I turned around slowly and found him holding the beaters he’d used to whip the frosting. Relieved I wasn’t as tuned-out as I’d thought, I jumped on his offering.
“And yes, I’m heading to Folegandros tonight.”
“Long way to go?” I swiped the frosting off the metal.
“About an hour from Santorini, on the…uh…” He trailed off as I sucked on my finger.
“On the what?” I stared at him with round eyes and a round mouth. Chef Alexandros was running his own Fifty-Shades-Of-Kitchen-Scenario, and that emboldened me. Making him forget what he was saying made me flush with power. It also made me ridiculously giddy—the high of your crush crushing right back at you. Only, it was more than a crush. I really liked Alex. I liked him inside and out. If I let it, this moment could catch fire. Alex’s gaze sweeping over my mouth was like a match striking flammable lips.
“You were saying?” I dropped the beaters into the sink and started washing them.
“Yeah.” The apple in Alex’s neck bobbed as he cleared his throat. “Santorini to Folegandros is about an hour on the fast ferry. I told my father I’d have dinner with him tonight. I’m at sea so often, I don’t get to see him much.” He pulled down the breakfast cards and checked his watch.
As if on cue, Hannah arrived. “Great,” she exclaimed, surveying all the trays. “I’ll start serving breakfast. The guests are just starting to make their way to…” She paused when she saw me. “Good morning, Moti. What are you doing here?”
I was elbow-deep in grated potatoes. There was no denying I was helping Alex prep the food.
“Chef Alexandros,” Captain Bailey entered the galley, holding a slip of paper. “I’m approving the provisions for…”
Now both Captain Bailey and Hannah were staring at me.
“Hannah, you were about to get breakfast going?”
“Yes, Captain Bailey.” Hannah looked from Captain Bailey to me to Alex before grabbing two trays. “I’m on it.”
Captain Bailey’s eyebrows did not resume their normal cruising altitude after Hannah left. “Chef Alexandros? You have one of our guests helping you prepare meals?”
I jumped in before he could answer. “I asked Chef Alexandros for some cooking lessons. Truth be told, I’m a bit of a pain to have around.”
True story, considering I’d thrown out the broth he’d been saving yesterday, thinking I was being helpful by cleaning the stockpot.
“Chef Alexandros has been really accommodating. I hope it’s not a problem? I’m learning so much and I find it very therapeutic.” I grated the rest of the potato I was holding. Therapeutic, my ass. I hated grating anything—my knuckles were in constant fear. But I gave the captain a big smile. If you crinkle your eyes when you smile, you can come across as sincere.
Captain Bailey eyed Alex and me. “Roommates, and now kitchen-mates. How is the situation with your aunt and uncle?”
“Still the same,” I said.
She lingered a little longer, then handed Alex the slip of paper she brought. “You’re doing a great job, Chef Alexandros. I’ll have that letter of recommendation for you at the end of the charter. You shouldn’t have any trouble landing the Kiriakis gig.”
Then, as she turned to leave, she paused, looked at me, and added, “Just don’t mess things up, Chef.”
I held my breath as our yacht glided into the harbor. Santorini was a mountain of rocks rising from the sea. Cliffs of striated lava towered around us, a reminder we were sailing into a giant, submerged crater—a dormant but active volcano. From a distance, the ridges appeared capped with snow but were really sprawling villages and towns clinging to the edges of the caldera. Santorini was a study in contrasts—white buildings, blue windows, jagged rocks, and soft domed roofs.
“Come on, come on.” Isabelle flapped her list in our faces.
It was Photo Shoot Day for her and Thomas. Teri was in charge of makeup, Fia was taking the pictures, and I was the umbrella-holder. Isabelle’s list was of all the spots we had to hit before the sun set. The Three Bells, The Blue Dome, The Cross, The Castle, The Lighthouse, Red Beach, Black Beach, White Beach. Holding Ice-Cream Cones (don’t forget to take the rings), Veil Blowing In The Wind (get Teri and Moti to hold), With Donkey (if well behaved and not smelly).
The list went on, all capitalized, which meant it was nonnegotiable. Thomas took it in his stride as he lugged Isabelle’s bag of props and outfits out of the cable car that we took to the town of Fira. We skipped the donkey rides that carried tourists up the steep incline. There were at least six hundred steps on the path. I’d be smelly too if I had to go up and down it all day, in the blistering heat.
It didn’t take long for Isabelle to deviate from her list. Who could blame her? Perched atop the cliffs, overlooking azure-blue water, every backstreet and arched doorway begged for a click. Swimming pools—the size of bathtubs were squeezed into the most impossible of spaces. We spent so much time off-course, by the time we got to the spots Isabelle really wanted to capture, lines of people waited ahead of us.
While Teri fussed over Isabelle’s hair, Thomas crossed out half the locations on the list.
“Half an hour here, which means we’ll never get to this. Or this. And if you want to make it to the castle for sunset, we’ll have to skip the Red Beach. And the White Beach.” He waited until Isabelle agreed, then gave me a wink.
So this was why he was so easygoing. Thomas knew it was pointless to argue with Isabelle. If he let her run wild, she’d eventually hit a wall. And when she did, he’d swoop in to save the day. On the surface it looked like Isabelle was in control, but really, Thomas was steering the ship.
I pulled Isabelle aside when he wasn’t looking. “So? Did you take the test?”
