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She paced around the port, careful as to not be pushed around by the seemingly polite Dutch people. Seemingly since she was told to not mingle with them by her parents, so she didn't know how their attitude was.
She was curious, though, listening to their language and their way of behaving with each other. Their tall stature and blonde locks didn't help to ease her curiosity either.
'Don't talk to them, only point at the fish and give them the coins.'
That's what they had said, however, as she grew closer to the stand she couldn't help but direct at least a 'good morning' to the man, who was there everyday, no exception.
He replied with a 'goedemorgen' and carefully wrapped the fish, which was covered by a layer of salt and offered it to her.
She picked it up from his hands and poured the coins into the palm of his large, calloused hand.
The woman hastily left after noticing what she had done.
She had disobeyed her parents. Well, it was just out of being polite, it couldn't possibly be considered as talking, right?
The cold breeze of the wind almost made her turn around and wrap herself in her blankets as she read. But she had to do it, since she didn't have it in her to bother her sick mother and caring father.
That didn't make her stop wishing for a warm scarf or coat, as the crisp weather of April made goosebumps go up her arms.
She just hugged herself and kept walking to the stand owned by the quiet Dutch. She had always been awed by his intimidating height and pose, even though she had been going there for more than a year.
He would always wear his long chocolate brown coat and his blue striped scarf, probably warmer than her entire dress, as she had never seen him shiver in the chilliness of the ocean climate.
She had her gloves, which were in her pocket, but she didn't put them on, as she hated wearing them. It made her hands sweaty and they were still cold, thing that she irritated her to no end.
She could see her red tip of her nose, and probably also reddened fingertips. The female frowned, as she thought.
She wasn't that far away from her house and she could grab her, now, beloved coat. She didn't, as she thought of the hopeful gaze of her father, thinking she brought the food but then seeing her hands empty.
No, she wouldn't be able to stand that.
So, she didn't and walked faster to the harbor, her eyes catching the sight of the serious blonde man.
She looked around the stand, not finding the fish her parents wanted. The man, having memorized her orders, simply told her: "We are currently out of hake."
Her head shot up, her eyes locking with his emerald green ones. "O-oh, thank you for telling me. Then, I should go." She bashfully said.
When she was about to turn around, his voice stopped her. "The fishing boat should be here soon enough. If you have the patience to wait for it, I'm sure you will be able to take some hake back home."
Her eyes shimmered as two jewels would, "How long, then?"
"I'm not sure. But it shouldn't be longer than a few hours."
The woman looked at her feet, which were covered by the long skirt. "Perhaps I can wait then."
He nodded, "But I should go for a coat, since it is cold."
The man blinked at her. He carefully took his scarf off.
Once it was in his hands, he stared at it, still unsure as of what to do. He shook his head and made his way around the stand, until he was before her.
She looked up at him. If he was intimidating from afar, then two feet from him didn't give her the opposite impression.
He carefully enveloped her neck with the warm wool scarf, which prickled at her skin, but offered her a pleasurable warmth.
Her cheeks were flushed at the skin contact between the silent man and herself. "Thank you, uhm..."
"Tim." He said rather simply. "I'm [Y/N]."
They both fell silent as they waited for the fishing boat to arrive.
The black dress sprawled around her as she cried on the stone tomb.
The doctor had said that the night before would be decisive for her live, as it was either the illness taking its victory and taking her away or the, rather old, woman winning the battle.
The doctor had warned her, and not her father, who didn't even process the fact of his wife dying, that she had a slim chance of survival.
She denied this and continued to stroke her mother's hair and tightened her grip on her wrinkly hand.
However, it was fruitless, as in the end the doctor had been right and the evil hand of death had led her astray.
The murky weather of May did not help to her frustration and desolation, as it was only more depressing. She held the fresh wreath of flowers in her hands.
Pink carnations and deep pink roses.
She carefully placed it on the stone, and she stood up. "You said that it was a pity to die, but never did you say that you were scared of it. Precisely, I wanted to ask you about it whenever you got through your illness." She chuckled grimly, "I guess I will never know, will I?"
Silence.
"I just wanted to tell you, for the last time, as I won't be around for a long time, if not never, I love you, mother, I really do."
The [H/C] turned around, seeing the tall man waiting patiently. She tapped his shoulder. "Thank you."
"Don't. Are you sure you are done?"
She hummed, eyes still puffy and red. "Yes."
The humid weather of November came by, but she still sat on the wooden port, behind the, now closed, stand.
The woman looked at the large ships come and go, mostly with the same red, white and blue stripes. She held onto the scarf, which had provided her warmth during all these months and that she refused to return. On the other hand, the green eyed man didn't seem to care, as he still had his coat, which he said that provided enough warmth.
She had shrugged at his and continued to carry on with her usual activities along with her new item.
"I thought you were always open."
"I am."
"What about now?"
"Do you see any customers?"
"No, I don't."
"There's your answer."
She turned to look at him, "How does that answer my question?"
"Always is for as long as there are customers. Also, take into account, that there isn't anyone to say that I'm lying."
"What about me?"
He didn't say anything as he stared into the offing.
It had been already a year since she last saw him, as they had called him to go back to his country, Holland. She didn't receive anything except the occasional letter about the war news. She didn't mind, as she knew that he rarely opened up or really talked.
Anyhow, she did at least once a month go to the establishment where they received the letters from other countries. She asked: "Any letter for [Y/N] [L/N]?"
They would answer with a 'no, sorry' most of the time.
Once again, she didn't mind, at all.
She opened the door, seeing the man sit on his chair. He lazily lifted his gaze, seeing the [H/C] woman with her scarf around her neck, as always.
"Good morning." He said with his raspy voice, "Before you ask, I do have something for [Y/N] [L/N]."
Her eyes lit up with excitement, as the man lifted a small package from one of the shelves. "This."
She quickly grabbed it, muttering a quick thank you and running out of the place, the brown package in her hands.
Once she sat where his stand used to be, she quickly unraveled it, revealing its contents.
A book and a small note on top.
From The Netherlands, to [Y/N]
She laughed at the joke he made, as if the country itself had sent her something. He sure did have a strange sense of humor, but at least he had some.
She opened the cover of the leather covered book and saw what was in the first page.
A dry red tulip and a drawing of her.