Free Toad in the Hole by Paisley Ray Page A

through the lock.”
    “Were you now?” the keeper asked. “Where are you two headed?”
    “To London,” I mumbled.
    “You Yanks own this narrowboat?”
     
    Unlike the real Captain Kangaroo, this gentleman’s vibe wasn’t jolly and he didn’t smile, which told me that either he’d had a worse night than us, or that his bullshit odometer needle bleeped into a red zone. I was very familiar with the tone used in these types of questions. Despite the accent, there was that inflection. It was a trick question and if Travis or I answered it wrong, it would stop us in our tracks. Maybe even get us detained. A horn somewhere in the distance bellowed and my mind flicked into warp speed manipulation mode. My roommate at college was a pro and I’d learned a thing or two. I slid my hand into Travis’s.
    “This trip is a gift from my grandmother.” Which was true. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
    A pesky Parental Telepathy Transmission zoomed over from Ohio— Rachael O’Brien, that is an utter and total lie .
    Travis pursed his lips into a reluctant smiley face.
    Captain Kangaroo’s back straightened. Cocking a grin that reached his feathered sideburns, he said, “Congratulations,” and moved toward the buttons and the wheel I’d tried to operate last night. “Hold tight while I put the key in and level the water.”
    My arm caved under the pressure of Travis’s squeeze. “Married!” came out of the side of his mouth.
    “I had to say something,” I whispered.
    Water began gushing around the boat. “Of all the things to say.”
    I moved to the front and watched a ladder rung on the wall begin to lengthen as the water level in the lock lowered. “How cool is this?”
    A gentleman with a Collie and a mother with a stroller gathered at the top and peered down as we slowly sank.
    Travis looked over the side. “Rachael, sometimes we say things. Things that are meant to stay in our subconscious.”
    “Don’t flatter yourself. I needed a distraction—something to stop his questioning.”
    “What’s the plan?” he asked.
    “We need to find somewhere to moor. Get a bite to eat, look over the maps, plot the trip, and figure out how long it will take us to get there.”
    “So we’re really doing this?”
    “Carpe diem.”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Wait until the gates are fully open, then idle out, no wake. You newlyweds enjoy your honeymoon,” The lock keeper said as gears grinded.
    “Thanks. Much appreciated,” Travis said, before sliding into the cockpit.
    I dangled the keys in my hand. “Looking for something?”
    Snatching them from my fingertips, he slid them into the starter and ground the engine to life. “O’Brien, I do love you.”
    Turning my back to Travis, I watched as he navigated the boat out of the lock. Turning back around to wave at the keeper, he’d disappeared.
     
    NOTE TO SELF
    Slept with Travis for the second time…. fully clothed again. Maybe he has an unsightly mole somewhere embarrassing.
     
    They say, go big or go home. I’d prefer to go home after going big.
     
    Stuck in tight, highly romantic quarters on a boat—odds are in my favor.

 
     
     
CHAPTER 13
     
    W agers
     
     
    J une weather in London was a lot like my life—unpredictable. The morning hung in a perpetual state of gloom. Eerie clouds dashed through the sky, merging and breaking into larger clusters in an attempt to build the strength to soak everything below.
    “It’s going to rain,” I told Travis.
    After he cut the engine, Her Grace drifted toward the pier at Ye Olde Pub.
    “Your shoulder jibbing you?”
    Gathering nautical maps and a notebook from a cubby near the tiller, I nodded. “Let’s eat breakfast inside.”
    I found plastic ponchos and umbrellas, and even discovered fishing gear in a trunk under some cushions, which was a score.
    Hopping off the deck, I held the line. I’d watched my college roommate tie half a dozen hitch knots to secure her father’s ski boat when I visited her home in