Chapter 2
R osie awoke to the sun streaming in through the sparkling, newly cleaned windows of the lounge and the sound of water dripping from the tap over the tiny sink.
Last night, as soon as she’d turned the light off and tried to sleep, in the quiet of the boat, she’d heard it drip, drip, dripping away and after that it was all she could hear.
At about midnight, she’d got up and turned the tap as tightly as it would go and even yelled at it to stop, but after hearing a muffled shout from the boat next door, she’d given up, not wanting to disturb her clearly miserable neighbour further.
She’d have to get a plumber to fix it, but the prospect of dealing with that, in Dutch, when she didn’t speak a word of it yet terrified her.
Perhaps a YouTube video would help. There was always advice on there.
For a second, Rosie lay in bed, appreciating the way the sun’s rays shone onto her new rug through a gap in the curtains and a few dust motes danced in the light.
She enjoyed the gentle sway of the boat on the water and smiled.
She’d chosen this– this new life, this new adventure.
And a slightly drippy tap wasn’t that big a problem in the grand scheme of things.
Today she had to go and try her best to land a spot at the floating flower market and that was exactly what she intended to do.
If she didn’t, she’d have to take whatever job she could get to pay the rent, and she hadn’t come all this way to wait tables or work in a dingy office like she’d been doing back home.
Stretching luxuriously, like a cat after a particularly nice nap, she jumped out of bed and opened the curtains next to her bed, letting even more of the already warm sunshine flood into the galley.
She dressed in her favourite denim shorts and T-shirt and threw on her old trainers.
She’d never been one for much make-up so after applying the bare minimum and brushing her teeth, she was ready to grab a coffee and be at the Bloemenmarkt as early as possible.
Obviously, the vendors would all be there.
Florists always started early, taking their deliveries while the sky was still dark or the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon.
It was one of the things she was looking forward to with her new job.
She’d always loved that feeling of being awake when the rest of the world was still asleep.
Grabbing her handbag, she left the boat, enjoying the warmth on her face.
As she strode through the city, smiling at the cyclists who, she was surprised to see, returned her smiles, unlike their moody London counterparts, she marvelled at the lack of traffic.
Of course there were cars on some of the roads, but it was wonderful being in such a pedestrianised city after the hustle and bustle of London.
People just seemed so much more content.
Rosie stared at the historic buildings in the typical style she’d come to associate with Amsterdam: five storeys tall, slim but with a facade full of windows, the old merchant-house styles that tilted at impossible angles.
Down a narrow alley she saw a sofa being winched into one of the narrow houses and smiled.
The modern houses didn’t have that issue, but even they seemed to fit this beautiful city.
Desperate for a caffeine fix (and not the boring instant coffee she’d bought) Rosie stopped at a beautiful café on the corner of a busy street that ran alongside one of the canals.
Inside, she could already smell apples and cinnamon from the famous Dutch pancakes and the deep, aromatic bitterness of coffee.
Whilst she’d been busy cleaning yesterday, she hadn’t yet made a shopping list of food she needed.
She’d have to do that this afternoon and stock up the kitchen cupboards.
Not that she could buy much given the lack of space in the houseboat, but she considered that a good thing.
She’d buy fresh food and eat seasonally, support as many local business as she could find, rather than supermarkets.
She sat at a table watching the boats moored in the canal and assessing the plants hanging from the baskets attached to the railings.
She spotted petunias in blues, pinks and purples, the gorgeous clumps flowing over the railings in dots of colour, their sweet smell chasing away any hint of canal water.
A young waiter, about the same age as her, appeared, his blond hair tied back into a man-bun.
She’d never really liked man-buns but this man wore it well.
Perhaps it was his chiselled jaw and Roman nose that made it work.
Rosie smiled. If this was what Amsterdam had to offer she would definitely enjoy it here.
She’d been on quite a few dates in her time but hadn’t ever really clicked with anyone enough to make it a long-term relationship.
Perhaps that would change too now she was building a new life.
Her small bed would be a squeeze but..
. it could also be fun. When talking about her dad, her mum had always said she’d met ‘the one’ when she’d least expected it.
The memory of her smiling face leapt into Rosie’s mind and she was grateful for the waiter interrupting her thoughts before the pain that always followed these memories surfaced.
Rosie smiled again, and tried once more with some of the Dutch she’d been learning on Duolingo. ‘Umm... hallo! Kan ik umm... order the Dutch pannen– pannenkoeken and umm... a latte... please?’
He smiled and spoke in perfect English, his white teeth visible as he grinned. ‘Dutch pancakes and a latte?’
Rosie beamed with pride that though her pronunciation may have been a little off, he had at least understood her. ‘Yes, please. Sorry if that wasn’t very good.’
‘It was good! Keep trying.’
She settled back in her seat as he left and spied again the man with the beard who’d scowled at her yesterday as she had eaten her tompouce .
He hadn’t noticed her yet but just as before he was frowning, this time at his phone.
What on earth was his problem? Rosie could never understand those who went through the world determined to be miserable with everything and everyone in it.
She knew her happy-go-lucky personality could occasionally wind some people up, but generally she considered that a them problem rather than a her problem.
There was nothing wrong with looking on the bright side and celebrating the small wins in every day.
Her mum had taught her that. It was a shame though– he was really quite attractive.
His hair was down as it had been before and as the sun shone through it, she could see the strawberry colour more clearly.
She was pretty sure it was naturally wavy and that he hadn’t styled it, and his pale blue eyes were rimmed with pale lashes.
As her breakfast arrived she couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of baked apple once more. ‘Hmm, it smells delicious.’
‘And your latte.’ He placed the coffee on the table and it smelled equally good.
‘Thank you so much. I have to get a picture for my sister as it looks so beautiful.’
It really did. The apples were perfectly golden, the pancake crisping at the edges, and the whole thing had been dusted in icing sugar.
Her latte had the shape of a tulip on top, which she thought was utterly adorable.
She grabbed her phone and snapped some pictures hearing a tut from nearby.
Grumpy-but-gorgeous darted his eyes away and she knew immediately it had been him tutting.
She ignored him. She wanted to remember this moment: her first proper meal in Amsterdam.
It took less time than it should have for her to eat her breakfast. Unladylike it might have been, but she couldn’t help demolishing the gorgeous food as quickly as possible. Once she’d eaten and paid she was ready to find the flower market and set off.
As Rosie approached from the opposite side of the canal to the Bloemenmarkt , she realised she was holding her breath.
Against a backdrop of higgledy-piggledy merchant’s houses was a row of small glass buildings, rather like greenhouses.
Inside were all manner of green leaves and foliage and vibrant-coloured blooms. Some hung down from the ceiling while others overflowed from pots and tubs.
What made it even more beautiful was the way it reflected on the still water of the canal: a slightly darker mirror image.
Rosie let out a slow breath. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and she quickly made her way to the correct side of the flower market to find the entrance.
Again, Rosie paused and took a moment to take it all in.
It was like the biggest flower stall she’d ever seen.
Actually, it was the biggest flower stall she’d ever seen multiplied ten times over and then all stuck together.
It was so unlike the most iconic of London flower markets that it took her a moment to understand why.
Columbia Road Flower Market in London was so tightly packed in that there was barely enough room to walk without bumping into someone.
As usual, in London, everyone seemed in a rush and there was always a subconscious haste to everyone’s actions.
Here, there was room to walk, to see, to appreciate, and no one was bumping into you, shoving you, or huffing until you moved.
Each stall was filled with more varieties of plant than she could count.
Lavender hung from the ceiling and tulips in all colours lined the floor.
There were deep blue irises, white roses, purple hydrangeas and even tiny windmill ornaments that she wanted to steal and place all around her houseboat.
She took video after video, determined to capture the vibrancy of the place to show Melody and her dad.
As she stepped backwards to zoom out, she landed on something unexpected.