She stopped next to a bright-orange bicycle, removed the padlock deftly and dropped it into the basket.
‘But you never cycle in London...’
Her lips quirked. ‘You remember.’
He remembered everything about their car ride to Greenwich. What they’d said, the way she’d smiled, the way her hair had been knotted up, silky brown strands framing her face. He lifted the bicycle out of the stand for her, instinctively pressing his weight against the handlebars, testing the brakes, running his eye over the tyres, the chain and the gears.
‘Will it pass?’ Her tone was gently teasing.
He looked up and gave a little shrug. ‘Old habits... I used to look after Madelon’s bicycle when we were little. Making sure it was safe.’
‘Ash used to do mine.’ She grimaced. ‘He hated it because I was always getting punctures.’
Theo glanced at Mia’s tyres again; thankfully fine.
She was buttoning her jacket. ‘So, did you cycle too?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I walked.’
‘From...?’
‘Herengracht—the Jordaan end.’
‘Nice!’
‘It is.’ He pictured the old canal house he was renovating, the peeling walls, the empty rooms. It would be better than nice when it was finished but making every decision on your own was difficult, especially when your architect had rather unconventional ideas. ‘Where do you stay?’
‘Prinsengracht, near Leidsegracht.’
‘That’s not so far!’
He smiled to himself. For three whole weeks he’d thought she’d been in England and all that time, she’d been just a fifteen-minute walk away from his house! From the look on her face, he guessed that she was thinking the same thing.
He shifted on his feet. ‘So...would you like to go for a drink; get something to eat?’
‘You’ve already eaten, and I’ve had three glasses of champagne...’ She seemed momentarily shy. ‘Actually, what I’d really like to do is go home and get changed.’ She rubbed at her legs through the skirt of her swishy green dress and shot him a little smile. ‘I’m a bit cold.’
He’d taken in the details of Mia’s dress while she’d been talking to Lotte. He liked the way it nipped in at the waist, the plain bodice, the modest neckline, but it was flimsy. Even with her jacket over the top it wouldn’t be nearly warm enough now that the darkness had rolled in on the back of a northerly wind.
‘So... Prinsengracht first.’ He started pushing the bike, tuned in suddenly to the tap of her heels on the paving. ‘Wait! Can you walk in those shoes?’
‘I don’t know.’ She glanced at the bicycle, eyed him mischievously. ‘It wasn’t an issue on the way here...’
The way she was looking at him made it impossible not to smile. He stopped, considering the bike. ‘I think we have two options. You can cycle and I’ll run.’ She glanced at his polished leather shoes, winced and shook her head. ‘Or, we can share the bike.’
‘Share it!’ She was laughing. ‘I haven’t done that since I was a kid.’
‘Neither have I.’ He tested his weight on the frame again. ‘It’s strong enough.’
She stepped forward and put her hands on the handlebars. ‘Okay, then, hop on...’
‘Me?’
She looked up, giggling. ‘Gotcha!’
Impossible not to like her. He slipped off his jacket, folding it into a pad for the carrier. ‘Here. You can sit on this.’
‘That’s very chivalrous of you!’ She settled herself sideways on the carrier while he straddled the bike to hold it steady and then she said, ‘I’m so glad I booked first class.’
He laughed, his heart drumming with a sort of childish excitement. ‘Right, hold on tight.’
He put his foot to the pedal and pushed off. After a momentary wobble, which made Mia threaten to walk after all, they were going along smoothly enough. He took a route through the park, getting a feel for the bike, getting used to the idea of Mia sitting right behind him.
He twisted round a little. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. You could speed up a bit, though...’
He laughed. ‘Give me a chance. I’m out of practice!’
‘How come?’
‘I have a car.’
She was leaning closer. ‘But driving in Amsterdam must be a nightmare...’
‘It’s okay—it’s a compact car.’ He faced front again, smiling to himself. He was rather attached to his low-slung classic sports car. It was the kind of car he used to dream of owning when he was a boy and he still felt a buzz every time he started the engine.
She giggled. ‘Something tells me it’s not a bubble car.’
‘I wouldn’t fit into one of those.’ He turned onto Nassaukade and felt an unfamiliar tightness in his calf muscles. Running was his thing, he could run for miles, but cycling was working his legs in a different way.
‘So, do you even own a bike?’
‘No.’ He tried a change of gear, felt the pedals stiffening against his feet.
‘That’s terrible! How can you live in the city of bicycles and not own a bicycle?’
‘I have a rebellious streak.’ He changed gear again, pedalling hard until they were flying along, passing lively bars, busy restaurants, closed shops and hoardings covered in colourful graffiti. Mia was laughing, urging him to go even faster, so he pedalled harder, then had to ring the bell frantically at a group of tourists who were standing on the cycle path consulting a map. They scattered just in time.
‘Sorreee...’ Her yelled apology disappeared on the breeze and then her hand was on his back. ‘You nearly killed them!’
‘You were the one who told me to speed up.’
‘I didn’t mean for you to mow down innocent tourists!’
He grinned. ‘They didn’t look that innocent.’
She laughed. ‘How on earth could you tell? You only saw the whites of their eyes.’
He was laughing again, noticing how his cheeks were aching from it. Quads burning, cheeks aching; all the muscles he wasn’t used to using. Mia was putting him through his paces, and he was loving every second.
He slowed over a bridge, then stopped. ‘Which side of Prinsengracht are you?’
‘West, just up from Leidsegracht.’
He pushed off again, cycling more sedately until he felt her hand on his back again, patting gently. ‘My boat’s just up there on
