I hear the creak of the door swinging open a moment before Maikel calls out for me. “Arjen? Are you here?”

“I’m here,” I answer him, hastily wrapping the item in my hands back up in its parchment. “Just a minute.” My heart beats a little faster as I glanced at the door, hoping he wouldn’t come to greet me himself. Not until I’ve gotten his gift wrapped up again and tucked away out of sight.

I knew it was risky when I pulled it out, but I hadn’t been able to help myself. I spent weeks fretting over what to get Maikel for Christmas. What do you get the man who has everything he wants, who buys anything he desires without a thought for the price? For a while, I’d despaired that I’d ever find anything for him.

And then, as though by miracle, not a week before Christmas, I’d been walking through De Wallen to pay a visit to Elise and there’d been an artist set up on the side of the street. But the scenes on his easels were not paintings, and the strange sight of them made me hesitate, and my steps slow.

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