Chapter 13
‘W here are we going?’ Rosie asked Max as they met on the dock by their boats three days later. It was late morning and though she’d been loath to miss a day’s trading, Max had insisted it was the only time to see what he had in mind.
‘You’ll see,’ he replied with a grin. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans despite the heat of the day and Rosie forced herself to look away from his chest. The way the T-shirt clung to the ridges and grooves of muscle made her heart flutter.
He’d trimmed his beard, she noticed. It was cut closer than before, hinting at the strong jawline underneath.
Had he done that for her? The idea filled her with excitement.
‘Well, am I dressed okay?’ she asked, signalling to her denim shorts (black this time) and a simple white vest top. She’d also worn her favourite trainers, unsure of what t hey’d be doing, but pretty certain they’d be a good fit no matter what.
Though she hadn’t been fishing for compliments, the way he glanced at her, his eyes running up her legs and the curves of her waist, to her chest and face, sent a thrill into her tightening muscles. His eyes widened as if seeing her properly for the first time.
He cleared his throat. ‘You look fine.’
Okay, that wasn’t quite what she was hoping for based on his reaction, but that was all right. She was beginning to learn that Max was a man of very few words and didn’t enthuse about anything.
He made a sound in the base of his throat. ‘Let’s get going.’
‘Wait! I have something for you.’ He paused, clearly surprised and she spun back into the depths of the galley to grab his gift. ‘Here.’ She handed over a plant in a bright blue pot. ‘This is Mandy.’
He frowned. ‘Mandy?’
‘Mandy. She’s a Haworthia fasciata alba .
I wanted to thank you for the other afternoon– and for today– and.
.. her leaves reminded me of your painting.
’ They were thick, striped and pointed, like the swipes of colour on the canvas.
‘And she’s non-toxic so you don’t have to worry about Zoon.
’ She studied him as he stared at the plant, turning the pot in his hands to study it from all angles. ‘You don’t like it.’
His eyes suddenly lifted to hers. ‘No, I do. I know just where I can put her but... Mandy?’
She giggled. ‘All right, you can rename her if you like, but it has to be a woman’s name. She’s definitely a girl. You can leave her here till later.’
She took the plant back and closed the door behind her.
They began to walk through the city, and once again Rosie took a moment to appreciate the gorgeous houseboats lining the canal.
It was becoming a familiar sight now but one she knew she could never tire of.
Not like the tower blocks and glass offices of London.
Seeing the other houseboats, she knew she needed to do some more work on the Forget-Me-Knot , prettying it up so it looked as good as the others.
She quite fancied having a giant forget-me-not flower painted on the side.
As they turned off the canal, the houseboats were replaced by the architecture she’d grown used to: merchants’ houses calling back to times gone by, but it was so typically Dutch she couldn’t help but smile when she saw it.
‘What are you grinning at?’ Max asked.
‘The houses. They look so lovely.’
‘Do they?’
‘See! This is exactly why I want to make arrangements that showcase the colours and feel of the city. You live here so you’ve stopped seeing how beautiful it is.’
‘Maybe I just see beauty differently.’
She frowned, her brow creasing ‘How so?’
‘Well, I don’t necessarily see the details, like you do, but I see the beauty in the shapes and colours.’
‘Is that why you paint abstracty work?’ she asked, genuinely interested. She’d never met an artist before and had always wondered what inspired them.
He tutted but didn’t bother correcting her. She’d only said it to annoy him anyway. ‘Correct. For me it’s the feel of something, the emotions it induces, and it doesn’t have to be an object or place either. Sometimes I paint feelings– I know that sounds silly.’
‘No, it doesn’t at all. When I saw that painting on your deck, the one with the blue slashes, I felt...’ She paused and noticed him watching her from the corner of his eye. ‘Sort of...’
When she didn’t finish, he said, ‘Sort of what?’ His tone gentle but eager.
‘Sad, but also angry. It made me think of my mum and how sad I was she wasn’t here anymore and how I used to be so angry at the world that it had taken her from me.’
‘You still miss her a lot,’ Max replied, and it was a statement not a question.
Rosie nodded. ‘Is that the way I was supposed to feel when I saw it?’
‘You should feel whatever is right for you to feel. Art doesn’t tell people what to think or how to act. It should encourage them to connect with it however they want. I’m glad you connected with it somehow.’
‘I’d love to see more of your work. Do you display anywhere?’
‘Not at the moment. It’s been... difficult to get my work into galleries for a while.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’ His tone was a little sharp, as she’d grown accustomed to, but without malice or anger.
‘Sure. Are you going to give me any hints as to where you’re taking me?’
It felt like they’d been walking for only a few minutes, but she’d lost track of where she was.
‘Nope, but if you didn’t come, you’d be the only person in Amsterdam not there.’
‘Sounds intriguing.’
They carried on to Westerpark and as they walked towards the large gate with the legend Milkshake Festival written over the top, Rosie felt her smile widen.
‘What’s this?’
‘It’s the biggest dance festival in Amsterdam, but it’s not just that. It’s about encouraging love, courtesy, respect and tolerance.’
‘A dance festival?’ she exclaimed. ‘Like club music?’
‘Listen—’ Max pointed to his ear and through the chattering crowds she could make out a deep rhythmic bass note. She burst out laughing. ‘What?’
‘This just didn’t strike me as your type of thing.’
‘Why not?’ His face was a picture of indignation, which only made her laugh more.
‘Because dance music is all about letting go, feeling the rhythm, throwing some shapes.’ She started showcasing her best dance moves.
‘And you don’t strike me as a dancer. You strike me as a sitting at the side of a wedding reception doing this.
’ She mimed him drinking from a cup and saucer with shaking, old man hands.
‘Please don’t do that again,’ he replied, deadpan. ‘This festival isn’t just about the music. And don’t be so judgemental– I can dance.’
‘I’m not!’ It truly wasn’t that she was being judgemental, more that he was always so serious that she imagined him liking classical music or something highbrow like that. As a shyness crept into his gaze, she softened. ‘So where do we start?’
‘Hungry?’ he asked, that mischievous look back in his eyes.
Rosie melted once more. When Max relaxed, there was something magnetic about him, something that drew her in.
She didn’t know what it was and normally, if a man had been as grumpy with her as Max had been, she wouldn’t have bothered sticking around.
But the flashes of kindness, the way he’d helped fix the leak and given her some tools, the way he was with Zoon, the way he’d fixed her door without her asking and listened about her mum, told her there was more to him than met the eye.
And, of course, he wasn’t bad to look at either.
‘I’m always hungry,’ she joked.
‘Then let’s start with the food.’ He held out his hand and she took it, enjoying the sensation of his warm palm against her own. ‘Everything is vegetarian or vegan.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s all part of the ethos.’
They browsed the different vendors and settled on black bean tacos that were so delicious she could have eaten them every day for the rest of her life and never grown bored.
They then stopped off for mini Dutch pancakes covered in icing sugar.
As she placed the first bite in her mouth she made a noise of appreciation.
Max’s eyes were on her in a second and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
She felt her cheeks heating under his gaze.
‘Good?’ he asked, his voice a little huskier than usual.
‘Very.’ She held his gaze for as long as she could and it sent her body tingling, but when it came time to place another spoonful in her mouth, she had to look away.
The intensity of his gaze, the way he watched her face, made her heart race and she wasn’t sure how she managed to eat while it was pounding so hard in her chest.
After they’d finished their food, they moved through the crowd, Rosie adoring the smiling faces all around her.
The way everyone dressed was outlandish: some people wearing next to nothing, others in intricate, unusual, brightly coloured costumes.
Feathered headdresses, bikinis– anything and everything– and most with glittery make-up.
The festival reminded her of a smaller Glastonbury.
She’d been a few times in her youth and always loved the friendly vibe but the Milkshake Festival had it in spades.
Perhaps because it was in a smaller area, the feeling was so much more concentrated. Everyone was out to have a good time.
From the corner of her eye she saw Emma, dressed in a blue cowboy hat, cowboy boots, a short bright red skirt and a white T-shirt with a giant pink heart on it. She also had a pink feather boa around her shoulders and pink star-shaped sunglasses. Rosie waved and called out to her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked as Emma enthusiastically approached. ‘And what’s with the outfit?’
‘Everyone dresses up for Milkshake. Well, nearly everyone. Who’s this?’ She eyed Max approvingly and Rosie cleared her throat.
‘This is Max. He’s my neighbour and has been helping me to see the sights.
‘Has he now?’ Rosie flushed as a Cheshire-cat grin spread over Emma’s face.