Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,54

I mutter.

Jack stirs. “I’d love the poncho if the offer’s still open,” he says. His voice isn’t loud, but it’s very clear.

“Are you sure?” she asks, turning to him, hesitant now.

His crooked smile holds a wealth of charm. “It would be very kind of you. My coat’s not waterproof.”

I know very well that the Canada Goose parka he’s wearing cost a lot of money and is most certainly waterproof, but he accepts the poncho as if it’s made by Hugo Boss, thanking her gravely and pulling it over his head.

I want to laugh because he looks very much like Big Bird, but she smiles up at him radiantly, her face happy again. He makes small talk with her, and she tells him about her children and what they’ve been doing in Amsterdam.

The rude bloke looks at Jack with a sneer on his face. He says something to his mate, who laughs, and I smile at him and subtly shoot him the finger. He rolls his eyes, and he and his mates walk away.

“Arlo.” I turn and find Jack watching me. His smile is wry, which means he saw what I did. My innocent-looking shrug makes his smile widen. “We have to go,” he says. “The boat’s here.”

Exchanging goodbyes with the couple, he grabs my hand and pulls me after him to where the boat is pulling up. It’s a long, wide, white boat with big windows, and inside it’s lovely and warm and fitted with little booths. Each booth has a table and a box with headphones to listen to the commentary. It’s gloomy outside with the snow falling, and the tealights in their holders on the tables make the interior glow. I walk to the booth at the end of the aisle, then slide into the seat that faces away from the other tables. I smile up at Jack as he settles beside me.

“That’s a big smile,” he says suspiciously.

I snort. “I can’t help it, Jack. You’re utterly captivating at this precise moment. I never knew you suited such an… intense shade of yellow.”

He rolls his eyes, and I break into laughter. He watches me, a smile playing on his lips until I calm. “It’s a very practical garment,” he says, setting me off again.

After I catch my breath, I reach into my inside coat pocket. “Bought you something,” I say, handing him the paper-wrapped package. It’s a little damp, but the contents are luckily okay.

“For me?” he asks, astonished.

“No. For Freddie Mercury, but hang onto it until he comes back.”

He kicks my shin lightly and opens the bag. The postcard and keyring with the artwork he liked best in the Van Gogh museum spill out. He stares down at them. I’m expecting a grateful “thank you,” so his laughter takes me by surprise, and I look at him, affronted and slightly hurt.

He sobers and gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s funny.”

“Why?”

He reaches into his own coat pocket and produces a packet the same size as mine. “Well, because of this,” he says. I open it and stare down at the sunflowers keyring and postcard. Warmth floods my chest, and when I look up at him, he’s smiling. “Great minds think alike.” He takes my hand, and, raising it to his lips, he kisses my fingers. “Thank you.”

I smile, hopelessly touched by the courtly gesture. “You’re welcome.”

The boat judders and sets off, and I stare out of the window, enchanted at this view of Amsterdam. The snow has stopped now, but it’s twilight, and the streetlights are coming on, giving the city an enchanted and magical feel. We sit inside, cosy and warm as we slide past grand old houses with ornate cast-iron balconies. I smile when I see an old man in his pyjamas hoovering his balcony.

The driver activates his microphone and begins to reel off facts about the city. We pass gardens, theatres, restaurants, and offices, passing under seemingly too-low bridges where it feels as if the boat’s roof will come off.

“The city was named for Dam Square which sits over the Amstel River,” the driver says.

Our fellow passengers fill the boat with loud chatter, producing cameras and taking endless photos. Jack takes out his phone, and before I know it, he snaps a picture of me.

“Lovely,” I say, running my hand over my wavy hair which is rioting after being wet.

“Yes,” he says thoughtfully, staring at me.

A glittery moment stretches between us like candyfloss. Then he blinks and turns to the window, pointing