Chapter 30
At night she told him stories, as she drew her fingers through his hair, caressing his forehead.
He wanted to know more about her, which was very out of character for him.
He asked her about the paintings in her little sketchbook and her plans for the future.
Sometimes he just let her talk so her soft voice would drift over him and he felt like he was floating in the sky, the stars a hammock cradling him.
- One Week with the Greek
CALLIE
T his was more than just sex—it was something much more powerful, spiritual, even. When the world stopped spinning, I shifted, and Nikos’s arms tightened around me.
“Not so fast,” he mumbled against my hair. “You’re going to let me hold you this time.”
“All right.” I was incapable of moving anyway. It was a miracle that I could speak. I’d never felt more content, but I also had the strange urge to cry into his shoulder.
I shivered and he reached for my shawl, draping it over me. “You’re not cold?” I asked as I snuggled deeper against him, winding my legs through his.
“After that? No, I’m still on fire.” He chuckled, a deep comforting rumble in his chest that warmed me to the bone.
I’d never been much of a postcoital cuddler.
Probably because the guys I’d been with were more the cigarettes-after-sex type.
I was usually the first to leave, before the awkward moment when one of us would admit we preferred to be alone.
But I didn’t have a choice here, and I wouldn’t have wanted to go anywhere else even if I could have.
I’d never felt like this with any other man, like an invisible thread was tying us together.
So I Iet him hold me, his hands stroking over my hair, as the boat rocked gently in the waves.
I placed my hand over his chest and felt his heartbeat beneath my fingers, comforting in its strong, regular rhythm.
I don’t know how long we lay there, staring up at the stars while he told me more stories and myths from the island.
Eventually, the night grew chilly, and we decided it was time to go back.
We docked in front of Nikos’s house, and he walked me back to my place, and for once I didn’t protest. Something had shifted between us and there was no going back now.
“When is your next shift at the migrant camp?” I asked when we got to my door. I’d already decided I wanted to go but hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask him about it.
“You know about that?” He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door jamb.
“Yiannis told me about it when I accused you of having secret children on another island.” He laughed, brushing my hair gently away from my face.
“The day after tomorrow, why?” His fingers trailed down my hair.
“I thought I could help. Is there a kitchen there?”
“There is.”
“All right then. That settles it.”
“I don’t know if I can wait until the day after tomorrow to see you,” he said leaning in to kiss me. I wrapped my hands around his neck and met him halfway.
“Come for dinner tomorrow. I need to practice my menu,” I mumbled against his lips.
“Just for dinner?” He pressed his forehead to mine.
“We’ll see where it goes from there. There might be a dessert course.”
“In that case, I’ll be there, asteri mou .” The nickname didn’t sound like he was teasing anymore. It sounded like he meant it.
* * *
The next day, I went foraging in the hills for horta for dinner. I was nervous about cooking my menu for Nikos. Strangely the idea of sharing my food made me feel more vulnerable than sharing my naked body with him.
Since my talk with Gaz, I’d been hit hard by a case of imposter syndrome. It woke me up at night, the hateful voice inside my head— who do you think you are? You don’t have the experience, everything you do is derivative, there’s not an original idea in your head.
In the end, all thoughts of food vanished when I opened the door to him that evening.
We were hungry for each other. I tugged him to me, and he pinned me to the wall with a ravenous kiss and then proceeded to kiss his way down my entire body.
He gave me one orgasm there in the hallway, then I led him into the bedroom and let him do it again.
Then I let him cuddle me. I was shameless.
“Your turn to tell me a story,” he said as I lay with my head on his shoulder. “Why don’t you finish that one?” He nodded at One Week with the Greek .
“Really?”
“Yeah, I need to know if that bastard Angelos has Mia lick honey off of more than just his fingers.”
I flipped the book to where he’d left off and had just begun reading when I smelled something burning. “Oh no! The bread!”
I threw my silk kimono on and ran out on the terrace. Black smoke curled from inside the small clay oven, and when I opened the grill, the smoke tickled my throat. I doubled over coughing.
“I hope this is not a preview of things to come,” Nikos said at the sight of the charred carcass of my sourdough bread.
“You distracted me!” I poked at the burnt husk to see if anything was salvageable. The one unforgivable thing in the kitchen was burning your food. You could recover from too much salt or sugar, but too much heat or too long in the flames and you might as well start over again. Amateur mistake.
Let this be a lesson, you’re playing with fire here.
“Sorry, I won’t do it again.” He smiled.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I think we both know that’s not true.”
Back in the kitchen, I wondered if I should go ahead with my plan or just make pasta. Nikos seized my hand and studied the nail that I’d been unconsciously biting, then brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “The first nervous habit I’ve seen in you.”
“I don’t have many tells. I’m an excellent card player.”
“Oh, I have no doubt.” He slid down onto the barstool. “What has you so nervous?”
I hesitated to tell him the truth. “I wanted to make my menu for the restaurant, but I’m afraid you’ll hate it.”
“So far, your food has blown me away. I don’t think that will happen, unless I manage to distract you again and you burn everything.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, trying to make me laugh, but instead a shaky breath escaped me.
He slid off the stool and took me in his arms. “Hey,” he whispered into my hair. “Since when have you cared what I thought anyway?”
I pressed my face into his chest. “Oh, silly man, I’ve always cared what you thought. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”
“You did a good job hiding it.” He tipped my chin up and searched my eyes then brushed his lips over mine.
The kiss was sweet like honey and I didn’t want it to end.
Then I got that tumbling feeling again like I was a second away from falling off a precipice, and I moved away. I’d shared too much again.
“Sit here.” I patted the stool. “You get to see the whole show. In restaurants people pay extra to sit at the chef’s table.”
“I’ve already had a very satisfying first course.”
I winked at him and poured us each a glass of Jake’s wine. Then I pulled out my equipment.
“My God, no wonder your suitcases were so heavy.” He smiled.
“You mean the suitcases you so gallantly let me carry up the hill by myself?” I reminded him as I got to work on my wild fennel pesto.
“Tell me about this menu,” Nikos said.
“Well, first of all, it’s seasonal. But it will change by the cycle of the moon. Each course will represent one of the elements—either water, earth, fire, air,” I explained. “And, of course, it’s an ode to Aphrodite, since we’re only visitors to her island.”
“So, I’m in Aphrodite’s kitchen, is that the idea?”
“Hey, not bad. I may steal that from you.” I tapped my finger against my head. “Taste this and tell me what you think. I know I have to refine the technique.”
I pulled out my latest experiment—a paper-thin sheet of dehydrated kritamo. I wanted something that recalled a communion wafer but that was thin as air and melted on the tongue. I popped it into his mouth. “Don’t chew, just let it dissolve on your tongue and then take a bite of this.”
“Wow, once again proving that you’re a witch with magical powers.”
I took my time cooking each course, showing him how to make certain elements like the myzritha espuma and grape-leaf wafers, explaining the philosophy behind the dishes. By the time we got to the end of the menu, two hours had passed. It was the most fun I’d had cooking in a long time.
His pleasure in my food was evident. I felt it in my soul. Words were unnecessary.
He sat back as we sipped our dessert wines. “You’re not only a sorceress, but you’re also an amazing fucking artist. I don’t know what else to say.”
“The dessert is a work in progress,” I admitted. “It’s not my strength. I’m not very sweet.”
“No, definitely more spice,” he agreed, eyeing me meaningfully over his wineglass. “Does that mean I don’t get dessert then?”
“I might have something else in mind . . .” I teased, sipping my wine as he slid off the stool and pinned me against the counter. “What are you doing?”
“I would be remiss in not paying the chef.” His lips met mine and he scooped me up and carried me to the couch, moving over me in a pool of moonlight.