Chapter 12
T he next day, Rosie closed the market stall at lunchtime, determined to stick to her word and explore the city.
Finn had given another talk that morning, though the crowd was slightly smaller, she’d been pleased to see.
As he’d finished, a flash of something strange had flittered across his face.
If she’d been feeling sympathetic, she might have called it shame, but she quickly decided it couldn’t be, given that he hated her so much.
A few people had turned up at her shop, having heard about her herb talks, and she spoke to them for far longer than she would have if she’d had to speak in front of twenty people.
It had been lovely, a special one-to-one conversation.
They’d asked questions that she’d been able to answer thanks to her mum’s books.
It had been incredibly rewarding in a way her previous jobs never had been, and this raised her spirits.
She felt guilty tak ing the afternoon off when she really should have been working every hour she could to try and up her takings, but something about the conversation she’d had with Emma, Brechtje and Noah had rung true for her.
She’d worked hard to get here and deserved to enjoy the city for a few hours.
What’s more, she definitely had to think of a way of driving more business down to her tiny stall and her best ideas always came when she was least expecting them.
Ignoring Finn’s gleeful face as he watched her close up early, she left the market and put on her shades as the sun’s warm, bright rays hit her eyes. Where to start?
She began with the Rijksmuseum; after all, it was a major tourist attraction and from there she’d wander and see what she found.
The museum didn’t disappoint and after staring at the Vermeers and Rembrandts, she felt like she’d ticked something off her bucket list. As she hadn’t yet had lunch, she decided to visit the De Pijp neighbourhood, home to some of the best food shops around, according to Emma.
Rosie wandered the narrow paved streets in awe, passing cafés, restaurants, food stalls and more.
Different nationalities and backgrounds mixed here with such a vibrant energy that the place itself felt alive, as if every street had its own personality.
London had a similar feel, but the vibe was always more frenetic, as if everyone was searching for the next thing to do, or see, or feel.
It was exhausting. Devoid of canals, this area of Amsterdam felt entirely different to the one she’d grown used to.
As she e xited a shop, she saw Max at the window of an art gallery, staring at the large canvas displayed in the window.
It was a painting of a tulip in an Andy Warhol style and if Rosie could afford to, she would have bought it for the Forget-Me-Knot .
She marched over and stopped at his side.
‘I like that piece, don’t you?’
Max turned to her in surprise before looking back at the window. ‘What are you doing here? Are you following me?’
If he’d said this when they’d first met, she wouldn’t have been able to identify the slight teasing tone to his voice, but as she’d had a few conversations with him now, she caught the intonation.
‘You wish,’ she joked. ‘Actually, I’m having an afternoon off and exploring Amsterdam.’
‘Yeah? Good.’ He seemed to approve. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Only the Rijksmuseum so far and—’
‘Pfft.’
‘What? What’s that noise for? Surely you approve of me seeing the Rembrandts and the beautiful art the Dutch are famous for.’
‘I do, but it’s so... so—’
‘So what?’ She crossed her arms over her chest, looking him in the eye. She caught the way his gaze flittered down to her vest top and a bolt of electricity flew to her toes.
‘So touristy.’ He shrugged. ‘There are many more exciting places to go.’
‘Like where?’ He could give her a list if he was that clever.
‘Like the Houseboat Museum, some of the art galleries here and across town, De Koffieschenkerij .’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a café in the cloister gardens of the Oude Kerk . That means Old Church. It’s one of the most beautiful and peaceful places in the whole of Amsterdam. And...’ A mischievous glint came into his eye. ‘There’s definitely somewhere else you should go too.’
‘Oh yeah? Where’s that?’
‘It’s the—’ He paused as if catching himself or considering what to say next. He glanced around, and then said, ‘Actually, I can show you if you want?’
‘You?’
‘Yes, me.’ He rolled his eyes, his tone cross. ‘Do you want me to show you or not?’
A wide grin spread across her face as the sun glinted in his eyes, making them sparkle.
‘Go on then. Where do we start?’
He took a breath in, taking in the city as though mapping the best route. ‘There is somewhere I think you’ll love. Come on. Where’s your bike?’
‘My...?’
‘Bike. Two wheels? You ride it around the city. Looks like that—’ He turned her by the shoulders to look at someone cycling past.
The feel of his hands on her bare skin sucked the air from her lungs, but she spun back to face him and suddenly they were closer together than she’d realised, face to face.
Electricity filled the air as neither of them pulled away.
Her mind had gone blank, but she recalled quickly the remark she’d planned in response to his sarky comment.
‘I know what a bike is, thank you very much. The truth is, I prefer walking. I’ve never been that great on two wheels. ’
She’d tried riding once in London and had nearly been murdered by half a dozen taxis, two London busses and even a couple of pedestrians.
By the time she’d got to work, her life had flashed in front of her eyes in cinema-quality detail and she’d hadn’t been that impressed by what she’d seen.
All that added to her racing heartbeat, as she was woefully unfit, had put her off the two-wheeled contraptions for life.
‘Cycling is the only way to get around Amsterdam. It’s not a huge city but if you want to see the best bits in the next—’ He checked his watch. ‘Three hours, you better get one.’
‘How?’
He rolled his eyes again, but Rosie could tell he wasn’t really annoyed. ‘From a rental shop. This way– there’s one around the corner.’
Of course there was. And though the thought filled her with dread, Max was right. Everyone in Amsterdam rode a bike, so she followed him to the shop and was soon wearing a cycling helmet and mounting a cute dark red bike with a small basket on the front.
‘Ready?’ he asked, sitting astride his.
‘No, not really.’
‘Just try it. Go up and down a little first.’
With a huff she pushed off and wobbled a bit before careening to the side and narrowly missing a pedestrian who ran out of her way.
‘Sorry! Sorry!’ she called out while trying to stand upright and righting the bicycle.
‘What was that?’ Max asked, stroking his beard in an attempt to hide his laughter.
‘It was me riding my bike,’ she replied, readjusting her helmet. ‘My hat’s too big and it distracted me.’
Max propped his bike against a lamppost and went to her. ‘It’s a helmet, not a hat.’ He adjusted the strap, his fingers brushing her skin, his eyes flicking to hers then back to the strap. ‘Is that better?’ She nodded, unable to speak. ‘Try again.’
Rosie cast off again, screeching as she did so. After a second, the wobbling subsided, and she got the hang of riding up and down the street, turning and even ringing the little bell just for fun. ‘I’m doing it!’ she declared with a giggle. ‘I’m actually riding and not dying!’
‘I’ll ride beside you,’ Max replied, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. ‘So you aren’t next to the traffic. That’s it, you’re doing great.’
A second later he was by her side, slightly ahead as he led the way.
Rosie smiled. She was actually beginning to enjoy herself.
The pace was much more sedate than in London and as so many areas were marked out for bikes only, she felt perfectly safe.
She followed Max’s directions and fifteen minutes later they pulled in at their first stop.
‘Where are we?’ she asked, staring up at another typical canal house with its tall narrow windows and gabled roof.
‘This is Museum Van Loon.’
‘Oh,’ Rosie replied, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. The building was gorgeous, but she was hoping to see more than just museums. She wanted to see the spots the locals went to.
‘This is a must-see in Amsterdam. It was a palace built in 1672 and inside it has remained the same since the seventeenth century.’
Well, that was quite impressive. ‘We’d better go in and have a look then.’
If Max was being kind enough to show her some of the best things Amsterdam had to offer, it would be childish to argue, and the locals she’d met were certainly proud of their history.
She had to admit the house was stunning and they wandered around admiring the furniture, the architecture and the ornaments decorating each room. A couple of times, when Rosie and Max found themselves in a small room along with other people, he scowled and tutted.
‘What’s the matter?’ Rosie asked.
‘Tourists,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘What about them?’
‘I hate them. They’re everywhere, with their large backpacks, hitting everything and everyone.’
‘I’m sure they don’t mean to.’ She tried to hide the laugh in her voice.
‘Why is that funny?’
‘Because it’s just so grumpy. I’m a tourist too, technically.’
‘Yes, but you’re slightly less annoying than they are, but only because you don’t have a backpack.’
‘I’m starting to wish I did, just so I could hit you with it.’
‘Ha ha.’ They edged out into the corridor. ‘Actually,’ Max said, ‘this isn’t the best bit. Not for someone like you, anyway.’
‘Someone like me?’ Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘What does that mean?’
‘You’ll see.’