Page 12 of You've Got The Love
The windmill is huge, and it’s white—I think—with what looks like a one-story home attached to the side of it built out of beautiful, old-looking grey flagstone bricks. The sails are ginormous, so much bigger than I ever imagined they’d be, not that I spent too much time thinking about windmills. The grounds surrounding his home look breathtaking, well, what I could see of them anyway. When we pulled up here after dropping off his truck at the depot and getting into his car, I was awestruck. I could just make out a lake of some kind, with a little dock, but with it being past midnight here, I only had the moonlight to see by. The sky is so clear with hundreds of stars. It’s otherworldly. I can’t wait until the morning so I can see everything clearly. Italmost makes me forget everything that’s happening, but not quite.
Bas lets us into a mudroom of sorts; it’s full of boots, shoes, and trainers all neatly on racks, and fishing rods and tackle boxes on the opposite side of the room. It’s pretty big in here, but everything has its place, which is surprising considering he’s a guy. Maybe he’s one of those rare species of men who are tidy. It wouldn’t surprise me; everything about him is perfect.
I slip off my boots and scrunch my feet into the rug in the hallway. It's so nice to have my boots off after all those hours. I can’t help but look around at everything. Framed pictures line the hall of Abel, Bas, others I assume, are family, and a beautiful dark-haired woman I know is Marieke. She is stunning. You know those women who are naturally beautiful, and you can tell just by looking at her that she’s kind. That’s her. We couldn’t look any more different. I’m blonde to her brunette, curly to her straight hair, pale to her olive skin, plus she is so elegant, and I’m… well, I’m not. It makes me feel terrible comparing myself to her, but I just can't help it. I think it’s a woman thing, we can’t help but torture ourselves, and it just shows how I’m truly not Bas’ type, not that it matters.
“Tea?” Bas calls from somewhere deeper in the house. Sorry,windmill. Eeek. I’m in a windmill.
I continue my exploration, wanting to see everything all at once. I love all the pictures he has up, showing fun memories and good times. He’s a good dad, I know I haven’tever seen him with his son, but I can just tell. He really cares about him, and from the pictures, you can tell they are tight. Abel is the spitting image of Bas. Another heartbreaker will be loose in the world one day. He’s got Bas’s dimple, his hair, and his smile. That smile that always looks like he’s laughing at an inside joke that no one else has any idea about.
As I get to the doorway to the kitchen, I halt, unable to move as I watch Bas moving around his kitchen, making tea, and humming to himself. His kitchen is beautiful. It’s veryNorwegian—strange given that we are inHolland. The kitchen features all pale wood, gleaming stainless-steel appliances, and white marble countertops. But the showstopper, besides its very handsome owner, will surely be the huge window behind the butler sink, which I think will look out over the lake.
As I hold onto the doorframe, I feel texture under my fingers and look to see notches with Abel’s growing height. My God, this man just makes me fall for him more and more. My grandmother had all her grandkids’ height notched into the kitchen doorframe too, and I used to love seeing if I’d grown every morning, which of course I hadn’t, but it made her laugh.
“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” I say quietly, mesmerised by him. “Is it okay if I call my dad?”
“Of course, you don’t need to ask permission, Bell.”
I jog back to the mud room and grab my bag with all the burner phones. My heart is pounding in my throat asI make my way back to the kitchen. I can’t wait to speak to Dad, Andrea, and Jess. I dump the phones on the big kitchen island and grab a random one, instantly dialling Dad’s number. I get impatient immediately as I listen to the strange dial tone, the one when you get when you’re abroad.
“Yeah?”
“Dad, it’s me.”
“Thank fuck, babygirl, I was worried sick,” his voice is gruff, like he’s swallowed gravel.
“I’ve made it, I’m away and safe,” I say, making eye contact with Bastiaan and giving him a small, grateful smile.
“Okay, good. Let me call you back so I know we can talk freely.” Dad ends the call abruptly, which makes me smile. That’s so typical Dad.
“What did he say?” Bas asks, looking confused, but also totally sexy as he leans against the island in front of me, arms out wide, big hands splayed on the countertop behind him, showing off his impressive forearms and tattoos. I had no idea he had so many. Both arms are covered in ink, and it disappears up his sleeves. I wonder where else he has tattoos.
“Amber?” Bas calls.
Fuck, I completely spaced out while I was ogling him.
“Oh, erm… he’s going to call me back on a safe line, or something.”
With my face red hot, the phone in my hands starts ringing.
“Dad?”
“Where are you? You’ve left the fuckin’ country?”
“How do you know that?”
“The dial tone is different. Where are you?”
“Oh, I’m inHollandwith Bas.”
“Who the fuck is Bas? What kind of name is that?” Dad sounds pissed.
“He’s the flower delivery guy that comes over fromHolland. It’s a Dutch name, short for Bastiaan.”
“You left the country with a fuckin’ stranger? Amber, I thought you were smarter than that!”
“He’s not a stranger, Dad. He’s a good friend. I’ve known him for a few years now.”
“What type of friend?”
