Page 59 of You've Got The Love
The boat shifts gently beneath us, the water outside whispering against the hull. She glances toward the curtain one last time, but doesn’t move it—her attention stays locked on me. And in that small, charged stretch of stillness, I know we’re both thinking the same thing: for the first time in a long time, danger feels far away.
I let my hand drop at last, but not before brushing the back of my fingers along her jaw. “Smells burnt,” I murmur, letting the words carry a faint tease. I tip my head, pretending to sniff the air. “You cooking again, liefje?”
Her eyes narrow in mock offence, but the corner of her mouth twitches.
I grin, closing the distance just enough to bend and press a slow kiss to the tip of her nose. She moves to the oven to check on our burnt breakfast, and I slip in behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist.
She leans back into me. “Technically, I’m reheating pancakes. So if they’re bad, that’s your fault.”
“Bold of you to assume I made them well the first time.”
She turns in my arms, resting her hands on my chest, her eyes searching my face with that quiet, steady kind of affection that knocks the breath out of me. I kiss her forehead and let my hands settle on her hips, grounding myself in the feel of her.
We eat together on the small bench beside the fold-out table, laughing quietly between sips of tea. Her laughter is soft but real, like it’s finally breaking through everything we’ve been carrying.
It’s the sound I didn’t know I missed until I heard it again.
Later, when the sky shifts to grey and a breeze picks up through the tiny cracks in the windows, I light the stove and settle beside her on the narrow couch. She’s wrappedin one of the spare blankets, legs curled beneath her, hair damp from our earlier shower.
Her body leans into mine like she’s done it for years. I can’t help myself. My arm goes around her shoulder. My fingers start tracing idle circles on her arm.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
And yet I don’t want to fill it with anything but truth.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I murmur.
She turns, wide-eyed. “Then don’t.”
Christ. She says it like it’s simple.
I search her face, and the question rises before I can swallow it down. “Amber, there’s something I want to know.”
She nods, slowly. “What is it?”
“Have you…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “Been with anyone before? A boyfriend, someone you cared about?”
She freezes for a moment. I almost regret asking.Almost.
Then she takes a breath and says, “No. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never really… been with anyone.”
My brow furrows. “You mean?—”
“I had sex once,” she says quickly. “When I was young. I didn’t enjoy it. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t… this.”
My throat tightens. “Amber?—”
“I grew up with my dad’s MC in the background,” she says, looking down at her hands. “There was always some threat—nothing like this, but bad enough. Always somereason not to get close to people. I didn’t want to drag anyone into that mess. So I didn’t. I kept people away.”
She looks up at me, eyes wide and honest. “It means more than you know that I’m in this with you.”
I reach for her face, cradling her cheek in my hand. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“It’s not something I talk about,” she says. “But I wanted you to know. To understand.”
“I do.”
