Page 91 of You've Got The Love
Bas stands there, a giant silhouette against the orange glow of the streetlamp, his hat clutched in his hands. His hair is damp from the drizzle, his glasses foggedfaintly at the edges, blue eyes raw in a way that makes it hard to look at him for too long. Abel is half-asleep against his father’s leg, one small fist curled into Bas’s coat.
“I asked Sanne to take him home, she came with me,” Bas says softly, glancing down at his son. “But he insisted on saying goodnight.”
I crouch down in the doorway, brushing my fingertips against Abel’s soft cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
He yawns so wide it makes me smile despite myself. “Sorry you’re sad,” he mumbles.
The innocence of it almost breaks me. “Thank you, honey. I’m so glad I got to meet you today.”
Bas walks him back to the car idling at the curb, bending low to murmur something I can’t hear. A minute later, the door shuts, and the car pulls away, leaving Bas alone on the pavement. He looks… uncertain. Almost wary. Like one wrong move could shatter what’s left between us.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
I don’t answer. I just step aside.
He closes the door gently behind him. We stand there in the small space between my living room and the hallway, the scent of rain still clinging to him. My flat—usually warm with fairy lights and the smell of eucalyptus from the shop—feels stripped bare, like neutral ground instead of my sanctuary.
“Amber,” he starts, voice rough. “I know I keep saying I’m sorry, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I hurt you. I walkedaway when you needed me to stay. I told myself I was protecting you, but?—”
“It wasn’t protecting me,” I cut in, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. My fingers tighten on the edge of the blanket. “It broke me, Bas. Every time you pulled away, every time you let fear make the choice for us, it felt like I wasn’t enough for you to fight for. And today?” My voice trembles. “You walk into my shop, kneel down, and ask me to marry you like none of that happened? Like my heart isn’t still bruised from all of it?”
He doesn’t argue. Just stands there, taking it.
I swallow hard, my pulse racing. “I’m pregnant. That changes everything. I need to know you’re choosing me—not out of guilt, not because of the baby, but because I’m the woman you want every single day. Because you’re ready to stop running.”
His chest rises and falls like he’s holding back more than words. Then he takes one slow step closer.
“Iamchoosing you,” he says, voice steady now. “I’ve been an idiot—a coward. I thought loving you meant risking my heart, and I didn’t think I could survive that again. But inNorway, watching you walk out… I realised I was already losing you by not fighting.”
The tears sting my eyes before I can blink them away. “Then why now?”
He exhales like he’s been holding the truth in for years. “Because I was still living with a ghost. And these last weeks, I finally understood—I’m notinlove with Mariekeanymore. I’ll always love her. She was my first love; she gave me my son… but Amber—” He moves closer until I can feel the warmth of him through my blanket. “You’re my future. The woman I want to build a life with. To raise Abel with. To raise our baby with. I’m done letting fear decide for me.”
A quiet sob escapes before I can stop it. My walls are crumbling, piece by piece.
“You broke my trust,” I whisper. “If we’re doing this—this life, this baby, maybe even that ring—you can’t disappear when it’s hard. You have to wake up every morning and choose me. Choose us.”
He closes the last bit of distance and takes my hand in his, warm and big enough to swallow mine whole. Then he sinks to his knees—not in a proposal, but in surrender. “I’ll choose you every day for the rest of my life, Amber. I can’t promise perfection. I can only promise I won’t run.”
The sincerity in his voice cracks me wide open. My blanket slips from my shoulders, pooling at my feet. I sink down to the floor in front of him, knees brushing, our hands tangled.
“I’m still angry,” I tell him, voice shaking.
“You should be,” he says quietly. “I’ll spend every day proving I deserve another chance.”
For a long, silent moment, our foreheads touch, our breaths mingling. The only sound is the rain tapping faintly against the window.
“Okay,” I whisper at last. “But slow. You earn it back.”
His eyes close, relief rolling off him like a tide. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
I lean into him, feeling the strength of his arms come around me, the heat of his chest against mine. He presses his lips to my forehead, then my cheek, then—finally—my mouth.
The kiss isn’t rushed. It’s deep and warm, slow in the way that sayswe have time now. It tastes of rain, salt, and every word he’s too choked to say out loud. My fingers curl into the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and his hand comes to rest against my stomach—our baby between us, his palm protective and sure.
When he pulls back just enough to look at me, his voice is a low vow. “This is where I stay.”
And for the first time in weeks, I believe him.
