“She died a long time ago.” She nodded, but before she could ask another question, I pivoted. “Tell me something else about yourself.”
And she did. Her answers were guarded, the scars of what had happened to her and her niece buried beneath the many words she’d left unsaid, but I was grateful for them all.
Chapter 15
Sophie
For the first time since I left the States, I didn’t feel lonely.
We’d long finished our food and the moon had risen up, throwing light across the dark sea.
I was surprisingly comfortable with Kian, making the conversation flow easily.
I found myself following my curiosity wherever it wandered. Although, I was grateful that we both steered clear of my admission of the people I’d escaped.
The topics were all over the place. We talked about Albanian summers, culture, and anything else that came to mind. Travel stories. Bad flights. The worst hotel breakfasts. College days. His eyes were attentive as he listened to me talk, watching me.
Kian Cortes was different from any man I’d ever met. It could be the unique quality of each of our run-ins or even the setting tonight, but then it also seemed like more than that. I felt a strange, powerful attraction toward the man. It confused me because I’d never been the one to fall easily. My crush on Jonathan had taken years to develop, and what I felt now was somehow too… easy.
“At my first hotel, a man told another guy he was ‘fouler than his homemade alcohol.’ Is that… culturally significant?”
He smiled into his glass. “It is now.”
“Who still makes homemade alcohol? What is this, the nineteen twenties?”
He chuckled. “Many people from the Balkans do.”
“Including you?”
“No. I’d rather not poison myself or my friends.”
It was my turn to laugh. “That’s very reassuring. One less thing to worry about when you offer me a drink later.”
The words had barely left my mouth before I realized my mistake. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I fought the urge to backpedal or correct myself.
“I’m glad to hear you’re open to seeing me again,” he said, his tone calm. There was no teasing glint in his eyes, no attempt to call attention to my assumption. Instead, he met my gaze with an almost disarming seriousness.
It was a gentleman’s instinct, maybe. And it struck me how rare that felt these days.
“Okay, I should let you have a turn to talk or ask questions,” I joked. “I’ve been manipulating this conversation.”
“I don’t mind. I like your inquisitive mind.”
I rolled my eyes playfully. “I insist.”
“Very well.” He smiled, making my heart flutter. “I already know you kiss strangers—namely me—and climb strange men. Again, me. Please tell me I’m the only one.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those possessive men?” I teased.
“When it comes to a beautiful, smart, and caring woman… I absolutely am.”
Nerves danced in my stomach while I played it off with an eye roll, trying to temper the butterflies that wanted to take flight and soar.
“You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s the single greatest entrance anyone has ever made into my life.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”
