Love script with leopard heart and scissors

The scissors went into the cut at Hatton, and I have not seen them since. Don't laugh. I was leaning over the gunwale to shake out a towel when the pair slid off my apron strap and into the brown water, as if they had somewhere better to be. Ron from the boat behind spent an hour with a boathook and came up with weed and a rusty tin of peas. So I've been cutting Mr Pargeter's grandson's hair with the kitchen pair, which is why the boy looks like a hedge that's been struck by lightning.

Your offcut of leopard print is still pinned above the stove. I keep meaning to stitch it into a cushion, but every time I reach for the needle I think, no, that's a heart, and a heart shouldn't sit under a kettle. You wrote that I should stop telling people the shop was the reason I came up the cut in the first place. You were right, and I hated you a little for it, the way you hate a good haircut that shows your ears. Tell Michael the bench outside the Fox is yours on Thursdays, and tell him he owes me a shave.

Ron came round this morning, soaking and cross, holding them up by the loops. They had been caught in the lock gate weed with the orange handles still bright and the blades closed tight, as if they'd been waiting for someone to notice. I've oiled them and hung them by the window. I'm bringing them down to the marina when the ice goes. Meet me on the towpath with your hair unwashed and we'll see whose hand is steadier.

Yours, with the good pair, Nell