Cameron
Joey’s eyespractically bugged out of her head when I told her I’d looked her up on Instagram, so I didn’t mention how far I scrolled back or how long I spent studying each of her images. She probably would have thrown me off this cliff if she knew. Jealousy bubbled up inside me, hot and ugly, when I scrolled back far enough to see that her grid still included pictures of her with her ex from more than a year ago.
The most recent image was one she took at the nude beach yesterday. I had to zoom in to be certain, but sure enough, my bare back was in the frame, sticking out from the water. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have known it was me. The caption,Not a bad view,made me smile.
Joey made a comment about her mom last year, so when she explained the premise of her book, it was easy to assume that it was at least partially based on her experience.
As we journey down the ancient stairs, blanketed with shade from the mountain, she’s got her lips pressed together and her brow furrowed in concentration. In this moment, I want nothing more than to be the person she leans on while she finds her way.
“Do you have siblings?”
“Nope,” she huffs, reaching for my hand at the same time I hold it out to help her navigate around a giant rock. Nobody warned us this hike was so treacherous.
“No siblings. It was always just my mom, my dad, and me.” A delicate grin slips out.
“The Three Musketeers.”
“There you go quotingThe Holidayagain.” Her eyes crinkle at the sides.
“What was your dad like?” I keep my tone light, going for nonchalant, but I ask anyway.
She purses her lips and ducks her head, likely unused to being asked about him. Just as she lifts her head and opens her mouth (probably to tell me to fuck off), we turn a corner and are met by the Katholiko Monastery, a church carved into a rock and nestled alongside a breathtaking bridge built of orangey-red bricks.
“This is one of the oldest monasteries in Crete.”
“You’re like a walking encyclopedia, aren’t you?” she teases.
With a laugh, I lean into the spiel, hoping I don’t sound too much like a dull history teacher. “This monastery is from the eleventh century, but six centuries later, the monks abandoned it due to frequent pirate attacks.”
“Stop it before I feel like I have to pay you for this kind of knowledge.” She nudges me with her shoulder.
Oh honey, I can think of several ways you could pay me.
Together, with our sneakers firmly planted on the ground and my hand secured around Joey’s waist, we peer over the edge of the bridge. Per my quick Google search this morning, there was once a river below. Now, though, a collection of olive trees grows.
“How do we get down there?” She backs up and spins in a circle, scanning our surroundings.
“Over here,” I call out when I spot two small red and white dashes painted on a rock, signaling the trail.
I descend the rocky path first. Though it turns out to be pretty stable, I pivot to help Joey anyway. Because of her shorter legs, she has to face the rocks and scale down like she’s descending a ladder at one point. Her foot slips, and I instinctively reach out to guide her. As I do, I end up palming the back pocket of her cutoff jeans.
“Cameron,” she reprimands, her tone full of mirth.
“Yes, Josefine?” I feign innocence.
“You can take your hand off my ass now.”
“I think I should make sure you get down safely first.” I give her bum a good squeeze. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
She snorts. “I’d hate to disrupt the patriarchy, Mr. Connelly.”
She gets a smack to the ass for that one.
Once we’re on flatter ground, she eyes me up and down over the top of her water bottle, chest heaving from exertion. “How are you in such good shape?”
“Excuse me?”
“How are you in such good—” She groans when she sees the smirk I’m sporting. “You heard me, you jerk.” Water dribbles down her chin when she can’t contain her wide grin behind her bottle.
