Page 94 of Short Stack 3

“What?” he says, trying for indignant and failing miserably. “What did I say?”

“You’re trying to act like the tickets are a good thing.”

“Well, I’m sure they are for other people.”

Over the last year, we’ve learned that Tom is not great in museums and galleries. He dislikes moving at the slow pace I adopt and eventually becomes fidgety. He’d been apologetic at first, but I really couldn’t see why. I don’t need someone with me to appreciate art. I can do it fine all by myself and without Tom catching his arm on a fire alarm in a gallery like last time.

“Maybe I’ll give your ticket to Arlo,” I decide.

His eyes twinkle. “What awonderfulidea.” He stops me as I step out of his arms. “But save a spot in your diary. I still have a couple of things to show you on this holiday. Don’t think you’re getting away from me.”

“I wouldn’t even try,” I say, and at one point in my life, I might’ve thought my voice sounded too soft, too fond, and far too loving. But it’s Tom, and he deserves the vulnerability. I like that he sees this side of me. I’m not afraid anymore because I know he loves me just as fiercely.

“We’ll fit them in over the next few days. I want some alone time with you.”

Every time we’re away, we sneak off, and he shows me something quirky that he’s researched. His choices are always funny or thoughtful, and the fact that he takes such care and time makes something in me feel soft, protected, and cherished.

“It’s a date,” I say, and he kisses me.

“It certainly is,” he mutters against my lips, bringing me back into his arms.

When I open my eyes again, it seems like the whole of Amsterdam is full of twinkling lights.

Chapter Two

The wind is icy cold, and the wind blows my hair back as we walk along the streets. I cuddle closer to Tom, and his hand tightens on mine. He shoots me a smile, his grey eyes glowing in the gloomy light.

“Alright?” he asks.

“Fine. It’s cold, though.” I pull my coat around me and snuggle into the warmth. I have a sneaking fondness for it, as the memory of buying it with Tom is cherished.

“We’ll definitely have some snow. I saw it on the local news this morning.”

“How did you interpret the forecast? You don’t speak Dutch.”

“The symbol for snow is pretty universal.”

I shoot him an affectionate look. He’s obsessed with the weather, which I suppose is down to his job. When you work outside, it’s rather important to know what weather conditions you’re going to deal with. He should have a hotline to the Met Office, given the number of times he checks their site. He’s very hardy, though. I’ve seen Tom go out to work in temperatures that would make me curl up under the duvet and refuse to come out.

We pass the station, and I follow as he forges a path down narrow streets. “So, where are we going?” I ask.

“Have I ever answered that question on one of my many surprises?”

I nudge him, unable to keep the smile off my mouth. “Never, but it’s always worth a try.”

“No need anyway because we’re here.”

I look at the sign on the narrow building. “Café In ’t Aepjen,” I read.

“It’s one of the only two remaining wooden buildings in Amsterdam.”

“Why so few? Fire?”

He nods. “Theaepjenbit means monkey.”

“Okay.That’sunusual.”

“Babe, you haven’t heard anything yet,” he says as he steers me into the café bar.

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