Page 35 of You've Got The Love
He huffs a short laugh, that rare one that feels like a private gift. “I’ll get you a croissant if you survive the week.”
“Gee, thanks. Comforting.”
Inside, the stairwell is narrow and smells faintly of the sea. My boots scuff on the worn wooden steps as I follow him, my bag slung over my shoulder like I’m some exhausted fugitive—which, I guess, I am.
At the top, he unlocks the door with a key from the envelope that was left in the van, in case we needed asafe house, and nudges me inside first. The apartment is small but warm—wooden floors, big windows, and soft light filtering through the overcast evening sky.
Bas bolts the door immediately, checks the locks twice, then does a slow scan of the room. Only then does he set his gun on the counter. That tight knot in my chest loosens just a little.
I drop my bag and sink onto the sofa, my legs shaky from more than the long drive. He disappears into the kitchenette for a moment, opening cupboards, then crouches in front of me, his big hands warm on my knees.
“You okay?” he asks.
I let out a laugh that’s half-bitter, half-shaky. “Define okay.”
He tilts his head, eyes crinkling just a little. “Breathing? Not bleeding?”
“Both of those,” I admit.
“Then you’re okay.”
“You have a really low bar for wellness,” I tease, and my voice wobbles on the edge of tired laughter.
His thumb brushes a slow circle over my knee, and something tightens in my chest. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the room. The only thing that matters.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly. “No one’s going to touch you.”
“I believe you,” I whisper, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
He leans back a little, but his hand lingers for a beat longer. “You hungry?”
“Starving. But also too tired to move.”
He stands and starts rummaging through one of the bags. “Great. I’ll whip up a feast of canned soup and bread. Michelin star stuff.”
“Wow. You really know how to romance a girl on the run,” I say, curling up into the cushions.
“Pretty sure last night covered the romance part,” he says under his breath.
My cheeks heat, and I bury my face in the pillow. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you’re smiling.”
The memory of the barge surges up—his hands on me, the way he kissed me like he’d never let go. The world outside might be spinning with danger, but here, in this hidden corner of Copenhagen, I feel like I can finally exhale.
For tonight, at least, the world feels small and suspended.
And deep down, I know exactly where I want to end up when night falls—curled into his arms, where I finally feel safe enough to breathe.
Chapter 19
Bastiaan
The city outside hums with distant life—bikes on cobblestones, muffled voices, the occasional echo of water against stone. In here, the apartment is small and quiet, smelling faintly of sea air and old wood.
Amber is curled up on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, blonde curls tumbling over one shoulder. Her fingers play absently with the burner phone, the black screen reflecting nothing but her own worried face.
“You want to call them,” I say softly.
