Cam grabs my bag and climbs out, and I follow. Once we’ve paid the driver, we drop several coins into the donation box, then follow the paved path.
We pass the Gouverneto Monastery, and a broad man,presumably a Greek Orthodox monk, walks past as we peep through the open door.
“Want to go inside now or after the hike?” I ask.
“After,” he decides, clasping my hand and pulling me down the path until we’re met with a rickety wooden gate.
He holds it open for me, and when he lets it go, it slams shut with a sharp clatter. “Oops,” he chuckles.
The world is so quiet this morning. The only sound is the gravel crunching beneath our shoes. When the path at the top of the mountain opens to a clearing, we’re met with an expansive view of the Sea of Crete. The magnificence of the scenery pulls all the air from my lungs.
“Wow,” we gasp in unison.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and spin so I can take a selfie with the sea as a backdrop.
“Here,” Cam says, holding out his hand. “Let me.”
I hand it over. He is the professional, after all. He swings an arm around my shoulder and snaps a selfie of the two of us. Our smiles are wide, and the water is unbelievably blue behind us.
“After you?” He motions toward the path.
“I’d say you’re a gentleman, but you just want to stare at my ass, don’t you?”
“I’m not even going to try to deny it,” he says with a devastating grin.
A few beats later, the gravelly path morphs into slick, wide stones. Cam grabs my elbow occasionally to steady me as we go. Nature’s barbed wire, these short, thorny bushes, are the only things stopping us from going over the side of the mountain. We remain quiet in our descent, taking in the harmonizing symphony of goats, bees, and cicadas.
After about ten minutes of doing my best to avoid a sprained ankle, we arrive at the Arkoudospilio Cave, or Bear Cave, namedfor the huge stalagmite that resembles a bear bent over a well, and Cam finally breaks the silence.
“Some say this cave was used to worship Artemis and Apollo.” With a grin, he steps inside. “Watch out for goat poop.”
I follow closely, using my phone’s light to take in my surroundings, then follow him back to the trail, where wind-bent trees keep us company, alongside the Cretan goats (a.k.a.kri kri)that scale the mountains.
Now that the sun is rising higher in the sky, Cam pivots his ball cap so the brim shields his eyes. Beads of sweat collect at his temples. While my back is warm from the friction of my backpack, the rest of my body is comfortable.
That is, until he speaks next. Just the tone of his voice is enough to stoke the low flame that’s been burning inside me since I saw him in the lobby this morning. “Can I ask you a question?”
The path is wide enough now that we can safely walk side by side. “Mm-hmm,” I reply.
He side-eyes me. “What’s your book about?”
Ah, the question every writer loves as much as they hate it. While I’m flattered when people show interest in my craft and passion, there’s no possible way to formulate a coherent summary and keep it under three minutes. I once spent two hours spilling my brains out to Brooks when he asked what I was writing, diving into the backstories of my backstories in fear that he’d think my idea was unappealing. So with all that in mind, I give Cam the most condensed version.
“It’s fiction.” I take a deep breath in, willing my heart to steady. It’s always daunting baring my soul like this. “Wait.” I stop dead in my tracks and frown. “How did you know I’m writing a book?”
“You mentioned it last year and Millie may or may not have sent me your Instagram,” he admits with a wide smile. Damn, his teeth are so white he could be in a Crestcommercial.
I curse my cousin under my breath. Of course she did. I step away from him so I can focus on the path rather than him while I explain. “It’s a coming-of-age novel about a girl. Awoman,” I correct, “who was raised by a mother who’s addicted to painkillers and how she struggles to find her way in life.”
Cam is silent, studying the ancient steps beneath us. When I don’t offer more of an explanation, he speaks up. “And does she?”
“Does she what?”
“Does the woman find her way in life?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my bottom lip. “I haven’t gotten that far.”
24
