Chapter 13
“I’m sorry about what happened at breakfast,” Rob said, apologizing again as they strolled hand in hand down the high street toward Magdalen Bridge.
“Don’t worry about it, it was just a misunderstanding,” she said.
“Everyone knows what Rocco’s like, no one will blame you.
” She tried to shrug it off; she didn’t want it ruining their day.
Though she made a mental note to send feedback to Avery that Rob could do with a little humor refinement, if such an upgrade was available.
It was a beautiful day, the sun was out, the sky a cerulean blue, and the gold stone of the buildings shone with their distinctive Oxford hue.
Chloe had dressed for punting, in a striped Breton top and cream pedal pushers.
Rob squeezed her hand. “I wonder if anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember.”
Her smile dropped slightly. He had said that before.
“Is that poetry?” she asked.
“Yeats,” he said, and she nodded.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, though she liked the sentiment slightly less now that she knew they weren’t his words. “Is there anything you want to do while we’re here, anything you want to see?” she asked him.
“I’m happy to do whatever you want to do,” he said, then, perhaps sensing her flicker of disappointment, he added, “But if there’s time, maybe we could explore some of the old bookshops you were telling me about?”
“Great,” she said, with a genuine smile now.
“And I’d like to try fish and chips.”
“Fish and chips?” she asked. “You’ve never had fish and chips?”
“Nope. It’s a gap in my education.”
“Okay, we can fix that,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
When they reached the bridge, they could see the punts below, lined up like sleeping wooden crocodiles.
Chloe inhaled the familiar smell of sun-warmed ropes and the slightly sour smell of algae and riverweed emanating from the mud-stirred water.
Elaine was already down on the bank, marshaling everyone with military precision, and they could hear laughter and lighthearted squabbles as people worked out who would punt and who would be passenger.
“How are your punting skills then, Fairway, still terrible?” said a voice beside her. She turned to see Sean and smiled.
“Sean, this is Rob; Rob, Sean.”
Sean extended a hand toward Rob, then said, “Loved your dancing last night.”
“Thank you,” Rob replied. “I’ve heard so much about you from Chloe, it’s good to finally meet you.”
“All good I hope?”
“Eighty-two percent good,” Rob said. Chloe shot him a frown, but Sean only laughed.
“Have you ever been punting before?” Sean asked him.
“No, I’m not good around water. You two go ahead, enjoy some time together.”
Chloe squeezed Rob’s hand appreciatively, imagining being here with Peter. He would have whined about not knowing anyone, been jealous of her even talking to Sean. With Rob, she never needed to worry about upsetting him.
“Okay, Chlo, looks like it’s you and me,” Sean said, turning toward her with a schoolboy grin.
“You will be shocked to hear that I haven’t punted in years. I might be a little rusty,” Chloe told him.
“I’m sure it’s like riding a bike,” Sean said, knitting his hands and then flexing them above his head. But as they walked down the steps to the river, Chloe realized they were the last to arrive and there weren’t any empty punts left.
“Sean, you come with me?” Harriet called from a boat at the front. “Chloe, Rob, you go with John at the back there.”
With John? Chloe felt a strange lurch in her chest, her pulse quickening.
“Sorry,” Sean said with a wince. “I guess I’ll catch you after, yeah?
” He raised his hand in a friendly wave, then strolled up the riverbank toward Harriet.
Chloe looked around at the other punts, wondering if there was anyone else she could squeeze in with, or if she should pull out entirely and stay on the bank with Rob.
After their strangely hostile conversation last night, and the suspicious look he had given her this morning, Chloe wasn’t relishing the prospect of spending two hours in a punt with John.
But scanning the other boats, she could see John was the only one sitting alone.
She couldn’t leave him to go solo. Well, not quite solo; Richard was perched on the prow.
As she walked toward him, she saw that he didn’t look thrilled about having her as a passenger either.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” she asked Rob.
“No, you go, honestly, I’m not equipped for water sports,” he insisted, and she remembered him saying he couldn’t swim.
“Room for one more?” she asked John as they reached his boat.
“Sure,” John said. “As long as you acknowledge Richard as the captain of this ship. He’s big on naval hierarchy.” He was wearing faded blue jeans, a white linen shirt, and a straw boater perched at a jaunty angle on his head. Holding the pole in one hand, he looked absurdly at ease.
“I like the hat,” she said, suppressing a smile. “It’s giving retired Venice gondolier vibes.”
“Retired? I’ll have you know I’m in my prime gondoling years,” he said, and now she laughed. “You look like a French cartoon detective.”
“Why, thank you, that’s exactly the look I was going for,” she said, and she felt a hum of pleasure as she watched him try to bite back a grin.
Rob looked back and forth as though he was having trouble understanding their conversation.
“Are you coming too?” John asked Rob.
“No, I’ll sit this one out,” Rob said.
“Oh, I meant to ask, where in Ireland are you from?” John asked.
“The south, near Killarney,” Rob said.
“Really? My gran’s from there. Funny, your accent isn’t Killarney.”
“You moved around, didn’t you, Rob?” Chloe cut in, making a mental note to talk to Avery about an accent update too. “Right, we should go. Will you find something to do?” she asked Rob, and he nodded.
“Don’t worry, I don’t get bored,” Rob assured her.
“You could sit right here,” she said, waving an arm to indicate their idyllic surrounds. “Write some poetry or something?”
She had been joking, but Rob immediately launched into a sonnet.
“Shall I compare thee to an Oxford fair? Thou art more radiant than the Isis in summer’s prime, where college spires reach for the sky’s dark frame, and in thy eyes, dear Chloe, shines a light that makes my heart sing with love’s sweet name. ”
“Okay, wow. No, don’t do that,” she said, pinching her lips together to stop from bursting out laughing. Rob looked deflated. “No, it was lovely.” She leaned forward to peck his cheek before turning back toward the boat.
“Robot man’s really not coming with us?” John asked, and Chloe froze, just as she took a step into the boat, sending it rocking wildly beneath her unsteady footing.
John leaped up to take her arm, while Richard bounded across the boat to help.
His bounding only made things worse, and for a moment, as they clutched each other, the boat tilting wildly from side to side, she felt sure they were all going to go in the river.
“Have you never got into a boat before?” John asked, his voice warm, close.
“What do you mean ‘robot man’?” she asked, her voice high and hysterical to her own ear.
“His dancing, last night,” John said, still holding her arm as he helped her sit down, and the boat finally reached an equilibrium.
“Right,” she said, clearly flustered. She quickly turned to Richard. “Well, Captain, this punt boy might look the part, but can he steer? I don’t want a dunking, I know there are water rats in here.”
“If you fall in, I will jump in and save you from the water rats,” John said, his voice teasing.
“Promise?” she asked, and they shared a smile.
John seemed far lighter this morning, the sharp edges of last night’s conversation dulled by daylight and sobriety.
As he moved to the back of the boat and pushed off from the bank with the long punting pole, Chloe rearranged the canvas cushions and made herself comfortable in the low wooden seat.
They were soon gliding along the middle of the river, following the slow procession of boats downstream.
The water parted with barely a ripple. She watched John work the pole, muscles shifting beneath the linen of his shirt, brow furrowed in concentration.
There was a rhythm to it—push, glide, adjust—that was strangely captivating.
Watching John punt, Chloe had a strong sensation of déjà vu.
They had done this before. But it was also new.
She couldn’t put her finger on the exact feeling.
It was like hearing a song you knew every word to played on a different instrument, in an unfamiliar key.
“What?” he asked self-consciously, and she realized she must have been staring.
“You look like you were born to do that,” she said.
“Don’t watch me, you’ll put me off,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
The river was calm, and the sun reflected off the water and into Chloe’s eyes, so she cupped a hand over her brow. “Here,” John said, offering her his hat.
“No, I like you in the hat.”
“Is that because Charles Ryder is your favorite literary character?” he suggested.
“No, it’s giving more Mole from The Wind in the Willows vibes,” she giggled now, as he frowned in mock hurt. “What? Moley’s cute!”
“Wow. Here I am trying to re-create some Evelyn Waugh fantasy for you, and you’re sitting there picturing me as a rodent?
” He feigned offense and offered her the hat again, eyes sparkling with humor.
“No, take it. You’ve ruined it now. I mean, if we’re going The Wind in the Willows, I’d at least hope to be Badger or Toad.
But Mole? Way to dent a guy’s confidence. ”
She took it, smirking. “Okay, fine, you can be Badger, Badger’s much sexier,” she said, and now their eyes met, and something zinged between them. This conversation had taken a strange turn.