He chuckles, stepping closer. “I’ll make you a land girl again soon. No tentacles. Promise.”
“Good,” I say, then glance around the canal with mock suspicion. “Also, why do all your friends seem to own boats? Is this like a secret Dutch-flower-mafia-thing?”
Bas snorts. “No comment.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Unbelievable. I know florists. We don’t have boats. We have tired feet and carpal tunnel.”
“Guess you’re in the wrong business,” he says witha wink.
“Clearly.”
As we settle in, I pull my hoodie tighter around me, the scent of Bas still lingering. He moves around the small cabin with quiet familiarity, unpacking supplies and lighting a kettle.
I want to ask him everything—the plan, the future,Abel—but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I watch him, this man who’s both so strong and so vulnerable.
“Can you pass me the phone? I want to call Sanne?” Bas finally says, breaking the silence. “I need to check in.”
I nod, handing him the burner phone. I watch his expression tighten as he dials, hearing the sharp tone of his sister’s voice on the other end.
“She’s worried,” I say softly once the call ends.
Bas runs a hand through his damp hair. “She has every right to be.”
I glance around the tiny cabin, feeling the walls close in. “What about Abel?”
Bas’s jaw tightens. “He’s good, no idea about any of this, thank God. Safe, for now.”
“I hope one day I get to meet him,” I say quietly, surprising myself with the honesty.
Bas looks at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “You will. When the time’s right.”
The day drifts away, rain tapping softly against the windows. Later, we sit close on the narrow bench, sharing a quiet dinner by candlelight.
“Amber,” Bas says suddenly, voice low. “I’ve been carrying a lot of guilt. For Marieke. For Abel. And for this… for wanting something again.”
I reach out, taking his hand. “You’re here now. That counts.”
He meets my gaze, blue eyes intense. “You don’t get it. For a long time, it felt wrong to even think about wanting someone else. About wanting you. Like it meant I was leaving her behind.”
“I don’t think that’s how love works,” I say gently.
He pulls in a shaky breath. “Maybe not. But the guilt doesn’t care. It’s like… I lost her, and now I’m still here. And somehow, I’m allowed to feel something again? It messes with my head.”
I pull him closer, letting my fingers brush his. “You’re not doing anything wrong, Bas.”
He lets out a soft laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell that to the part of me that still thinks I should be frozen in that moment. Like moving on means erasing her.”
“It doesn’t.”
He studies me, eyes searching. “I want you. And I hate that I feel guilty for it.”
“I’m not here to replace her, truly. She was and will remain a significant part of your life,” I say softly. “But you’re allowed to want something real again.”
He nods slowly, like he’s still not sure if he believes it, but he wantsto.
Outside, the city hums quietly, but inside this little houseboat, for once, we find a sliver of peace.
The houseboat rocks gently beneath us, the soft creak of wood against water a steady reminder that we’re far from the chaos—but not from the things we carry.
