Page 62 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Oh, well. A woman can dream, can’t she?’

‘Who are you and what have you done with my mother?’ I deadpan.

Mum laughs heartily, a sound that warms my heart. ‘Bye, love. Speak soon.’ She hangs up before I reply, leaving me grinning.

Dad had better be careful – if he doesn’t ramp up the romance soon, Mum might takeherselfoff to Italy. Though, he’s running now, which is as much of a shock as Mum joking about taking an Italian lover.

Maybe both of my parents are embarking on new horizons.

Next time I visit Rugby, I’ll be more forceful about encouraging them to take a romantic holiday together. Or I could book it for them. They’re both retired now – Mum from being a librarian and Dad from a career as a carpenter – so their schedule is wide open. And Dad can hardly say no if everything’s booked and paid for, can he? Especially if it’s my gift to them for their upcoming fortieth wedding anniversary.

It’s decided. I’m sending my parents on a romantic holiday.

* * *

‘Hallo.’

I turn around with a start, spilling my coffee on the tabletop.

‘Sorry,’ says Willem.

‘That’s okay,’ I say, mopping up the spill with a napkin. ‘I was expecting you – I’m not sure how you managed to startle me.’

He sits opposite me, his broad shoulders shrugging. ‘How was your flight?’ he asks.

‘Uneventful.’

‘Those are always the best ones,’ he says, a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

‘Yes, I suppose they are,’ I say with a laugh.

He looks around. ‘Nice place,’ he comments.

I’ve been here before – I have international lounge access through work – but to me it’s simply another airport lounge that happens to be in Amsterdam.

‘Er, yes. They have a full bar, if you’d like something,’ I say, pointing over my shoulder.

‘Actually, I’d love a beer.’ He stands. ‘Can I get you anything?’ His eyes dip to my half-empty, now-cold coffee.

‘Sure, thanks. Gentleman’s choice,’ I add with a smile.

A funny look passes over his face, then he goes to the bar.

‘Gentleman’s choice?’ I say to myself. If Iamgoing to make a play for Willem, I’ll need to brush up on my flirtation skills. I sound like the heroine from one of Mum’s old Mills & Boons, the ones Margot and I used to steal from her bedside table and read under the covers when we were eight and nine.

Willem returns with two pints of beer and hands one to me. I don’t generally drink beer, but when I do, it’s a half-pint not a full one.

‘Brewed by women,’ he says.

‘Oh, great.’

‘That’s the name of the brewery,’ he clarifies. ‘GebrouwendoorVrouwen. Excellent beer – this is their Tricky Tripel.Prost.’

‘Prost.’ I clink my glass against his, then take a sip and it’s delicious. ‘Oh, that is good.’

‘And potent – nearly twice the alcohol as most beer.’

He sips, raising his brows at me over the rim of the glass. How is it possible to be drinking a cold beer and about to melt at the same time? And is he flirting? He did just hand me a pint of potent beer – does that mean something? Something more than ‘Hey, I thought you might be thirsty’? I suppose Iamthirsty, but not for a beverage.

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