“You have a lot of cookies,” she informs him.
“We have a lot of people,” he says, his big hand settling gently on her back. “Which one is your favorite?”
Emma points a decisive finger at the kourabiedes, the powdery butter cookies that look like snowballs. “Those. They look like little clouds you can eat.”
Michalis’s laugh booms out again. He plucks one from the plate and hands it to her. “A philosopher! You are correct. Here, taste your cloud.” She takes a bite, sending a puff of powdered sugar into the air and all over his sweater. He doesn’t seem to notice.
I look at Leo. “Have you been back? To Greece, as an adult?”
He nods, leaning back in his chair. “A few times. Before Emma. I’d go stay with some family for a month in the summer.” A wistful look passes over his face. “Emma’s never been. I wantto change that, though. Soon.” His eyes meet mine, warm and intent. “You’d come too, obviously. I’d need a nanny.”
I smack him across the arm. “Excuse me?”
He’s trying not to smile. “What? You’re great with kids. Very qualified.”
“I’m yourgirlfriend, you piece of—”
“And an excellent nanny,” he continues, completely straight-faced. “Really, it’s a win-win. Emma gets supervision, I get someone to carry the bags—”
“I’m going to murder you.”
“In Greece,” he adds thoughtfully. “A very romantic location for a murder.”
I’m trying not to laugh. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m thinking ahead.”
“You’re an idiot. You know, I could justnotcome to Greece.”
“You could,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, getting softer. “But then I’d have to spend the whole trip missing you and being absolutely miserable. And Emma would ask where you are every five minutes. And my parents would be disappointed that their future daughter-in-law didn’t come with me.”
I freeze. “Future—what?”
He blinks, like he just realized what he said. Then he clears his throat. “Uh. Hypothetically. Future hypothetical daughter-in-law.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean, if we—you know. Eventually. Hypothetically.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m Greek. We don’t blush.”
“You’re definitely blushing.”
“It’s the wine.”
I’m grinning so wide my face hurts. “Future daughter-in-law, huh?”
“I didn’t—that’s not—I’m just saying whatthey’dthink. My parents. Not me. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to win an argument.”
