4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
It’s been a little over a week now since I last saw Nikos and his absence is more than noticeable. I’ve only called him a couple of times to straighten out some orders for the hotel so far, not wanting to impose on him.
After a long day at work and a much-needed grocery run, I finally kick off my sandals and drop my keys into the entryway of our little rented garden apartment. Silence reigns which means that Tom isn’t back yet, otherwise, the TV would be blasting with his favorite sports channel. My stomach grumbles, reminding me to put something in my system other than caffeine and crackers, but my mind is racing; impure thoughts about being stuffed both ways have me wet since I woke.
I call the local tavern for takeout, then lay back on the couch and pick up my phone, checking Nikos’s stories and posts on Instagram. There are two new photographs of him smiling while holding up a huge fish, so I hit the heart button and leave a clapping hand emoji below. We've been following each other on social media for a while now, chatting from time to time and I love getting to know a little bit more about him through the things he shares.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, and I break open the carton and dig into the luscious moussaka, my mouth watering at the creamy bechamel sauce. I can’t help but sigh inwardly as I savor the delicious meal, thinking back to all the soulless, flavorless meals we consumed back in the States.
It’s at that moment I hear the keys on the door and I turn to watch Tom enter. He drops the keys on the console table, smiling. “Hey, babe.” I simply nod because my mouth is full but my eyes follow him as he takes off his boots and gear. “Any left for me?”
When he leans over to plant a soft kiss on my lips, the smell of smoke mixed with gasoline fills my nose.
“I thought you said you’d cut back on carbs.” He’s put on a couple of pounds recently due to his migraine medication and I’m doing my best to keep him on track. “Not today, hon. I’m starving,” he shouts over the running water.
Leaving my fork and knife down, I go to the kitchen to heat his food and when I return, he’s already on his phone, scrolling.
“Can you get me a beer, too, please, sweetheart?”
“Here you go,” I say a little later. “How was work today? Any incidents?”
I hear the hiss and pop of the can opening and I feel that dull ache in the pit of my stomach once more.
“Just a small wildfire and a couple of pet rescues. Slow day.”
“Slow is good, baby. We came here for slow, remember?”
He smiles and a sigh escapes my lips as I think about how much things have changed over the years. The incredible sex that we used to have, almost two, maybe three times a week in the past, has now diminished into us getting together every couple of months or so. There have been times I have even lost track of when he and I made love last.
What’s worse is, sometimes I’m not even into it.
It's sad, but as years go by, that spark has all but disappeared, giving its place to the mundane reality of going through the motions.