Page 90 of You've Got The Love
But all I can feel is the ache—the raw, bruised part of me that still remembers him letting me walk away. The hollow nights. The sharp, splintered edges of knowing he chose his fear over me.
My chest tightens, breath turning shallow. My hands are clammy against the tulips.
I can’t answer.
Iwon’t.
My legs move before my brain catches up. I rush through the archway to the back, the scent of damp soil, cut stems, and cold water hitting me all at once. My boots crunch faintly on spilt grit as I shove open the back door, stepping into the narrow alley behind the shop.
The winter air bites at my cheeks, stings my lungs. I press my back to the brick wall, eyes closed, head tipped back. The tears slip without my permission—silent at first, then hot enough to burn. My heart feels like it’s been shattered and stitched together a hundred times, only for him to pull the thread loose again.
Two whole minutes pass before I can force myself to go back inside.
When I do, the shop is quiet—unnaturallyso. Jess stands behind the counter, eyes wide. Andrea has abandoned the bouquet entirely, her gaze locked on me. Bas is still there, but the sight of him is a punch to the sternum. He’s slowly rising from one knee, the ring box closing in his hand, slipping back into his pocket like he’s putting away the last piece of hope he had left.
Abel stands clutching his tulip, his little face creased with confusion.
Before Bas can speak, before I can second-guess myself, I dig into my coat pocket and pull out a small, crumpled paper bag. The one I shoved there this morning after drivingoff the island to a chemist so I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew.
I throw it onto the counter. It skids straight across the top and lands at Bas’s feet.
He frowns. “Amber?”
“Open it,” I say. My voice shakes, but the words are sharp.
He bends down, picks it up, and pulls the top open. His big hands are suddenly awkward, almost clumsy. He pulls out the white stick inside. The faint pink plus sign stares back at him like a brand.
His chest rises sharply, like I’ve hit him.
Abel’s head tilts, his voice small. “Pa?”
Jess gasps, hand flying to her mouth. Andrea’s whisper is barely audible: “Oh my god…”
Bas’s eyes lift to mine. His expression is raw, unguarded. “You’re?—”
“Pregnant,” I cut in, my chin trembling. The words slice their way out, each one edged with anger and something far more dangerous—hurt. “Congratulations, Bas. You’ve managed to break my heart and give me a reason to see you for the rest of my life in one go.”
He flinches like I’ve struck him.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “I’m walking out that door before I say something I can’t take back.”
And I do. Out the back again, into the sharp winter air, leaving him there—Abel clutching his tulip, Jess and Andrea frozen in the aftermath, and Bas standing in the wreckage of everything we could have been.
Chapter 47
Amber
The winter sun is already gone when the knock comes.
I’m curled up on my sofa, blanket wrapped around my shoulders, a half-cold cup of tea abandoned on the coffee table. My head pounds from crying, my throat is sore, and the quiet of my flat feels louder than any day in the shop ever has.
I don’t even need to check the peephole. I know it’s him.
For a moment, I think about ignoring it—letting him stand in the damp chill and feel what it’s like to be left out in the cold. But then I hear a smaller voice, faint and sweet through the wood.
“Pa says please, Miss Amber.”
My chest aches so sharply I have to press my hand to it. With a shaky breath, I undo the chain and turn the lock.
