She eyed my outstretched hand with suspicion. “You sure we won’t be in the way?”
“In my own house?” I laughed. “Never.”
Tia still hesitated, and I could almost see the internal debate playing out across her expressive face. Finally, she placed her hand in mine.
Zeus trotted happily by her side, glancing up into her face often, as if she was his new favorite person. The traitor had never warmed to any woman I’d brought home before.
We wandered through winding corridors until the marble floors gave way to terra-cotta tiles, and the scent of roasting lamb and oregano announced our arrival at the kitchens. Chefs called orders in rapid-fire Greek, knives drummed against wooden boards, and pots simmered on industrial ranges.
“Méno,” I commanded Zeus softly, pointing to a spot beside the doorway. He sat obediently, though his nose twitched at the enticing aromas wafting from within.
The kitchen staff cast curious glances at Tia as we entered. They were accustomed to my occasional raids, but not to me bringing guests along. Copper pots hung from overhead racks and bundles of dried herbs dangled from exposed beams.
I spotted dolmades and offered one to Tia’s lips. “Try this.”
She hesitated before taking a bite. Her eyes closed in pleasure, then opened with uncertainty as she parted her lips for more.
“Mmm...okay, wait—what is that? That’s so good.”
“This one is lamb, pine nuts, and mint,” I said, offering a warm pie. “A family recipe.”
“You aren’t having any?” she asked.
I grabbed one and finished it in a bite. Soon we were sampling everything while Cora, our longtime pastry chef, watched with indulgent amusement.
“This baklava hits different. Like, I don’t know what y’all put in it, but ours back home don’t even come close.”
I watched, fascinated by her bold enjoyment. Most women I knew picked at food, always conscious of appearances.
“How old are you, anyway?”
She raised an eyebrow. “How old do you think I am?”
“Eighteen?” I ventured.
“Seriously? Me and Kat just finished undergrad together.”
“Is this your first time in Greece?” I asked, not wanting my ex to intrude on this moment.
“Yes.”
“How are you liking it so far?” I reached for wine and led her toa corner table.
“Apart from pulling some crazy Greek dude from a car plunging down a cliff, it’s been a vibe,” she teased.
I couldn’t contain my laughter, letting it roll freely. “Crazy Greek dude?” I echoed. “You know, most people would say I’m an excellent driver. I have championship trophies to prove it. But I’d like to point out that you were the one dancing in the middle of the road like some kind of seductress. What was I supposed to do?”
For the next half hour, we debated who was truly at fault for the accident. She insisted my driving was the primary cause, while I maintained her roadside dancing had created the dangerous situation in the first place.
We argued, each refusing to concede an inch of ground. But there was unmistakable warmth beneath our verbal sparring. The more we debated, the more I enjoyed her quick wit and unwillingness to back down.
I found myself increasingly drawn to her authenticity. Most women would have long since yielded to my version of events, but not Tia.
We sampled wines from my family’s vineyards and I learned she was my age. A Scorpio to my Capricorn. She’d visited Santorini but hoped to see Delphi and Meteora before returning home to job hunt in two weeks.
“Why don’t we head back to the party?” I suggested.
In my mind, I pictured Katalina’s face when she saw us enter together. I wanted to see her squirm and to know I wanted her friend.
