His dark hair is ruffled, the buttons of his green and white striped shirt undone at the top, sleeves rolled up. He’s wearing athletic shorts, revealing his toned calf muscles, and brown penny loafers. His wristwatch glints with every movement of the leather steering wheel, and I gawp at it.
‘Is that the one I bought you?’
‘Hm?’ Ollie purses his lips, then follows my eyeline. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, it is.’
He blushes, just enough to make me want to press further. ‘You still have it?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? You still have a bunch of stuff I bought you?’
‘Oh, yeah, totally.’ I mean, maybe one thing. The rest I burnt in a witchcraft ritual with Alice in my apartment, which set the fire alarm off and resulted in a big evacuation of my apartment building at quarter to two in the morning. But Ollie doesn’t need to know that.
The watch is the most expensive thing I bought him. It reminded me of something a gentleman would wear on his country estate, and what with Ollie’s career ambitions, I thought it would suit him perfectly. He’s obviously thinking the same.
‘Woah.’
We turn off a road and drive down a lane flanked by vineyards, which go on for miles. We pull up outside a modest, understated family home, with white paint, blue accents and ceramic Roman roof tiles.
‘Mister Oliver?’ A Greek woman steps out, dressed in a blue linen shirt and cropped white linen trousers. She has a kindness that immediately makes me gravitate towards her. ‘And this must be Mister Alec.’
‘Oh.’
‘No.’
‘No, no.’
‘No, absolutely not.’ Ollie swipes his arms, shaking his head. ‘No, no, not Alec.’
‘All right, Ol, I think she gets it,’ I mutter. I hold out my hand. ‘Hi, I’m Will. I’m… a friend of Ollie’s.’
‘Eleni.’
Despite her shaking my hand with warmth, I feel nothing but cold. Cold at how I’ve introduced myself. Chilled that all of this could have been mine if I’d just been mature enough to accept it.
‘Well, it’s a pleasure to see you. Please, come.’
‘This is where it’s all stored?’ Ollie asks, hands on his hips, staring at the house.
She taps the side of her tanned nose. ‘Don’t let it deceive you.’
We enter into a building with whitewashed walls and spotlessly clean tiled floors. The windows are open on latches, letting in the warm Greek air. There’s a fly buzzing somewhere, but Eleni doesn’t mind.
I see what she means about the house. It sprawls away from us, and once we’re out of what I assume to be the living quarters, we find ourselves in a room that could double as a bar. There are tables set up as if in anticipation of a truck load of tourists, and I hear the sounds of a chef from a nearby kitchen, singing along to a Greek song on the radio.
‘We appreciate you choosing us as your wedding supplier,’ Eleni says.
‘Alec said you come highly recommended.’ Ollie turns to me.
Then why am I here, I want to ask. They’ve already decided on the wine they want.
That’s when the seed of hope begins to sprout and climb, like the vines outside lining the acres of this sweltering landscape. Maybe he wanted an excuse to be close to me again. I try to read him, as if he might be able to convey what he’s feeling. But he’s staring around in awe as we descend a staircase at the back of the restaurant, and step onto wooden planks that go on forever.
‘This is where we ferment the wine,’ Eleni explains, as she indicates the line of silver fermentation tanks to her left. She walks backwards, unbothered by the uneven planks of wood. ‘You can see we have a few varieties, but we mostly use the Savatiano and the Xinomavro that we grow here, as we try to be as sustainable as possible.’
‘I imagine the Xinomavro has great tannins,’ Ollie says.
I stroke my chin. ‘Mm, tannins, yes.’
Ollie glances at me, bemused.
