My chest squeezed painfully, the secret weighing on it tangled with loneliness, and I wanted to blurt it all out. Take a load off, so to speak. Surely spilling to a stranger would be okay?
Suddenly, fear crept in and I immediately masked it with irritation. I lifted my sunglasses and pinged his profile with an annoyed stare.
“Why do you assume that?” I asked in a harsher tone than necessary.
He opened his eyes and rolled his head on the cushion to face me. “Why else would a woman travel alone for three months straight?”
I scoffed. “Maybe it’s on my bucket list. Maybe I love living out of my suitcase.”
His body went still. “I offended you.”
Irritation ignited hotter and hotter. “Whatever. I’m done with the beach.”
I jumped off the lounge chair and started shoving my few items into the beach bag. I couldn’t articulate why his assumption upset me. Maybe because it hit a bit too close to home, or maybe because it was my decision to give a man a second chance that ultimately led to everything in my life imploding.
“Sophie—”
“Thanks for letting me hang out,” I spat out and rushed out of there.
I couldn’t afford to talk and get mixed up with another man, especially one who couldn’t even give a straightforward answer about what he did for a living.
Chapter 9
Sophie
It had been two weeks since my encounter with Kian Cortes.
I’d come to the conclusion that Albania was everything I didn’t know I needed in my life, which couldn’t be said for Albanian men who were too eager to flirt.
Unlike Americans, Albanians had no qualms about asking personal questions. I learned that Kian wasn’t unique when it came to that because every person, regardless of age or gender, had been prying into my life the last few days.
Like the hotel manager who boldly asked me where my husband was. When I said I wasn’t married, he stated I better hurry up because it was time to have babies. His wife chimed in, but in Albanian, and I sure as hell hoped she put him in his place. I continued my ice cream tasting in this little beachside town, but even there I was grilled on who I was, where I came from, and who my parents were. As if they would recognize their names.
I’d stumbled into this unexpected slice of heaven on earth and had no intention of leaving anytime soon. And in some lame show of protest, I hadn’t even done a basic web search on this man who’d already taken up too much of my headspace. If he didn’t want to share basic facts about himself, so be it. I wouldn’t be wastingmy energy.
I sighed and pushed open the heavy mahogany door, stepping into the bar just as dusk settled in. Outside, a few die-hards were still stretched out on the beach, clinging to the fleeting warmth of the day. I, however, was craving music, conversation, and something cold and strong enough to keep the glow going.
The bar opened out into a vast garden at the back, strung with warm lights that flickered against the deepening sky. Laughter spilled through the air and somewhere near the far end, a band was playing what I assumed to be local music, the trendy notes carrying my way. The place buzzed with life, a hive of motion and sound.
“Jackpot,” I murmured, sauntering toward the long mahogany bar lined with worn leather stools that looked as though they’d heard a thousand stories.
I’d barely sat down when the bartender appeared, smiling broadly.
“Good evening, miss.”
I smiled back, slightly surprised. “How did you know to speak English?”
“Lucky guess,” he said with a chuckle. “What can I get for you?”
I scanned the shelves behind him, bottles catching the light like jewels. “A mojito, please.”
He nodded and disappeared, leaving me to take it all in. Everything around me was simple, unpretentious, and quietly beautiful. The language was challenging, sure, but that was on me. Maybe I’d download Duolingo, learn a few words, and make a real effort.
It felt worth it. Every interaction here carried an openness I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. I’d eaten out alone every night since arriving, yet not once had I felt unsafe or out of place. Strangers smiled, servers chatted, locals lingered to help without being asked.
In Albania, I wasn’t just passing through. Somehow, impossibly, I already felt at home.
My mojito arrived and I took my time sipping on it while studying the growing crowd around me.
