Page 56 of You've Got The Love
I stay there a while, listening to the steady thud of his heart behind me.Safe. It’s not a word I trust anymore, not entirely. But here, in this cabin with him, I start to believe it might be real. Even if only for a little while.
Eventually I slip from the bed as quietly as I can, careful not to disturb him. The floor creaks beneath my feet asI pad across the cabin and flick on the kettle. The scent of last night’s candle still lingers in the air—vanilla and something floral. A poor attempt at comfort, maybe, but it helped.
I find the vintage‘Scrabble’Bas pulled out yesterday, tucked behind a stack of old recipe books. We played a few lazy rounds before bed—nothing serious, just enough to make fun of each other’s spelling and debate whether ‘snog’ was a real word in English and Dutch. Bas declared himself the reigning champion. I declared it rigged.
I’m laying out the board again now—determined to win properly this time—just setting the first rack of letters when I hear the rustle of blankets and a low, sleepy groan. Bas appears in the doorway, hair rumpled, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, and his glasses in one hand. He slips them on as he yawns, then blinks down at the table with a crooked smile.
“Starting without me?” His voice is thick with sleep and rougher than usual.
I hand him a steaming mug. “Tea. And yes. I’m getting my revenge for last night.”
He raises an eyebrow as he drops into the seat across from me. “You didn’t even lose.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, pretending to stretch my neck like an athlete. “I’m still emotionally recovering from the ‘Sanne-is-allowed-but-Amber-is-not’ rule.”
He smirks, lips brushing the rim of his mug. “Scrabblelaw is harshbut fair.”
I glance up at him over my own cup. “Also, you putting on your glasses to play?Cheating.”
His brow lifts. “How’s that cheating?”
“You look good in them. Distractingly good.”
Bas chuckles, leaning back a little, smug. “So your strategy is to accuse me of weaponised handsomeness?”
“It’s working, isn’t it?”
We fall into the game with surprising ease. The tension that’s been simmering under the surface for days doesn’t vanish, but it loosens. Between laughter and small sips of tea, I start to feel like we’re stealing something normal back.
Our knees bump beneath the table. Bas doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
After a while, I play a high-scoring word and grin at him. “That brings me to?—”
“—still losing,” he mutters, peering at the scoreboard.
“You’re just mad I’m smarter.”
“I’m not mad,” he says, leaning in until his nose brushes mine. “I’m aroused and betrayed.”
I laugh and shake my head. “God, you’re ridiculous.”
He nudges his tile rack aside. “We should call a draw. Before you gloat yourself into exile.”
“I’d survive.”
“You wouldn’t like it,” he says, standing and stretching his arms above his head. “It’s cold out there. No tea. No spare hoodies.”
“No Scrabble.”
“No me.”
He says it lightly, but it lands heavier than he probably means it to.
I stand too, the game forgotten between us now. I cross to the small sink and pour more water into the kettle.
“Hey,” Bas says behind me. I turn, and he’s watching me with that unreadable look of his—the one that says he’s balancing ten thoughts at once.
His voice is low when he speaks again. “Come shower with me.”
