Page 92 of You've Got The Love
Chapter 48
Amber
The next morning smells like tea and hyacinths.
I blink awake to sunlight spilling across my bedroom floor and the faint clatter of something in my kitchen. For a moment, I forget the heaviness of the last few weeks—the fear, the heartbreak, the way my life tilted the second I saw that pink plus sign.
Then I roll over and see the empty space beside me, and it all comes rushing back. Bas didn’t stay last night. He’s staying at a cottage that belongs to a friend of his sister. He wanted to give us a real shot together rather than just falling back into what we were. The thought makes me smile.
I told him he needed to earn me back, and for once, he listened. He kissed my forehead, whispered,I’ll be here in the morning,and left me to my thoughts and my blanket cocoon.
Now, true to his word, he’s here. He has been for weeks now, showing up, proving with every steady touch and quiet action that he means to stay. That he wants this, wants me, wants us. Each day, he chips away at the fear, replacing it with something I never thought I’d feel again: certainty.
I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, fluff my hair a bit, and pad barefoot to the doorway.
Bas is standing at my counter, impossibly tall in my tiny kitchen, wearing a white Henley that clings to his shoulders in unfair ways. His man bun is lopsided, his glasses slipping down his nose as he focuses intently on…pancakes.
“You’re cooking in my kitchen?” I croak.
He jumps slightly and glances over his shoulder, the tension in his jaw easing when he sees me. “Technically, yes. But in my defence…” He gestures to the counter, where a plate of lopsided pancakes sits beside a vase of wildflowers. “I brought a peace offering.”
I lean against the doorframe, trying to hide the warmth spreading through my chest. “Those are the ugliest pancakes I’ve ever seen.”
He smirks. “I never claimed to be a chef. I claimed to be persistent.”
“You’ve got that part right.”
His smile falters slightly, and he turns back to the stove. “I want to show up for you, Amber. In small ways, big ways—whatever it takes. Show you I’m serious.”
Something in my chest squeezes. He’s trying, and that might be scarier than the hurt he left me with.
I walk over and peer at the disaster on the stove. “You put blueberries in all of them?”
“Half. Abel eats the others later,” he says, flipping one with too much confidence. The pancake lands half-on, half-off the pan, and he swears in Dutch under his breath.
A laugh slips out of me, uninvited. “You’re hopeless.”
“But determined,” he says, and the way he looks at me over his shoulder makes my stomach flutter.
When he finally takes a proper look at me—hair loose around my shoulders, cropped vest clinging in all the right places, tiny sleep shorts showing far too much thigh—he groans.
“Are you trying to kill me? I’m over here trying to be a gentleman, and you’re standing there looking like…” He trails off, eyes roaming over me before his words falter completely.
“I never asked you to be a gentleman,” I tease.
He tips his head back with a loud groan, eyes on the ceiling like he’s asking for divine intervention. A muttered curse slips out, but he forces himself to focus on whatever task he’s pretending to care about instead of me.
We eat pancakes at my small table, knees brushing occasionally. Bas doesn’t push, doesn’t reach for me like he used to, and I realise he’s giving me the space I asked for. That, more than the pancakes, feels like proof he’s trying.
When we’re done, he insists on doing the washing up while I get dressed for work. By the time I emerge, hair twisted into a messy bun, he’s drying the last plate and whistling under his breath—a soft, content sound I haven’t heard in a long time.
“Are you coming to the shop?” I ask carefully.
“If you’ll let me,” he says, turning to face me. “I thought… maybe I could fix the leaky pipe in the back room. And…” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I want to be near you. I want to show Abel that we’re okay.”
Something tender stirs in me at the mention of Abel. “You really think he notices all this?”
“Amber,” he says softly, “he notices everything. He asked last night why you were sad.”
