Chapter 8
Angelos felt the sting of her small hand across his cheek.
“Bastard!” she cried, her eyes no longer glittering with lust, but with cold hatred. He was used to women insulting him, but it was usually after he grew bored with them after a few nights of hot sex. He reached for her, but she darted away into the darkness.
“Who is she?” he demanded, gripping the arm of the blonde woman who had interrupted them.
She shook him off, rubbing at the red mark he’d left on her skin. “Mia Morgan, the daughter of the man you ruined.”
“Morgan?” he repeated. The owner of the first company he had seized.
His little star was the man’s daughter?
- One Week with the Greek
CALLIE
S omehow, despite the wind howling through the cracks in the stones and goats dancing on the tin roof of my shed, I managed to sleep through the night. When I awoke the next morning, I was even more determined to take control of this situation I’d found myself in.
My first item of business for the day was to find a new place—preferably one with a kitchen that would allow me to create a five-course menu worthy of a Michelin star.
I set off, leaving the big furry beast to guard my door.
He stared up at me from beneath bushy eyebrows as I explained, “I’m counting on you to hold down the fort.
No juvenile delinquents or goats inside, got it? ”
This time, when I reached the top of the steep stairs leading to the port, I stopped to savor the view.
It was another gloriously sunny day, the sea a deep cerulean-blue near the horizon and a clear aquamarine where the water met the rocks.
It was like standing at the edge of the world.
I could understand how the ancient people who had built this place had believed in gods and magical sea creatures.
As I made my way down the five hundred steps, I composed a mental list of ingredients that I needed to find at the market today. Phyllo, basil, pine nuts, cinnamon, honey, shallots .
I chanted it like an incantation, adding more ingredients with each step.
By the time I reached the center of town, the list had become a litany.
I weaved through the tangled alleyways, trying to find my way back to the market where I planned to take my time this morning unearthing as many local treasures as possible.
The older woman who ran the store spoke minimal English, but she spent a good half hour showing me her most-prized products: dried chickpeas and yellow lentils, grown on the far side of the island, some tangy goat cheese, another bottle of wine—this time a pale white with a sketch of the ruined temple on the label—and an enormous quince shaped like a deformed apple.
She mimed peeling it, then let me taste some of the preserved rind in a jar.
“Amazing!” I kept repeating, until she was repeating it as well.
When she held out a small bottle of fig raki and some small, wrinkled olives full of umami, she grinned, saying, “Amaysink!”
As I was checking out, she threw in some warm brown bread and motioned for me to follow her down toward the square where an enormous stone furnace stood. It was still warm and smelled like hot bread and yeasty goodness. “For everyone?” I made a circle with my arms.
“ Ne,” she agreed vigorously. A communal furnace. I was going to be putting this baby to work, that’s for sure.
“ Efcharistó poli .” I thanked her as I heaved my bulging raffia bag over my shoulder.
Now that I had all this food, finding a new place became essential.
I wove through the narrow passages, hoping that I might miraculously stumble upon an available rental and nearly jumping with joy when I saw a worn sign in English that read “Bed and Breakfast.”
“Oh, thank God.” I let out a relieved sigh. If I got a room there, they might let me use the kitchen.
As I got closer, however, the sound of loud hammering made me slow down.
And when I peeked through the open gate that led to the inn, my optimism died in my chest. Where the entrance should have been was a large gaping hole leading to the charred remains of the reception area.
And instead of a roof, there was only the clear blue sky.
The sight of familiar broad shoulders, this time gleaming with sweat beneath a white sleeveless shirt, stopped me in my tracks.
Ugh, what was he doing here? I refused to be caught ogling him again.
But my eyes simply refused to comply and greedily ran over his tan skin and the tattoos decorating his flexing biceps.
“Miss Calista, hello!” Yiannis’s voice called out, and Nikos turned and caught me staring. He had the nerve to smirk at me.
“Good morning,” he said, that deep baritone once again making me weak in the knees. “I’m afraid you missed the ferry.” He nodded at my enormous bag.
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” I answered. “Thanks to you making me late for my meeting yesterday, I’ll have to hang around here a bit longer.”
He leaned against the wall and my eyes ran over his slim waist and his paint-splattered work pants. “So you’re a carpenter as well as a fisherman and a liar?”
“Yes, on a small island we wear multiple hats.” He smiled crookedly.
I dragged my eyes away from him and gestured to Yiannis who’d been hiding in the corner like he wanted to disappear into the stone wall. He shuffled over with a sheepish expression on his face.
“I understand you’re the only person who handles real estate on the island, Yiannis,” I said, and he glanced nervously at Nikos.
“Yes, that’s right. Is there a problem with your house?” His voice cracked.
“I don’t know if I could narrow it down to just one problem.
Let’s just say I was expecting hot water and a functional kitchen.
” I was trying to be as diplomatic as possible.
It wasn’t his fault that Gaz had chosen to play a lousy joke on me by renting that hovel.
“Do you have another rental available with those very basic amenities?”
“Oh, Miss Calista, I don’t know . . .” He flicked another uneasy glance at his friends. What, did the fishermen’s mafia control Airbnb’s around here?
“I’ll pay extra.” I smiled at him.
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “The problem is . . . the island is very small, and it was just Easter. Many families come to visit. And you can see, the hotel . . .” He gestured to the hole in the wall. “No, no, I can’t help you.”
“Well, do you think there will be something available in the near future?” I fought to control my temper. I could feel Nikos’s eyes boring into the back of my head. “Or maybe someone might have a room to rent?”
“Perhaps in the future. Far, far in the future,” Yiannis answered nervously.
I had to bite my cheek to keep from snapping at him. “Well, I’ll just have to ask around then.”
“Not many people speak English,” warned Nikos.
“More than I was initially led to believe though,” I responded, not bothering to address him directly. “Okay, Yiannis. You’ll let me know if something does become available, right?”
“Yes, yes.” He shook his head and moved away, speaking in rapid Greek with Nikos and his other buddies. I wasn’t born yesterday, I knew they were up to something, and if I ever managed to get Yiannis alone, I was sure I’d get it out of him.
I threw another dirty look at Nikos and hefted my bag onto my shoulder. Finding a kitchen was not going to be easy, but I had an idea.
* * *
The old man who ran the taverna gaped at me when I plunked my raffia bag full of produce on one of his barstools and tried to explain to him slowly, with large, exuberant gestures that I would like to use his kitchen.
He drew his heavy gray brows together and stroked his mustache. Then, muttering to himself, he took the bag from me and headed for the kitchen.
“No! Uh . . . ochi !” I cried, racing after him, only to have a small blonde woman wielding a dripping ladle blocking the entrance to the kitchen.
So the chef was a woman. Even better.
I hung back while they argued and waited for her to catch my eye. When she finally did, I pointed to myself and back at her. “Chef.”
I pantomimed cooking to her. She stared at me like I’d lost my mind and tossed her head back with a click of her tongue. I think she thought I was a deranged customer, demanding to cook her own food. But I was determined to win her over. “ Me lene Callie. Pos se lene ?”
“Maria,” she answered.
“Ah, Maria, to roz ryzi !” I cried, delighted to use one of the random sentences I’d learned from Duolingo.
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and I couldn’t blame her since I’d just told her the rice was pink.
When I then pulled cash out of my wallet and thrust it at her, I was sure she’d call the police. “I’ll pay to use your kitchen.”
I tried to push the money into her hands, but she backed me into the dining room—straight into a pair of hard pecs. I knew even before I glanced over my shoulder who those belonged to.
“Need a translator?” Nikos’s voice rumbled through my back, which for some reason was still glued to him. I leapt away, putting enough distance between us so that I no longer felt him in my bones.
“Like I’d believe anything that comes out of your mouth.” I scoffed and put my hands on my hips. “Are you following me?”
He laughed. “Get over yourself. I’m here for lunch.” He pointed to the fish on the counter—red mullet with beautiful coral scales. “Not bad, huh? Caught them this morning.”
“Oh? Was there wind in your sail this morning?”
“Pretty much every morning, yeah. No problems there. Especially, now that I know I’m the recurring star of your early-morning fantasies.”
I rolled my eyes, embarrassed that I’d fallen straight into that innuendo. “Can we just go back to not speaking to each other, please?”
“Fine.” He sauntered past me into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water out of the beverage refrigerator. I guess he could do whatever he wanted on this island, helping himself to free drinks like he owned the place.
I turned back to Maria. “I can come at times you’re not busy. I’ll pay more. This is all I have on me.”
I waved a hundred euros at her and her eyes got even larger. She said something to Nikos, and he mumbled something back that made her laugh.
“What did you just say?”
He unscrewed the cap off his water and took a big swig, neck muscles working. Why did I want to bury my head there, press my lips against his smooth, warm skin, and bite him? He leaned back against the fridge as I continued to stare at him. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”
“Not by choice, but since you refuse to leave, I’d like to know what you said about me.”
“I told Maria that you have a fixation on her kitchen. And that you’re very bossy and used to getting your own way.”
“I am not . . .” I bit my tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of another argument.
Just then a man burst into the room looking frazzled and shouted something at Nikos before taking off like he’d been burned.
I assumed there was a fire somewhere, but Nikos remained calm, and Maria and her husband looked delighted. “Sorry, have to go. Another emergency.”
As he was leaving, he said a few rapid-fire words to Maria and she laughed again, snatching the money from my hands. “You, okay. Pame .” And then gestured to the stove.
“Really? You’ll let me use your kitchen?”
“ Ne, ne ,” she said as she gestured to the countertop and began pulling out my produce, inspecting it while her husband tossed a fish at me. “ Yia ton Niko .”
“I’m not cooking for him,” I said, tossing the fish back. That asshole could cook his own fish.