Chapter Twenty-Seven
It turned out to be just a few days until she saw George again.
She was woken a few mornings later by a sharp whistling sound that, in her dream, became the boiling of an old-fashioned kettle, steaming on the stove in the newly renovated kitchen of the house in Metalios.
Nina, wearing a floral fifties-style dress and apron, with her hair tied back in a scarf, lifted the kettle to make delicious fresh coffee for the smiling guests who waited for their breakfast.
The kettle continued to whistle and refused to pour when she tipped it. Nina tried again and again, to no avail and to the growing dissatisfaction of her guests, until at last the whistling dragged her from sleep and she realised it was coming from outside.
Blinking her way out of the dream, she staggered over to the window, wondering firstly what on earth could be making such a racket at such an unsociable hour, and secondly why her subconscious had chosen to cast her as some fifties housewife in the dream.
The answer to the first of her ponderings soon became clear, as she yanked the shutters open and glared out of the window to find George standing below, waving and grinning up at her.
She decided not to bother thinking about the second, dismissing the image of herself in heels, nail varnish and a frilly apron with a shudder.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed, pulling down the Fleetwood Mac t-shirt to make sure she was decent. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
George pushed his glasses up his nose and checked his watch. ‘No it’s not, it’s six fifteen.’
‘Exactly,’ she grumbled, starting to close the shutters. ‘Bugger off.’
‘No, wait – I’m going to swim with the turtles. Thought you might want to come?’
Her first instinct was to ask if he was insane. But she remembered the joy of watching the turtles swimming out with the fishing boats when he’d shown her before.
George waved a flask at her. ‘I brought coffee. Warmed the milk for you, I know that’s how you like it.’
She paused just a moment longer. What the hell. She was awake now anyway. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Give me a minute.’
‘Nice t-shirt!’ he called as she slammed the shutters closed.
A few minutes later she was creeping out, closing the door on Theo’s snores that reverberated through the house, awake enough to admire the beauty of the sunrise. The sky was ribboned in colour, palest blue, rose pink, lemon yellow.
‘Wow,’ she breathed.
‘Worth getting up for, right?’ George said. He was bright eyed and full of energy; one of those early-bird types. How utterly unbearable.
Nina grunted. ‘Give me that coffee.’
He smiled and handed it over, chatting happily as they made their way to the beach.
Nina sipped, half listening as he talked about an injured gull the rescue centre had been treating, and how it was almost fully recovered.
The coffee was deliciously strong and creamy, the warmed milk giving it a smooth flavour; exactly how she liked it.
She offered the cup to George, but he just shook his head.
A wise decision. He was pepped up enough as it was, without adding caffeine into the mix.
‘I brought some bougatsa too,’ he said.
‘Oh lovely, thanks. Maria’s?’
He nodded, grinning.
‘What are you smiling at?’
‘Nothing, it’s just – you’ve woken up. Coffee’s working.’
She tipped the flask. ‘Coffee’s good. Thanks. Some warning for this might’ve been nice though.’
He laughed. ‘Yeah, sorry. I didn’t plan it, I just woke up and saw this.
’ He spread his arms wide to indicate the sunrise, his t-shirt stretching tight over his shoulders as he did so.
‘And I wanted to come see the turtles and then I thought, it would be so much better if you were there too.’ He caught her eye, and she found herself unable to look away.
‘That’s nice.’ Nina was slightly regretting her earlier grumpiness.
‘Well, I remembered how taken you were with them when we saw them before, but then it was – you were looking for the bracelet, it wasn’t the best day for you. I wanted to make it a purely good thing, this time, for you. You know?’
She blinked at him, taken aback that he would be so aware of how she’d felt that day. Sam would never have considered her feelings like this. And Vassilis – well, just thinking about him made her blood boil, so she wouldn’t even go there.
They’d reached the beach, the sand warm under Nina’s feet as she kicked off her sandals. George pulled his t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the ground.
‘Race you!’ he called, grinning over his shoulder at her as he charged to the water.
Nina gave a yelp of frustration at the blatant unfairness. He had given himself a head start and she still had to get out of her sundress. And, quite honestly, she was somewhat distracted by the sight of his tanned chest as he turned to wave at her.
She hurried after him, barely noticing the boats as they readied for the day’s work.
George dipped and slipped through the water like a fish, waving as she swam over to him.
The salt stung the raw patches on her palms where they were grazed from climbing, but she didn’t care; it was worth it.
It was all worth it: the climbing – reigniting that passion she’d neglected for so long; the early-morning swim, here in the serene beauty of Metalios, in the calm waters that lapped around them, tinted rose by the sunrise.
Here with George. Being with him was like coming home to a warm fire on a cold, rainy day.
He touched her arm then, a warm brush of skin on skin, his face suddenly wreathed in a blissful smile, as he nodded to the side.
And there, slowly gliding through the water right next to them, was a turtle.
Nina held her breath and slowed her movements, careful not to startle this beautiful creature.
She gazed at its mottled face, the little dark eyes blinking in the sunlight, as it opened and closed its mouth a few times.
Nina knew better than to try to touch it.
She had listened to George complain on more than one occasion of how thoughtless tourists had stroked the sea turtles and damaged their protective coating or accidentally hurt them.
At the very least, it would be stressful for the turtle, and that was the last thing she wanted.
So she and George trod water together, watching in silence as the turtle swam past and then dipped back down under the surface.
They smiled at each other, both entranced.
Nina stared through the clear water, watching the turtle swim far below, just above the sandy seabed.
Hers and George’s legs kicked slowly, appearing pale and distorted through the water, occasionally brushing thighs or grazing fingers as they kept their balance in the gentle waves.
She was acutely aware of every touch, each one sending shivers through her, of the closeness of his body next to hers.
She imagined him reaching an arm around her bare waist, pulling her in so that their bodies pressed together, and she could smell the warmth of his skin, that coconut scent of his, the salt in his hair.
‘Gorgeous,’ he said softly. His eyes were on hers, the stark, vivid blue, freckles flecking his lips.
Nina realised she was staring. But she couldn’t stop.
‘What?’
‘The, uh – the turtle,’ he said. But he wasn’t looking at the turtle. He was looking at her, his gaze taking in every detail of her face.
Nina’s heart began to race, her skin to prickle.
She licked her lips, tasting salt. Gently, George swam closer, until their bodies were almost touching.
He brushed a wet strand of hair from her face, looking deeply into her eyes.
Nina held her breath, waiting for the kiss, waiting for the sensation of his lips against hers, the press of his strong body against her own.
Then he pulled away. Suddenly. Leaving her trembling and confused. And more than a little disappointed.
He was shaking his head, a look of anguish in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I – I can’t.’
He turned and began to swim back to the shore before she could respond, or even make sense of the feelings tumbling through her.
By the time she’d swum to the beach, he was already gathering his things, a towel slung over his shoulder and his hair rumpled where he’d dried it.
He began to walk away, then stopped and turned to her, spreading his arms in a gesture of helplessness.
‘I’m sorry, Nina,’ he said. He smiled, not very convincingly, and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I need to – this was fun.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I just need to . . . I promised Yia-Yia, so . . .’
Then he turned and walked away.
Nina stood, staring after him as seawater ran in rivulets from her sodden hair, the sand sticking in clumps to her wet feet and speckling her damp limbs.
She ignored the cries of the fishermen as they greeted each other, ignored the beauty of the sky as the sun rose fully, ignored the turtles she knew would be bobbing around the boats as they made their way out to sea.
Grabbing her towel, she dried herself roughly, until her skin was stinging.
She couldn’t decide how she felt; nothing had happened, after all, it was just a strange moment where she felt something would.
It wasn’t a big deal, just a moment where the romance of the situation carried them away, as much to do with the sea and the sunrise as each other.
She didn’t care about George, they were just friends, and she wanted it to stay that way.
The last thing she needed was to be rushing into romance with some man she barely knew, who was clearly not ready for a relationship, or just not that into her.
It was nothing.