. . . a boat in the water
‘Maybe this was a bad idea,’ I say.
I shove my hands further in my pockets as we amble towards the water.
Initially I placed them there out of nerves, but the longer we walk the more I realise what a godsend it is.
Strolling on the grass and through the beautifully bloomed parks and artsy side streets was great during the day, but, as the sun begins to droop lower in the sky, the evening has unearthed a new chill.
That’s what I get for treating spring like it’s summer, just because I’m on an extended holiday.
‘Chill,’ Noah says. ‘This is going to be fun.’
His face is overcome with joy as he practically skips towards the meeting point. The way he was acting you would think this was his stupid plan, but no. This bright idea was entirely mine.
‘Fun for you, maybe. I found a real winner,’ I say, bragging.
‘And you don’t think I picked well with Henry?’ he asks.
‘Hendrik,’ I correct him. ‘Our texts have been fine, I guess. But, ugh, I don’t know. I just hate online dating.’
‘I know. That’s why we’re leaning in slowly and conquering this one together.’
In hindsight, I don’t know why I suggested that we use our profiles to pick dates for each other. It gave Noah way too much power – power that went right to his head.
‘What if he’s a catfish? Or a murderer? Or one of those guys who claps when the plane lands?’ I start fretting.
‘If he’s a catfish I’ll laugh, if he’s a murderer we’ll run, and if he’s a clapper we’ll have to boot him into the water there and then.’
After meticulously scanning the apps for someone for me, Noah settled on tonight’s date, Hendrik, a personal trainer in the city with a penchant for pedal-boating, apparently.
‘Henrik will be fun!’ he says.
‘Hendrik,’ I correct him again.
‘And if he’s not, you can quite literally jump ship to our boat. That was the point of this – to have each other’s backs.’
No, the point was to watch him presumably squirm on a serious date. Yet here he is, taking it in his stride.
Hendrik is already waiting by the canal’s edge when we rock up, and I do an internal jump for joy that his pictures accurately represent the man standing before me.
He’s tall and muscular, with sandy-blonde hair that flops to the side as his head tilts to take me in.
I shrink into my jeans, Converse and camisole as his eyes very slowly scan me from top to bottom.
‘You’re good-looking,’ he says, after what feels like for ever.
His tone is clinical, like a factory seal of approval.
‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling.
It’s tight and strained, but for that I blame the nerves.
Noah insists we go ahead and rent our boat while he waits for his date alone.
She’s texted that she’ll be ten minutes more, which I insist is a fine time to wait with him but one glance at Hendrik’s face and I can see he disagrees.
So we amble down to the port and Hendrik talks to the operator, kindly paying for the both of us despite my obvious reach for my purse.
Then he makes his way into our boat before holding out a hand to help me.
I hold my breath and suck in my stomach, and pray that I look cute and graceful.
As we sit I can see Noah strolling over to the operator, hand in hand with a beautiful, raven-haired woman.
She throws her head back and laughs, and he pulls her in closer – an act that makes her blush profusely.
Her hair catches the last of the setting sun, shine rippling off the long waves that bounce behind her while she walks.
He’s smiling. I’d say beaming, even. I make a mental note to hold my matchmaking skills over him when we get back.
‘Have you done this before?’ Hendrik asks, snapping me back to our boat.
‘No, never,’ I reply.
He looks shocked. He doesn’t remember our conversation, probably because he’s had ten others just like it this week. I wonder how often he takes girls pedal-boating.
He dedicates a good couple of minutes to talking me through the mechanics of riding one of these things and I sit there patiently, nervously trying to commit it to memory.
But once we get started, I realise that the term ‘pedal boat’ is quite literal – you put your feet on the pedals and the boat will move.
With the tutorial out of the way, we get started and slowly make our way down the canal.
‘So, did you grow up here?’ I ask.
‘No, Utrecht – about thirty miles away. Moved here at twenty to start taking my career seriously.’
‘Oh, yeah, personal training, right?’ I ask.
I committed his profile to memory before leaving the hotel room. I wanted to make sure I could put my best foot forward and leave no room for awkward silence. Plus, I felt it was important to have all my facts straight in case he did turn out to be a murderer.
‘Yeah, personal training.’ He nods. ‘It’s tough, but it’s very fulfilling. Great to see people transform right in front of me.’
‘That’s so sweet,’ I say.
The boat keeps getting faster as his legs move at twice the speed of mine. I catch him stealing glances at my own and feel a wave of shame rush over me. He can definitely tell that I’ve skipped the last ten years of leg days. I speed up.
‘Yeah, I try to do my part. Do you go to the gym?’ he asks.
I lie. ‘Yeah, I love it!’
My thighs are burning.
‘Which one have you been going to here?’ he asks.
‘I only got here yesterday and I’m leaving again on Friday,’ I say.
It’s not enough – he still waits. I try again.
‘I haven’t had a chance to sign up yet.’
And I won’t be signing up at all. Who joins a gym on holiday, let alone when they’re in a city for less than a week?
‘I can probably get you into mine.’
‘You’re too kind,’ I say.
‘I offer three free sessions a month. It’s a great way to attract new clients,’ he continues.
He rows even faster. My denim-clad thighs thrash against each other as I try to keep up.
‘Shall we stop for a bit? The lights are so pretty, I’d love to have a proper look,’ I ask.
I try to sound as breezy as I can, but even I can hear the breathlessness in my voice. He chuckles.
‘We’re only just gaining momentum,’ he says, glancing at his sports watch. ‘I just reached an active heart rate. If we don’t keep this up, then there’s no way I’ll tap into my peak zone.’
I nod in agreement and do my best to blink back my metaphorical tears. Of all the ways we could have activated our heart rates, this was not top of my list. He picks up speed again.
‘So, what’s your personal gym routine like?’ I ask.
His eyes light up and my stomach quells. That should keep him busy for a bit. I zone out as he rambles about Kgs and PBs, preserving my breath for the pedalling.
By the time our ride comes to a close, we’re so far ahead of Noah and his date that we’re left waiting idly by the canal’s edge.
The conversation’s still flowing, thankfully.
Hendrik can talk enough for us both once you get him started on anything fitness related.
I listen closely while he takes me through his weekly meal plan, my eyes darting to scan the water for any sign of Noah’s boat.
I hear their laughter a good couple of minutes before they actually pull up at the port.
They’re still holding hands as they pedal and I feel a bitter pang of envy.
His boat looks so much warmer, so much more inviting.
I imagine what it would have been like to go round the canal with him.
Their grins are etched across their faces in permanent marker as Noah helps her out of the boat.
‘You must be Amorie!’ she says, arm linked gleefully around Noah’s. ‘Noah was telling me all about you and your articles!’
I stiffen at the mention of my column, something I am yet to share with Hendrik, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to be listening.
He’s taken the new company as an excuse to flick through his phone and catch up with his clients, who he proudly declared he ‘gives full access to, even outside of hours’.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ I say, smiling. ‘And you’re Adriana? Love your top!’
She’s wearing a basic black cropped cami, but over it sits a purple loose knit, with a dipped hem and big flared sleeves. She’s paired it with some straight-leg jeans and some Converse, both not far from my own but with so much more flair.
‘Thank you! I actually crocheted it myself.’ She tugs at the sleeve bashfully, shrinking into herself, but Noah looks towards her proudly. I just know he made a big deal out of it the second she told him on their date. I’m sure she loved every minute of it.
‘That was fun, right?’ Noah asks, head flicking back towards us.
I glance over to Hendrik, who feels my eyes and shoves his phone back in his pocket.
‘Very. Amorie got the hang of it by the end,’ he replies, before grinning down at me.
I don’t feel much of a spark as our eyes meet, but I do feel general comfort off the back of his quasi-compliment.
I reach for his arm, linking us together and squeezing tightly into him, mirroring the pair standing opposite us.
He follows willingly, squeezing my side in return, one more smile passing between us before we look back out at our company.
‘How’d you two find it?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I was awful!’ Adriana says, the two of them erupting into a fit of giggles. ‘Noah did all the work; I am eternally grateful.’
He shrugs, poorly feigning humility. ‘Well, what can I say?’
‘Noah said you two are here for only two more days?’ she asks me.
‘Yeah, a quick stop here and then off to Berlin,’ I say.
She’s polite and bubbly, and so excited to be here. From what I’ve seen the last week, it seems to be the Noah effect. His unwavering positivity is so nauseatingly contagious that even I got a case of it the first night we met.
‘That’s not enough time.’ She pouts. There’s still somehow a smile in it. ‘You’ll barely see the place! You’ve got to soak in the culture and the neighbouring towns!’
‘Speaking of culture . . .’ Noah says, giving her a playful nudge in the ribs.
‘Ah, yes,’ she says, indulging in their private joke. ‘It’s still early, so Noah and I were going to visit a coffee shop and unwind. Do you two want to come?’
I’ve only done weed once. I ate a brownie Paige made, because I wanted to prove that I could keep up with her friends.
I ended up lying on the floor in the middle of her sleepover convinced I was having a heart attack.
She said it was because it was my first time and I ate it too quickly, when I should have taken it bit by bit.
It was a brownie – of course I ate it in one go.
If it was meant to be rationed, then it should not be that tasty.
I look up at Hendrik. He looks reserved.
‘You can go ahead, but I should probably call it a night. Got my first client at five. Plus, I don’t really go near the stuff,’ he says.
I feel myself untense immediately. Thank you, Hendrik, for the easy out.
‘I should head back too, but you two have fun!’ I say.
‘You can’t go alone this late.’ Noah turns back to his date. ‘Can we reschedule?’
‘No need. I’ll escort Amorie back,’ Hendrik says.
Noah and I both turn to him in shock.
‘I would love that,’ I say coolly.
‘Are you sure?’ Noah asks, scanning my face for any signs of distress.
‘Of course I am,’ I say, as reassuringly as I can. ‘Enjoy yourself.’
Hendrik grins, takes my hand, we say our goodbyes and then slowly leave Noah and his date in the distance.
I look up the route home on my phone and Hendrik suggests we do the walk as it’s only forty-five minutes.
I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from ridiculing his use of ‘only’ and nod along, channelling the fitness queen I want him to think I am.
Amsterdam’s so different by night, the calming dew of the daytime replaced with bright lights and buzzing people.
The streets are louder and colder, with people packed into bars and rowdy party boats that yell at us as they sail through the water.
We walk across the bridge hand in hand, stop at the market for stroopwafels and I marvel at how different they taste when warm and fresh.
He shakes his head and insists it’s the only way to have them, and I agree, promising to never have them any other way again.
By the time we reach the hotel, I’m a sweet treat down and my thighs feel a little bit less like jelly.
The bar is low, though – practically on the floor.
A place I also may end up if I walk anywhere but upstairs to my bed.
‘I had fun tonight,’ he says, awkwardly hovering outside the entrance.
‘Me, too,’ I say, smiling up at him.
I don’t know the etiquette here . . . It’s too soon to invite him in, and, honestly, I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.
He’d take one look at the twin room I’m sharing with Noah and immediately run for the hills.
I suppose I could ask to go back to his, but I don’t really think we’re there yet.
We haven’t even kissed. Are we going to kiss?
Is he planning to kiss me? I haven’t kissed anyone sober since my last relationship. God, this is all so terrifying.
‘How long are you here?’ he asks.
‘Until Friday,’ I say again.
‘Do you have plans tomorrow? I’d like to see you again.’
He’s very direct. It makes him more attractive.
‘Yeah, tomorrow sounds good.’
‘You could come to the gym. I could coach you through a session!’
I feel queasy at the thought.
‘Actually, I think the pedals might have done something to my ankle . . . It feels a little messed up,’ I lie quickly, subtly shifting to one foot. ‘How about something stationary?’
He frowns ever so slightly. ‘I can only do lunch. Does that work for you?’
I nod back. He whips out his phone, I assume committing it to his diary.
‘Cool, see you tomorrow.’ He grins.
And then he walks away, leaving me outside my hotel without even a hug.
I freeze there for a moment, processing the abrupt exit before shaking it off and walking inside. Maybe he’s just a hyper-gentleman. I’m sure they must exist somewhere. Who’s to say Hendrik isn’t the pinnacle of well-mannered men?
I shower as quickly as I can, throw on my pyjamas and nestle into my bed where I immediately feel my limbs grow heavy.
I can’t. I promised Noah a post-date debrief tonight and I am a woman of my word.
So, I reach for the one thing with any chance of stimulating me enough to keep me awake and start typing.
Date 3 – The Pedal-Boat Prince
Turns out I may have been a bit premature in my total abandonment of dating apps. Last night, I learnt that the online dating pond might not just be laden with frogs after all . . .