He chuckles, walking toward me with a smirk. “Is this a bad time, then, to tell you I feel like sinning?”
The corners of my mouth curve upward, and I stand, giving up on my moment of serenity.
“Is it sinning if you don’t believe it’s wrong?” I ask, meeting him in a kiss, my hands slipping around his neck.
“If it is,” he says, voice deep and low, “then I have been averybad boy.” He nips at my bottom lip, hands sliding to my ass.
I tip my head back, laughing softly. “Oh, God.” I bring my gaze back to his. “You always have been my favorite bad idea.”
His lips meet mine in a kiss that could swallow my fears whole. I melt into it, the warmth of his mouth, the safety of his arms, reminding me that he’s here, regardless of what my pappoús says tomorrow.
That we’re better when we’re together. That I’m a strength for Matt, just like he is mine.
I don’t need saving. Not in the way I’ve always believed, anyway.
I just have to believe that I am enough.
And I’m working on that.
I openthe door to Maria’s, a diner that’s been around longer than I have. It’s where you go if you want eighties comfort food and the smell of fried dough all day long.
The food is fine. That’s not why we come.
Pappoús brings me here because it’s something he’s been doing since I was a kid. Saturday mornings were my favorite growing up. Just me and him at Maria’s. I’d order the same damn thing every week: a Belgian waffle with whipped cream, topped with strawberries.
It doesn’t hit quite the same now, but I’d never tell him that. The smell of scones hits me immediately, bringing back memories I can’t help but smile at as I weave through the restaurant, passing servers in pale blue dresses and white aprons.
My pappoús is in the back, at the corner table by the window. Just like always.
His face lights up when he sees me and he stands, greeting me with the same kiss on the cheek he’s been giving me for thirty-five years.
“Kouklaki, you look beautiful.”
Same thing he always says, too.
“Hi, Pappoús,” I say with a soft smile. I’m happy to see him, but I’m still angry about the way we were treated at dinner—Matt, specifically. That, and the fact that no one has reached out since.
Except my mamá, who told me I owed everyone an apology.
I wasn’t surprised by anyone’s reaction when it came to me. I expected it.
But the way they all treated Matt?
It makes me upset all over again just thinking about it.
Pappoús pulls out my chair and gestures for me to sit. I slide into the chair and he takes the seat across from me.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Pappoús,” I say with a hint of warning. “Please don’t make me sit and talk about the weather while we dance around the real reason we’re here. You invited me to lunch to talk.” I pause, softening my tone. “What is it that you want to say?”
He lets out an exasperated sound. “You sound just like your yiayiá,” he mutters. “Fine. I can’t bullshit her or your mother either.”
He takes a moment, brows furrowing. Then his eyes meet mine, a hint of moisture in them. “You know—you’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum. Stubborn. Defiant. A real spitfire. But… it’s something I’ve always loved about you.” He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Remember when I tried to convince you to order the French toast?”
A small laugh escapes me.
“You bit my head off at the ripe old age of seven.”
