‘Glib. Okay,’ Will says. ‘Sure, maybe he was. He does have a family, too. I don’t want him to lose his job or anything.’
‘Lucky I was there to save the day, then, wasn’t it?’ He gives me a sarcastic smile. ‘Just like I used to do.’
‘Only because you’d never let me be Spider-man.’
‘Because you always wanted to be Mary Jane,’ I protest.
Will gawps at me, shaking his head. ‘I didn’talwayswant to be Mary Jane. Sometimes I was Lois Lane.’
As we drive through Athens, he points at the Presidential Mansion. ‘That was in the guidebook, and that.’
He stares at the changing of the guard ceremony, almost pressing his face against the window.
‘Oh, I’m glad I came,’ he says, bouncing in his seat. ‘This place looks amazing. I bet you take it all for granted.’
‘Yeah, a little.’ There are only so many times you can see museums, gardens or the Parthenon and not get bored.
‘I’m sorry if I stain your van with blood.’
‘It’s fine. I’ll invoice you.’
Chapter Eleven
WILL
Day One
No Name Coffee Shop’s yellow exterior blends seamlessly with rows of yellow and pale buildings. I steady myself, as Sam parks his van and waves at customers sitting underneath a parasol, hot coffees steaming next to them on a wooden table, despite the heat. A short-haired black cat slinks between Sam’s bare, hairy legs, rubbing its face against him. Even from here the purr is audible. I’d purr too; Sam is a beefcake.
Am I allowed to describe my old best friend as a beefcake?
Sure, just did!
Plus, when he’d reminded me of wanting to be Mary Jane, I’d immediately thought ofthatkissing scene and pictured Sam upside down, dressed as Spider-man, kissing me, which hadn’t helped the whole boner situation. Thankfully, that has now gone.
A crooked tree towers above the shop, its green branches sloping over the roof and the diners, casting them in shade. Sam doesn’t bother locking his van after taking out a pallet of coffee beans in branded packaging. He invites me to follow him upthe street, towards the shop. The Parthenon rises above us, and excitement makes me pick up the pace.
Sam props open the red door, and I gasp as I enter the coffee shop of my dreams. Exposed wooden beams catch the sunlight from a vaulted glass ceiling. The tables are antique wood, scarred and blemished, rustic and beautiful. My shoulders drop and a breath joins the hum of chatter from customers.
There are plants in terracotta pots, all different sizes: snake plants, monstera, cacti, all basking in the warmth, catching the rays, complimenting the burnt-orange walls.
‘Will? You all right?’
‘Sorry, I just…’ My eyes sweep over the coffee counter fashioned from bark. I want to lose myself in the wing-backed armchairs placed in front of overfull bookshelves. There are stairs at the back, across from the counter and a booth, twisting upwards to a floor above. ‘This place is amazing. This is yours?’
‘Ours.’
Ours. So, he has a partner. I mean, come on, look at him. Those shorts were tailored to perfection, accentuating his toned legs and hugging his hips. Of course, there’s an ours.
Whoever she is, she is very lucky.
‘Sammy?’
The woman behind the counter doesn’t turn, but her hair is greying and I can tell she’s older. I don’t judge, but apparently Sam likes mature women. Fine. Fair enough. I have a daddy fantasy, and I guess he has a mother fantasy.
‘Sorry, Mum.’ Scratch the older woman fantasy theory. ‘I had to help a damsel in distress.’
A damsel in distress? How dare he? But secretly, yes, I love it.
