starboard couch, and you’re in the den.”

He mimicked her motions in reverse.  “Dining room.  Den.  I’ll call out if I become lost.”

She laughed.  “I’m standing in the kitchen.  The bedroom’s behind me.  The aft deck is outside the bedroom, and the bathroom is in here.”

As Kip moved to join her, Lou opened an accordion door on her right.  A plastic shower and toilet occupied a space that resembled an airplane lavatory.  Complete privacy would be optional.  This was most certainly a home for one.

The kitchenette seemed the best-appointed section of the boat.  Microwave.  Short fridge-freezer.  Gas stove with two hobs above an oven.  It contained all the basic necessities aside from counter space.

“Where’s your telly?” he asked.

“I don’t have one,” Lou replied.  “Can’t afford the TV tax.  Or the TV.”

“Computer?”

“I use Moggie and Beryl’s.”

Kip wanted to see the rear deck of the boat, but Lou didn’t offer, so he didn’t ask.  They would have to move through the bedroom to reach it, and clearly Lou liked her privacy.  He counted it a small miracle that she’d let him onboard.  The last thing Kip wanted was for her to regret it.

He returned to the array of photographs in Lou’s slice of a dining room.  Above them, two items decorated the wall – a watercolor by Beryl and a handwritten poem in a wooden frame.  Light from outside created an inconvenient glare while Kip read its trio of lines.

Whither my heart has gone, there followed my hand, and not elsewhere.

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway,

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness.

“Is this an ode to your
fifolet
?” he asked.

Lou drew beside him.  “It’s an excerpt from a poem –
Evangeline
.  It starts when the Acadians were chased out of Canada.  During the expulsion, Evangeline and her fiancé are separated.  She travels all over America trying to catch up with him, but they don’t find each other again until he’s dying.  It makes
Romeo and Juliet
look like a rom-com.”