Chapter 46
Amber
The bell over the door jingles—a small, familiar sound that suddenly feels like it could split me in half.
Jess looks up from the till, a lily tucked behind her ear, and freezes mid-transaction with a customer. Her eyes flick toward the door, widen, and her mouth curves into something halfway between a grimace and a smirk. “Oh, boy,” she mutters under her breath.
I turn instinctively, my hands still wrapped around a damp bunch of tulips. And just like that, my heart lurches so violently it knocks the air clean out of my lungs.
Bas.
He fills the doorway the way he fills every space—broad shoulders, presence that demands attention, dark winter coat unbuttoned against the cold. His glasses catch the weak December light. But it’s not just him.
Beside him stands a small boy, a knit hat pulled low over his ears, puffy jacket zipped tight. His cheeks are pink from the wind, and there’s something so unmistakably Bas about him that it makes my chest twist painfully.
Abel.
“Hi,” Bas says, his deep voice rough like it hasn’t been used in days. Or maybe weeks.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
Abel gives me a shy smile that lights up his whole face. “Hello again, Miss Amber.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth tug upward in a way that is exactly like his father when he’s trying to hide a secret.
The instinct to crouch down to his level comes before I even think. My knees hit the cool tile, and the tulips in my hands rustle faintly. “You must be Abel.”
He nods, the pom-pom on his hat bouncing.
“It’s nice to meet you properly,” I tell him, meaning it.
His whole expression brightens, and something in my chest softens despite the storm brewing there. I pluck a single yellow tulip from the bucket beside me and hold it out to him. “This one’s for you.”
Abel sniffs the bloom, grinning from ear to ear. “Dank je!”
Jess leans an elbow on the counter now, openly grinning like this is her front-row seat to the season finale of a soap opera. Andrea pauses her bouquet wrapping, watching through a curtain of eucalyptus like she’s in a nature documentary.
Then Bas lets go of Abel’s hand and takes a single step toward me—the air shifts. My pulse jumps.
His massive hand disappears into his coat pocket. For a split second, my mind scrambles—does he have something for Abel? For me?
Then he moves. Slow. Deliberate. Kneeling right there on my shop floor, the smell of wet earth and blooms all around us, velvet ring box in his palm.
The room disappears.
Andrea’s sharp inhale, Jess’s whisper of holy shit, the low hum of the flower cooler—all fade until it’s just him and me.
“Amber Rae Bell,” Bas says, voice steady but low, as though the words are meant for me alone.
“I let you go once. I told myself it was to protect you, but the truth is…” His jaw tightens.
“I was terrified. Losing Marieke broke me. Almost losing you destroyed me. I can’t live without you.
I love you. I will always love you. Will you marry me? ”
The world tilts sideways.
He loves me.
He wants to marry me.
Abel’s big blue eyes are locked on me, bright with hope. Jess’s hands are clasped together in silent encouragement. Andrea has gone utterly still, bouquet half-wrapped in her hands.
But all I can feel is the ache—the raw, bruised part of me that still remembers him letting me walk away. The hollow nights. The sharp, splintered edges of knowing he chose his fear over me.
My chest tightens, breath turning shallow. My hands are clammy against the tulips.
I can’t answer.
I won’t.
My legs move before my brain catches up. I rush through the archway to the back, the scent of damp soil, cut stems, and cold water hitting me all at once. My boots crunch faintly on spilt grit as I shove open the back door, stepping into the narrow alley behind the shop.
The winter air bites at my cheeks, stings my lungs.
I press my back to the brick wall, eyes closed, head tipped back.
The tears slip without my permission—silent at first, then hot enough to burn.
My heart feels like it’s been shattered and stitched together a hundred times, only for him to pull the thread loose again.
Two whole minutes pass before I can force myself to go back inside.
When I do, the shop is quiet—unnaturally so.
Jess stands behind the counter, eyes wide.
Andrea has abandoned the bouquet entirely, her gaze locked on me.
Bas is still there, but the sight of him is a punch to the sternum.
He’s slowly rising from one knee, the ring box closing in his hand, slipping back into his pocket like he’s putting away the last piece of hope he had left.
Abel stands clutching his tulip, his little face creased with confusion.
Before Bas can speak, before I can second-guess myself, I dig into my coat pocket and pull out a small, crumpled paper bag. The one I shoved there this morning after driving off the island to a chemist so I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew.
I throw it onto the counter. It skids straight across the top and lands at Bas’s feet.
He frowns. “Amber?”
“Open it,” I say. My voice shakes, but the words are sharp.
He bends down, picks it up, and pulls the top open. His big hands are suddenly awkward, almost clumsy. He pulls out the white stick inside. The faint pink plus sign stares back at him like a brand.
His chest rises sharply, like I’ve hit him.
Abel’s head tilts, his voice small. “Pa?”
Jess gasps, hand flying to her mouth. Andrea’s whisper is barely audible: “Oh my god…”
Bas’s eyes lift to mine. His expression is raw, unguarded. “You’re—”
“Pregnant,” I cut in, my chin trembling. The words slice their way out, each one edged with anger and something far more dangerous—hurt. “Congratulations, Bas. You’ve managed to break my heart and give me a reason to see you for the rest of my life in one go.”
He flinches like I’ve struck him.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “I’m walking out that door before I say something I can’t take back.”
And I do. Out the back again, into the sharp winter air, leaving him there—Abel clutching his tulip, Jess and Andrea frozen in the aftermath, and Bas standing in the wreckage of everything we could have been.