Chapter Fifteen
Spring was fast turning into early summer.
The sun beat down on Blane’s back as he took his morning run.
It wasn’t hot yet, it was still too early in the day and in the year for that, but the temperature was picking up by the day.
Another couple of weeks and it’d make more sense to run at dawn than leave it this late.
The way his heart pounded at that thought had nothing to do with his pace. He wouldn’t be here in another couple of weeks.
It was hard to believe he’d been here for a week already.
In some respects, the time had flown; in others, it felt like he’d already been here for a lifetime—already been with Bea for a lifetime.
And as his feet thudded against the blacktop, step after step, he couldn’t help wondering what a lifetime with Bea might have been like.
What had she been like as a young woman, eighteen years old when she met that Simon asshole? He wished he could have known her then.
She’d told him so much about the dreams she’d had back then, usually when they were lying in bed talking in the dark. He’d disliked Simon from the little he knew about him before, but after what Bea had told him on the beach the other day, that feeling had edged closer to hatred.
Not that she’d made Simon out to be a bad guy. She hadn’t. She didn’t see him that way, and even if she had, she’d have made excuses for him. Blane knew her that well.
But what he understood now, and he still wasn’t sure Bea understood at all, was that Simon had stolen her dreams from her.
Yeah, walking on the beach holding hands was one thing, and after doing it with Bea, he could admit it meant a whole lot more than he ever would have guessed before.
But in his mind, it still didn’t compare with the other dreams she’d had as a girl.
She didn’t just love gardening. She’d thought it was going to be her career.
But Simon had decided his career was more important, and that Bea’s role was to support him.
Blane didn’t give a shit how reasonable the man had been about it.
He hated that Bea had somehow ended up believing her dreams mattered less.
He looked up, surprised to find himself approaching the main road again after completing his loop around the lanes behind the house. He checked his watch. His pace had been faster than usual, and he didn’t want to go back too early.
He enjoyed these morning runs, and he had a feeling Bea enjoyed them too.
He knew she liked having him around, but this was her new home, and he wanted her to have some time in it by herself too.
Time to work with her plants, drink her coffee, or do whatever the hell she felt like doing without him there beside her every minute of the day.
He smiled when he spotted the bakery ahead.
She loved those little baklava things. And he wouldn’t lie, he did too.
Stopping would give her a few more minutes to herself, and he could take her something sweet when he got back.
The older woman behind the counter grinned and waved as soon as he stepped through the door.
Her gray hair was swept back from her face, and there was something about the way she stood there, completely at home behind her counter, that made Blane suspect she’d been running the place—and everyone who came into it—for a very long time.
“Kalimera,” he greeted her.
She nodded happily and immediately started talking at him.
She did that every time he and Bea came in.
Bea had a few words she could use in return but, so far, all Blane had mastered was good morning and thank you.
That didn’t seem to deter the woman as she chattered away to him as though he understood every word and if he didn’t, he really should by now.
He smiled and nodded, hoping he wasn’t agreeing to anything he’d regret later.
After a while, she laughed, and the sound was so contagious that he joined in even though he still didn’t have a damn clue what she was saying.
For all he knew, she could be telling him he was a big dumb fool who didn’t understand a word coming out of her mouth, and here he was laughing and nodding along in agreement.
If that was the case, at least he’d amused her for a while. Didn’t cost him a damn thing.
When he pointed to the baklava, she started filling a paper bag. He figured she must make a fortune off tourists who didn’t know how to tell her how many they wanted. She just kept loading up the bag and apparently sold them however many she felt like.
When she finally set it on the counter, she gave him an approving nod. “For Bea. Good lady.”
That much he understood and could agree with. “She is.”
“You here with her.”
“Yeah, I am.”
Her nod became even more emphatic. “Is good.”
“Yeah. She’s a good woman.”
She shook her head. “No. Is good. You here.”
Blane frowned. “Why?”
Her brows drew together, and she stared at him as though he’d asked something particularly stupid. “Why?”
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I’m asking.”
She continued to stare at him, apparently waiting for him to realize that she’d already answered.
“Why is it good that I’m there?”
“Is good lady.”
“Yeah. She is. She’s a good, good lady.”
The woman gave a satisfied nod, as if they’d finally managed to get him there.
Blane wasn’t convinced they had.
But the woman had moved on—she told him a price, and he pulled out his wallet.
He had no idea whether she’d charged him for six pieces of baklava or sixteen, but the bag was heavy enough that he wasn’t going to argue.
He handed over the money, then pushed the change she gave him straight into the tip jar.
That earned him another broad smile and a stream of Greek he didn’t understand. He smiled back anyway.
After he left the bakery, he stopped at the little market beside the road to pick up more tomatoes, lettuce, and some of the local mizithra cheese that both he and Bea had taken a liking to.
By the time he set out again for the run back up the hill to the house, he had a bag swinging from each hand.
He decided he might have to make this extra loop past the stores part of his regular morning run.
The hill was steep and the sun was hotter now, so carrying the bags only added to the workout.
As he rounded the blind corner on the steepest stretch, almost back to the house, he stopped dead.
A goat stood in the middle of the road. He couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling it was the same one that had blocked the road when they first arrived.
It had the same baleful, indignant look about it. The same bad attitude, too.
It just stood there, and on a blind corner like this it’d be a hazard if a car came around any faster than Blane had been running.
The goat turned its head slowly and gave him a long, assessing look, its strange horizontal pupils making it seem as though it was asking what the hell Blane thought he was doing on its stretch of road.
“Go on. Get out of it.” He waved his arms.
The goat just stared.
He took a few steps toward it. He’d approached much more dangerous targets in his life, but he had no frame of reference for a damn goat. Did they charge? Were they timid? He had no freaking clue, although as he got closer and it lowered its head, he decided this one was definitely not timid.
He stopped. On second thought, it wasn’t really his responsibility to clear the road for whoever came along next. He could leave the damn thing there. He took a step away, but his conscience wouldn’t let him do it. Turning back, he waved his arms again. “Just fucking move, would you?”
The goat continued to stare at him, chewing on whatever the hell it had in its mouth.
“Pericles!”
Blane turned at the sound of a woman’s voice.
“Pericles!” she called again, waving her arms.
Blane could only stare when, instead of standing its ground or lowering its head at her, the goat sauntered over as though it had been planning to do that all along. The woman caught hold of its ear and started leading it away.
She looked back over her shoulder and gave Blane a curious look. “You is good?”
“Yeah, I…” He stopped. He wasn’t even sure how to explain himself in English, let alone Greek, so he smiled and shrugged, hoping that would be enough.
Apparently, it wasn’t. Her eyebrows went up.
“He was standing in the middle of the road. I didn’t want him to cause an accident.”
The woman nodded along, clearly not understanding a word he was saying. She gave Pericles a swat on the backside, and the goat trotted off toward an open gateway that led into the yard of one of the little stone houses.
“He is bad boy,” she said with a smile before following him.
Blane smiled to himself as he continued up the hill.
The more time he spent here, the more he liked the place.
Even the people. From what he could tell, their attitudes aligned pretty well with his own.
There didn’t seem to be a whole lot of complicated social bullshit.
Just simple assessments. Bea was a good woman. Pericles was a bad goat.
His smile faded. Bea was a good woman, but why had that old lady in the bakery seemed to think it was such a good thing that Blane was here with her? Was there some reason for that he didn’t know about?
When he got back to the house, he found Bea sitting out on the terrace with a cup of coffee, taking in the view.
It bothered him that the only way she could sit in this particular spot—the one with her favorite view over the village below, the olive groves, and the little white houses dotted across the hillsides—was to drag a folding chair out here. He set the bags down.
She didn’t smile when she looked up at him. Instead, her expression turned concerned. “Oh dear. The eyebrows aren’t happy this morning. What’s the matter?”
That made him laugh. “Not a damn thing. Well, nothing other than thinking we need to do something better than this chair for you.”
She got to her feet with a smile and curled an arm around his waist. “There. The chair doesn’t matter now. I’m standing anyway, and I’d much rather be here with you.”
He landed a kiss on her lips. “Don’t go telling me you prefer looking at granite cliffs to pretty Greek hillsides; I won’t believe you.”
She rested her hand in the middle of his chest the way she did. “Then you’re a foolish man, Blane Wilder. You should believe me, because it’s true.”
He kissed her again, taking more time over it this time. When they finally broke apart, her eyes seemed to shine as she looked up at him.
“What?” he asked, feeling strangely self-conscious.
She held his gaze for a moment. “Nothing really. I’m just thinking what a good man you are.”
He kissed her forehead, surprised at himself when he didn’t even try to deflect. If Bea saw him as a good man, that was how he wanted to be. Her words brought the conversation at the bakery back to him.
He picked up the bags. “Stopped to get you some of those baklava things.”
“Oh, Blane. Thank you so much.”
He shrugged. “Know you like them. And I was passing.” He frowned. “The woman in there…”
Bea smiled. “The older lady? Isn’t she wonderful? Oh, she didn’t give you a hard time, did she?”
He chuckled. “I don’t think so. But she talked so much and I understood so little that she might have.” His smile faded. “But, Bea, something she said bothered me.”
“What did she say?”
“Is there any reason people around here think you shouldn’t be in this house alone?”
Her expression immediately turned serious. “Oh my goodness, no. What makes you ask that?”
“That woman in the bakery. She kept saying it’s good that I’m here with you.”
She patted the middle of his chest. “Well, then she’s right, isn’t she?”
He covered her hand with his own but couldn’t let it go. “Yeah, she is. But it sounded like…” He frowned. “I don’t know, Bea. It didn’t sit right.”
He was grateful that she didn’t automatically dismiss him. He could see her giving it some thought, and when she finally spoke, her answer made sense.
“I imagine it’s probably because I’m a woman living alone.
They knew that, you know. The last time I was here, the house purchase was already in process, so they knew I was coming here by myself.
” She smiled. “And if you think about it, we are in Greece, after all. I’m sure there’s still some traditional thinking, especially in a village like this and especially among the older people.
An unattached woman arriving from another country to live alone in a neglected old house…
” She gave a little laugh. “Well, Greece can be quite matriarchal in its own way. If you describe me like that, it’s probably enough to activate every maternal instinct in the village, isn’t it? ”
He could see her point, but it still didn’t sit right.
“Honestly, Blane, there’s nothing to worry about. You know that; I’m perfectly capable.”
He tightened his arm around her waist. “I’m not saying you’re not, darlin’. Just wanted to know if there’s something I need to worry about.”
“Well, then I can reassure you that, as far as I know, there’s absolutely nothing.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “And I can honestly reassure you that I don’t need you here for anything.”
He stiffened at that, until she looked up at him with a smile. “And there’s something rather liberating about that for me. I don’t need you in the least, but that doesn’t mean I’m not rather glad that you’re here.”
That made him smile. “You always have to sneak it in sideways like that.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, doing her best to look innocent.
“You know damn well what I mean, Bea. Rather glad. What the hell does that mean?”
He poked her in the side, and she laughed as she wriggled away from him. But when she looked up again, her expression was much more serious.
“I think you know exactly what it means, Blane. But there’s really no point in me saying it out loud.” Her smile returned. “And besides, I’m not as blunt as you are. I tend to sneak things in sideways, as you call it. It must be a British thing.”
“Yeah, that must be it.”
Even as he said it, the joke didn’t work for him. He knew damn well why she didn’t just come right out and say how much she liked having him around. He figured it was the same reason that kept him from saying anything about how much he enjoyed being here with her.
It was going to end all too soon. Admitting how much it meant would only make losing it that much harder. He already knew that.