Chapter 11
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 of that kissing 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 up the 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.
His mum gasps.
‘No.’ Her hands find her face. ‘That isn’t Will Cooper?’
‘It’s been too long, Mrs Greer.’
She waves her hand. ‘Call me Jill, Will.’ She chuckles at the rhyme. ‘You two reconnected again? You didn’t tell me you’d got back in touch.’
‘No.’ Sam leans against the counter, and I fight hard to look anywhere but his bum. ‘This is pure chance.’
‘Fate,’ Jill says. ‘What are the chances?’
‘About the same as winning the lottery,’ I say. ‘I fell into a bush.’
Fate.
A thrill jolts through me.
How is this happening? Jill wears a blue shirt and cargo shorts with black boots, looking like she’d be at home on a ranch in Tennessee, not running a coffee shop in Athens. She’s shoulder height with Sam, and slicks back her grey hair with her hand. She always was a cool mum.
She gasps, ‘Your arm!’
In the car, Sam handed me a tissue to stop the bleeding.
Don’t ask me why he had tissues in his car.
I took one with no questions and dabbed, feeling queasy, certain I’d lost pints of blood by this point, even though there was just a trickle, but you never know.
After stepping out the car, a small bit of blood had leaked again.
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
‘No, Sam, take him upstairs right now. Get him cleaned up,’ Jill orders.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ He plants a gentle kiss on her cheek and motions for me to accompany him.
‘Nice to see you again, Jill.’
‘We’ll have a proper natter soon.’ She gives me a wink.
I follow Sam up the staircase, and the shop disappears as we round the corner. Chunky beige walls, more reminiscent of a cave than a home, glow with lit candles. Sam carries my bag, allowing me to focus on my bad arm. At least I only hurt my arm and nothing else.
Upstairs, I expect more customers, more exposed beams, more coffee.
Instead, we’ve entered an apartment, light and spacious, with a view out over the rooftops of Athens.
A thick, fluffy white Flokati rug in the centre of the floor is an added spot of colour and a touch of luxury in an otherwise brown, rustic, masculine apartment.
He leads me past the kitchen with its modern worktops, then down a large hallway and through a heavy wooden door into a bathroom of marble.
‘Take a seat,’ he says, dropping the toilet lid so I can sit down.
He crouches, his back to me, and I trace the contours of his skin, seeing the hint of crack at the base of his spine. His head in the cupboard under the white sink, his hands sorting through who knows what.
‘This is your place?’
‘It is,’ Sam says, his voice sounding dull from inside the cupboard. ‘I don’t live with Mum, by the way.’
I wouldn’t have cared if he did.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Came with the shop,’ Sam says. ‘Obviously.’
I’m fixated on his bare chest as he turns to face me. He catches me looking, and I hold my breath.
He breaks eye contact first. He has the same smile he had as a kid, just with straighter teeth.
‘This will sting.’
He runs a foul-smelling wet wipe over my wound. I cover my eyes and hiss like Medusa. Sam can’t conceal his mirth, tongue sticking out.
‘My pain is funny to you?’
Sam’s fingers hold my arm, his other gliding over my wound with delicate swipes. He’s so close now, the smell of honey emanating from him as sunlight trickles in through a frosted window, casting him in a yellow glow.
‘Worst bit over, now.’
The plastic wrap of the bandage crinkles before he places it on my arm, surprising me with his warm, gentle touch. He wraps the bandage around my wound, getting tighter and tighter, until my arm beings to ache.
‘Good enough?’
‘Tight.’
A pause, then we laugh.
His eyes hover over my face. My watch dings again, this time reminding me to breathe.
‘Perfect.’ Sam stands, suddenly crotch level to my gaze. And what a lovely level that is.
Clearing my throat, I step in front of the mirror, tugging at my unruly hair, prodding at my red skin. I dust dirt from my clothes, tutting when the stain doesn’t remove.
‘Wow. This is not how I wanted to arrive in Greece.’
‘How did you want to arrive?’
‘With dignity. A new man. Effortless. Like I do this often.’
‘You don’t do this much?’
‘I mean, I travel lots.’ I didn’t. ‘Never been to Greece, though.’
Very conscious of being in a bathroom with a half-naked man, I head to the door and step out into the hallway, squinting my eyes against the bright light. Plants hang from the windows, luscious green.
‘You like your plants?’
‘I like to think of myself as a sexy horticulturalist.’ He peers at one of the plants, tapping the soil. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Laurel Hotel.’
His eyebrows rise, but he says nothing.
‘This is crazy, Sam. When did you turn into such an adult?’
The apartment, the business, a life in Greece. Few people live Sam’s life.
‘I have no clue what I’m doing.’ Sam laughs. ‘Come here, Will. I can’t believe this.’
He hugs me, pulling me close to him. Whenever a stranger hugs me I seize up.
Even when Ollie hugged me recently, I went rigid.
But with Sam, I nuzzled into him, resting my head ever so slightly against the side of his.
His apricot-scented hair makes me forget about Ollie, for a moment.
And his honey skin replaces the memory of the fall in the bushes.
It helps me ignore the ache in my arm and the strange weight in my stomach. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
‘You too.’
Breaking away, he leans against the windowsill, crossing his arms. His cerulean eyes dance over me. ‘Come to dinner tonight with me and Mum so we can catch up properly.’