Chapter 4
‘H onestly, Mels, I’ve never met anyone so moody.
Like, I get I did something wrong stepping onto his boat, but did he really have to act like that?
’ Rosie told herself to calm down as she nearly bent the stalks of the flowers she was pushing into the empty wine bottle from yesterday she was using as a vase (minus the label, of course).
She was kneeling on the floor in her favourite old T-shirt.
It had once been a bright, vibrant red, but was now washed out to a pale pink.
With holes in the armpits and tears in the hem, she should really throw it out, but wearing it gave her comfort. It was like a link to home.
Not only was she growing angrier at the way he’d spoken to her, but she was also growing angry with herself because each time she thought about grumpy neighbour Max, she couldn’t help picturing him clutching his hair, his biceps tensing, his neck lengthening and her mind went to kissing him, the hairs of his beard tickling her lips.
‘He could have been a bit more welcoming,’ her sister said, but Rosie could hear the amusement in her voice and picture her at home, grinning at Rosie’s misfortune.
‘Why’re you smiling?’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are– I can hear it. Have you googled handsome men with washboard abs again?’
‘No. I’m on my lunchbreak actually. I’m on lates today.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I should have checked instead of just calling and ranting at you.’
‘It’s okay, I like your ranting. You’re funny.’
‘Thanks,’ Rosie said, in mock annoyance.
‘So what does he look like– this miserable neighbour?’ On the other end of the line, she heard a packet of crisps being torn open.
Her sister only ate salt and vinegar crisps, and Rosie could almost smell them as if they were sitting face to face.
They’d often met for lunch – or dinner, in Rosie’s case, if her sister was on lates at the hospital and she missed her, but this was the next best thing.
‘He’s all right, I suppose.’
Melody chuckled. ‘Come on, I can hear it in your voice. He’s a looker, isn’t he?’
‘Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!’ She gave up trying to push a second stem into the wine bottle and stood up.
Max was out on his deck, so she lowered her voice.
She didn’t need another Beyoncé concert being overheard.
‘He’s got this gorgeous hair and a nice beard that makes me want to run my fingertips over it and—’
‘Wow, you’ve got it bad.’
‘It’ll pass,’ Rosie said, more to convince herself than Melody. ‘You know I can never date someone who’s miserable and hates laughing. How’s the ward, anyway?’ She desperately needed to move the conversation on before she started imagining kissing him again.
‘Chaos. But I’ve got lovely patients so I don’t mind. Listen, just ignore his crankiness and be your normal irritatingly cheerful self. You’ll bring him round eventually.’
‘I don’t think I will. I’ve never met anyone more determined to be unhappy. I can see him now, actually.’ She peered through the window to see Max back on his deck, smacking paint onto the canvas with a huge brush.
‘Ooh... what’s he doing?’
He was frowning, as per usual. His brows were drawn together in concentration, or consternation; she wasn’t quite sure which. Yet again, his broad shoulders tensed as he wielded the brush and Rosie grew hot.
‘Being a brooding artist.’
‘He does sounds sexy. Like Byron or Shelley.’
‘They were poets.’
‘So...? Fine. Like Caravaggio or something.’
‘Better, but this isn’t the eighteen hundreds, and didn’t they all die of syphilis or something?’
‘Do you think he has syphilis?’
‘No.’ She glanced again at the biceps. ‘Have I ever had a thing for arms before?’
‘Arms?’ Her sister burst out laughing. ‘I don’t think so. Shoulders yes, arms no. Has he got good ones?’
‘Mm-hmm. Oh, hey, have you asked that hot doctor out yet?’
Her sister groaned. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ Rosie heard the phone adjust, which meant Melody was calling from the staffroom and someone else was there.
She’d been lusting after her work crush, Dr Marsh, for at least eight months but hadn’t done anything about it.
Rosie, on the other hand, was always happy to ask guys out if she wanted to.
The worst that happened was they said no, and she always figured nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Blokes did it all the time, getting knocked back more often than not, she presumed, so why shouldn’t a woman in the twenty-first century?
But even though she could do that, she hadn’t met anyone who’d made it past date three.
She glanced at Max. She wouldn’t be asking him out anytime soon even if her hormones did go into overdrive when she looked at him.
She wasn’t willing to make room for negativity in her life.
‘You’d wait forever for a man to ask you out. You should just do it yourself. Don’t be scared to make the first move.’
‘I just can’t, okay. Don’t bug me about it.’
‘I’m not bugging you, but you need to do something.
I know how much you like this guy.’ Rosie swapped over two of the flowers and placed the bottle-cum-vase on the tiny windowsill behind the sofa.
The light shone off the bright yellow petals, making her smile.
‘Just walk up to him and say, “Hey, would you like to have a coffee tomorrow?” Job done.’
‘I can’t do that!’ Melody squealed.
‘Yes, you can– and by the end of this week, please.’
‘Why the end of this week?’
Unable to stand still, Rosie moved one of the small plants she’d bought earlier, now in a vibrant, blue-glazed pot, and turned it so the long, ivy-like leaves trailed down over the edge of the tiny shelf. ‘Because you’ve been putting it off for long enough. I’m giving you a deadline.’
‘That’s not much of a threat. You’re in Amsterdam; you can’t do anything about it if I don’t.’
‘I can. I can ring you up all hours of the day and night singing, “just ask him out, just ask him out”.’ Rosie stood up and began dancing around the tiny galley, repeating the phrase over and over again.
Her sister started to giggle, and she began to sing louder.
Max’s voice penetrated her good mood like a knife jabbed into a balloon.
‘Can you keep it down in there!’
‘Oh my God, was that him?’ Melody asked.
Rosie peered out of the window to where Max was standing, paintbrush in hand, his feet planted. Annoyance had hardened his features into a scowl. She ducked down onto the sofa and lowered her voice. ‘See how grumpy he is! You could you hear him down the phone and I wasn’t even singing that loud.’
‘You were a bit loud. Everyone could hear you here in the staffroom.’
‘Oh. Sorry. Sorry, Melody’s colleagues!’
‘That’s all right,’ came a muffled reply, followed by laughter.
‘They think you’re mad.’
Rosie ignored this. ‘I told you, though: the grumpiest man in the world.’
Max was back to slapping paint onto the canvas as though it owed him money.
The sun was setting now, the sky glowing with golden strands, the water of the canal calm except for the birds speaking to each other as they floated along.
All of a sudden, Max threw down the paintbrush and went and sat on a chair, his head in his hands.
A pang of sympathy nudged her. Whatever he was doing, it didn’t seem to be going very well.
‘He does sound quite cross. Good luck with him, Rosie-Roo.’ She heard Melody stand and gather the empty packets from her lunch. ‘Maybe it’s best to avoid him in future.’
She thought about taking him a cup of tea, knowing how someone making her one always cheered her up when she was feeling low, but she wasn’t sure what greeting she’d get.
Actually, she was sure. She was one hundred per cent certain he’d tell her to go away and maybe even not that kindly.
No, she’d stay here and let him get over himself.
It wasn’t her job to fix everyone else’s life.
‘I’ll do my best.’
She drew her eyes away. She had some work to do before she opened her pitch on Saturday, like finding suppliers for one and checking her bank balance to see what she could actually afford to spend.
She’d already clocked the prices the competition was charging so she knew what sort of margins she’d be making and it was going to form the basis of her business plan, which she really needed to get started on if she was going to take it to the Marktbureau tomorrow.
It wouldn’t be much for now, but it would be enough to live on if she didn’t go partying every night, and hopefully the talks would prove popular and give her a little extra too.
‘I better go,’ her sister said.
‘Yeah, me too. I’ve still got a lot to sort out before I open my stall. I need to come up with a name, too. What do you think to Rosie’s Blooms?’
‘It’s sweet. I like it.’
‘You don’t think it’s a little boring?’
‘Maybe a little,’ Melody conceded. ‘But you’ll think of something. I know you will.’
‘Thanks. I love you.’
‘Love you too.’
‘And ask Dr Marsh out by the end of the week, okay? And I won’t take no for an answer!’
‘Fine,’ her sister huffed, but then Rosie heard her blow her a kiss into the phone as they said goodbye.
Rosie, with one last look at Max who still had his head in his hands, went back to organising her plants and flowers.
The Forget-Me-Knot was looking more and more like a home with each passing day.
What had begun as a drab, tatty boat was now blooming with new life and colour.
There was still the drippy tap she needed to sort out, but she’d found a hammer in the cupboard under the sink and was going to give it a whack with that if it carried on dripping.
For now, though, she had to write her business plan, ready for her grand opening on Saturday.
She resisted the urge to squeal in excitement for fear of disturbing Max and settled down with her phone and a to-do list, even though her eyes kept wandering to the window and the sexy, brooding artist living next door.