“Kaliméra,” he said as casually as if they’d bumped into each other at the mini-market.
“Hi.”
Skye dropped her eyes to his glistening thatch of chest hair, only to hurriedly look away.
“What are you doing here?” she went on as he continued to stare. “I thought you lived at the other end of the island.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “That is why I have the boat, so I can go wherever I like.”
“And you like this beach in particular?”
“Serfiotiko Beach is not so crowded. Now that it is the second week of June and we are in the summer season proper, the beaches on other parts of Folegandros are becoming a bit busier. When I am swimming, it is the fish I want to see, not the white legs of tourists.”
His eyes trailed down, and she blushed.
“I’ve been a bit too preoccupied to sunbathe,” she said. “And anyway, it’s very bad for you.”
“The sun is bad?” He threw back his head. “The sun is life.”
“The sun is wrinkles,” she countered, and Andreas laughed.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said.
“Fire away.”
“Why did you come to live on a Greek island if you do not like the sun?”
Skye fought the urge to smile.
“Nowhere else was offering houses as cheaply. If the lottery had been run in Norway, I happily would’ve moved there.”
“I am glad that you came here,” he said.
“You are?” Skye tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“In the beginning, when the municipality was discussing the possibility, many people here were not sure that it would work. The hippies, they do not mind so much, but some of the older generation were worried. This is a very traditional island, a very Greek island. I was one of the voices that was loudest in your favor, and if you had been bad people…”
“It would have reflected badly on you,” she finished, and he nodded.
“Nai. But then you came, and everybody was very nice, so it is OK.”
He hadn’t asked her what she was doing here on the beach alone so early in the day. Skye liked that about him—his ability to be disarmingly direct while simultaneously knowing when not to pry. Somehow, that quiet restraint made her want to open up even more.
“Thanks again for reading me that letter last night,” she said. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
Andreas bent and scooped up a flat pebble, turning it over in his hands.
“Kai ego,” he murmured. “Me, too.”
Stepping round her, he leaned back and threw the stone across the surface of the water, where it skimmed, bounced, and sank with a satisfying splash.
“I have copied it out for you into English,” he said.
“You have?”
“The one from last night, and I also began a second. I will try to do all of them for you.”
She moved toward him, drawn by an unexpected ache for connection. Her fingers brushed his arm, her touch featherlight, but enough to make him turn, his eyes finding hers with quiet intensity.
