Chapter 3
F eeling both overwhelmed and overjoyed, Rosie decided there was only one thing to do: buy flowers.
She stalked the market, finding the best blooms and the cutest pots to decorate the deck of her houseboat so that when she sat outside in the evenings watching the sun set, she’d be surrounded by nature and not the dead, dried-out twigs she’d been looking at since she arrived.
Loaded down with far more items than she could actually carry, she made her way back to her houseboat.
A particularly tall plant (an areca palm with long frondy leaves that would look great in the corner of her living room) kept tickling her nose and blocking her view, but everything was so perfectly and precariously balanced in her arms, she hadn’t been able to stop and adjust it.
She was nearly there. All she had to do was get onto the deck of the Forget-Me-Knot and she could drop it all down.
She walked along the pavement, the boats visible from the corner of her eye.
This was hers, she was sure. She stepped onto the deck, feeling the slight sway of the water and. ..
‘ Kijk eens waar je heen gaat! ’
She didn’t understand the words but the angry tone was clear.
‘Huh? Sorry, I—’ Rosie peered through the fronds of the palm to be met by a man scowling. A bearded man. The handsome bearded man she’d seen before, Grumpy-but-gorgeous , who was perpetually tutting. He was her neighbour!
Great.
As these thoughts ran through Rosie’s mind at breakneck speed, a tiny dog started barking excitedly and sniffing at her feet.
‘Pastry girl!’ Whilst not exactly angry, his tone was definitely annoyed.
‘What? Don’t call me pastry girl or I’ll call you miserable-neighbour-who-didn’t-want-to-say-hello-to-me-and-pretended-you-weren’t-in.
’ A flicker of amusement lit his face, as she tried to get a better look through the fronds of the plant currently tickling her cheek, though his scowl remained intact.
He really was very attractive, with full lips she could imagine kissing her softly, and suddenly Rosie’s body began to heat from the inside.
She cleared her throat and maintained her don’t-mess-with-me attitude. ‘What are you doing on my boat?’
‘You’re on my boat,’ he said coldly, his blue eyes (quite nice pale blue eyes, she had to admit) were hard and glaring. Any amusement had vanished, as though she had imagined it.
‘What?’ she asked, eyes widening in concern. Rosie looked around, then, realising she’d walked past her own home and straight onto his deck. Oh dear.
‘Oh! Whoops! I’m so sorry,’ she replied brightly.
‘I should’ve noticed, shouldn’t I? Your boat’s much tidier than mine.
Well—’ She glanced at the pots of paint, dripping brushes and sheets covering the deck.
‘Sort of, anyway.’ A sound emerged from him, something between a sigh and a laugh.
‘Anyway, it’s nicer than mine at the moment, but mine’ll be spick and span before too long,’ she rambled, as she nodded at the plants and pots in her hands and the areca palm flew in front of her face again, obscuring her vision.
Before she could do anything, he had gently moved it to the side, his fingertip brushing her cheek and setting her skin on fire, especially when she saw him smile.
She really should have asked for the plants to be delivered or made two trips.
She was very aware she was sweating from carrying them in the heat and the one that had been gripped tightly in her fingertips was sliding out of her right hand.
She felt herself tilting and she pressed it against her knee, hoping to hold on to it for a few seconds longer.
All she needed was to get to her own deck.
She tried to take a step backwards but couldn’t because of the dog still sniffing her ankles and wagging its tail enthusiastically.
The corner of the man’s mouth lifted in amusement.
‘Can you just—’
But it was no use. She felt herself leaning further and further to the right, a sense of impending doom growing. The bearded man watched her in silence, his head tilting in the same direction. She was near parallel with the floor now and...
‘Oh no!’ The pot fell from her grasp onto the deck, hitting it with a thud and rolling towards an easel with a huge canvas standing on it.
The dog began to chase it and, as if in slow motion, the pot knocked into the leg of the easel near enough to the side of the deck that it could easily topple and fall into the water.
The easel wobbled and her breath hitched.
The canvas rocked but stayed in place, and just as she was reminding herself to breathe in, everything else in her arms came tumbling out, the finely balanced jigsaw falling apart and the pieces cascading down around her.
He jumped back, his hands in the air. ‘ Godverdomme! ’
‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
‘You nearly knocked my painting over!’
‘It is quite a stupid place to put an easel, don’t you think? Right next to the side of the boat? I mean, the wind might knock it into the water.’
‘What wind?’ He held his hands up. Not a hair on his head moved, making the point for him.
‘Well, if there was wind, I mean.’ She bent down to begin gathering her plants.
He pushed his hands into his hair, gripping the strawberry blond curls, and she spotted strands of copper and sand as the light caught them. ‘You– you– English people!’
‘Hey!’ She shot upright, ignoring the mess at her feet, poking a finger at him. ‘There’s no need for that. It was just an accident.’
‘What did you think you were doing?’
‘I was trying to brighten up my new home.’ Rosie placed her hands on her hips, refusing to be intimidated. She didn’t know if it was the way he was looking at her or the sun that was causing the back of her neck to prickle.
‘No one can carry that much stuff,’ he said crossly. ‘No one. You’re not an octopus!’
Well that was unexpected. She felt a smile pull at her lips and tried her best to press it down. He didn’t smile in return and his eyes remained locked on hers in frustration. Unable to stop herself, she giggled.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘I know. Sorry! It’s just you saying the word “octopus”.’
As if agreeing with her, the dog barked and left the pot, deciding it wasn’t at all interesting and instead returned to Rosie as she tried again to gather up her things. ‘Hello,’ she said, stroking him as he tried to lick her face.
‘You nearly ruined my painting.’
‘Look . . .’ she replied, standing and trying to smooth things over. The dog jumped up, leaning its front paws on her thighs, demanding attention.
‘Zoon, sit.’
The tiny dog did as he was told, his tail wagging so fiercely he wiggled from side to side. Rosie couldn’t tell what breed he was, perhaps a terrier, or part terrier. He had a long snout and slightly wiry hair, but his eyes were bright and lined with pale eyebrows.
‘He’s lovely.’
‘He’s a menace.’
She sensed a slight thawing and glanced again at her neighbour.
His beard was a shade darker than his hair but neatly trimmed close to his strong jawline.
She’d always had a weak spot for strong jaws.
Her dad had always said to never trust a man without a chin, and she’d taken it to heart.
There was something of the Chris Hemsworth about him, though maybe with a bit more angst and a bit less cheerfulness.
‘Listen, I’m sorry about the pot. I didn’t mean to step onto your boat but– wait! Did you say you’re a painter?’ she asked, walking towards the easel. She’d never met a real-life painter before and thought it one of the most amazing professions in the world.
He dashed in front of her, grabbing a paint-splattered sheet and throwing it over the canvas. Zoon took the opportunity to nudge himself closer to her, staring up for another fuss. She was happy to oblige. She’d always loved dogs.
‘Won’t that ruin it?’ she asked, and he audibly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
‘No, it won’t.’
‘Can I see?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Is that a thing? Do painters not show their unfinished work to people?’
‘It is not a thing,’ he replied, speaking slowly and coldly. ‘But it is my thing. Zoon, leave her alone.’
Silence fell as they stared at each other.
He was wearing a paint-spattered T-shirt and jeans that were also patterned with swipes and dots of paint.
With his arms crossed over his chest she could see the bulge in his biceps and had to draw her attention back to his scowling face.
She could just imagine his hands on her waist, hers gripping his biceps as he moved in for a kiss.
She took a deep breath and thought of her old manager at the design company who had sweat patches and a sunburnt bald spot to distract herself.
She had to get her mind off kissing this man because if he did actually smile, she wasn’t sure her body would keep control of itself.
‘Fine,’ she said. It was clearly time to leave. She stepped towards him, and he watched her move closer. Something seemed to fizzle in the air between them, and his eyes locked on hers. Then she bent down to retrieve the pot lying at his feet. ‘I’ll just clear my stuff.’
‘Yes, thank you. Then I might be able to get on with my work.’
There didn’t seem any point in trying to smooth things over, so she gathered up a few more bits and stepped onto the pavement, walking around to her boat and placing a large pot and the areca palm on the deck.
When she turned to go back for more, she was surprised to see he was right behind her, carrying her remaining items onto her boat.
Zoon was, for once, doing as he was told and had remained on The Rembrandt .
‘Here,’ he said a little more gently. ‘Nothing seems to be broken.’
‘Except this.’ She held up one of the green-gold trunks of the areca palm. ‘Poor thing. I’ll have to snip it and hope it grows back.’
‘You like plants, don’t you?’ He gestured at the flowers and pots she’d lugged back with her.
‘Yep. Some people are crazy cat ladies; I’m a crazy plant lady.
’ That small flicker of amusement flashed again over his features, and she stood up, straightening her T-shirt.
‘I’m a florist. That’s why I wanted to come here to work in the floating flower market.
’ She braced herself, ready for him to tell her off for not getting it all delivered.
To her surprise, he nodded but didn’t say anything else.
‘Listen, I am honestly sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t mean to.
Can we, maybe, start again? I’m Rosie.’ She held out her hand and, for a second, he stared at it like it might be a red-hot poker or covered in some kind of dangerous poison and this was all an elaborate assassination attempt.
After glancing at her face, his eyes assessing her features in a way that made her heartbeat skitter, he shook it.
‘Max,’ he replied. The warmth and strength of his hand sent goose bumps up her arm despite the heat from the sun.
It had been a long time since she’d felt an attraction like this.
The men she’d dated back home had been nice and many of them handsome in that put-together way that some women liked.
But she quite liked a man who was a little rougher around the edges.
‘I moved in yesterday,’ she said, forcing her brain to focus on the conversation rather than staring at Max.
‘I know. You were singing very loudly and shouting at taps in the night.’
She hadn’t realised her Beyoncé concert while cleaning had been quite that loud. Her cheeks reddened. ‘I—’
‘I have to go.’
He turned and walked quickly to his boat, never once looking back.
She heard him say something to his dog in Dutch and a second later, the door to the galley slammed shut and Rosie was left with the chaos at her feet, wondering why she had to have the rudest, but also most attractive man in the whole of Amsterdam as her neighbour.