Chapter Four
Those last few questions from the audience had hit a little too close to home, so I quickly wrapped up the Q and A and switched gears.
I read an excerpt from my forthcoming book Love Is Dead, Let’s Have Brunch, starting with my famous Ten Commandments of Love, a.k.a.
rules very few follow, but that, in my opinion, everyone should.
I covered the essentials, like why falling for someone who only communicates in memes and shared Instagram Reels was a guaranteed mistake, how bringing an ex back was like reviving Frankenstein’s monster (a guaranteed horror movie plot), and the universal truth that love was a scam.
As I read, the Second Commandment jumped out differently than before: “Put thyself first. If you don’t, no one else will.
It’s not selfish, it’s survival. Oxygen masks, people.
” I paused, the words almost too sharp as they cut through the room.
They echoed in my mind, taking me back again to last summer, back to Mykonos, back to Leo.
Leo finished out his stag-party obligations and, instead of flying home with his buddies, decided to switch his flight and stay in Greece for another week and a half to get to know me better as we spent our time sightseeing and drinking copious amounts of raki.
Time flew by too fast as we took catamaran tours to Paxos and Rhenia Islands and did a Jeep excursion along the Houlakia coast to admire the Armenistis Lighthouse and the Monastery of Paleokastro.
We feasted on grilled octopus, marinated feta cheese, and fat, briny olives, spending far too many hours wrapped in one another’s arms on a beach blanket, watching the sun slowly descend over the crystalline waters.
It had been the most perfect vacation distraction, fun and delightfully satisfying with no strings attached.
That was, until we arrived at the Athens airport, ready to board separate planes bound for opposite sides of the globe.
I’d firmly convinced myself that, regardless of how wonderful he was and how great I’d felt, this was all meant to be temporary.
And that it was especially wonderful because it was temporary.
That was the trick. To stay in something for only as long as the magic lasted.
But as we stood at the intersection where we had to set off to our different terminals, I couldn’t seem to move my feet.
Leo set down his bag and took me in his arms. My head told me to pull back, to cut ties as fast as I could before I fell too hard to walk away.
But my heart silenced my inner skeptic, and I melted into him instead.
He smelled fresh and clean, a hint of sea salt lingering on his skin. I nuzzled against him, savoring the unfamiliar thrill of our undeniable connection and the startling realization that maybe he meant more to me than just a fleeting fling.
I have to let go. Now. Right now. Okay, though . . . now! Dammit, Elliot, let go! Turn around and head to your gate. This is not a drill!
Before I could untangle my arms from around him, he pulled away first, cupping my face in his hand and stroking my cheek with the soft pad of his thumb.
“Okay, I have a crazy idea, but just hear me out.” His voice was soft, as if he was afraid of shattering the moment .
. . or maybe scaring me away. “I know we said this was just a fun vacation hookup, nothing else, but I think there could be more here, or at least I know I want there to be.”
A lifetime of reasons I had cultivated on my own, witnessed through my parents’ disastrous marriage, my own failed relationship that cut me to the bone, and my listeners’ horror stories, reminded me why this could never work.
They each fought for top billing, all perfectly honed weapons ready to fire.
I’d been training for this moment my whole life, right?
The moment when love lurked around the corner and I knew better than to let it in.
Instead, as a trained pro, I was supposed to booby-trap the house, to unleash every excuse, every justification, every scrap of evidence proving that we were a doomed voyage before we’d even set sail.
“Leo, but we—” I started to interject.
He cut me off, his voice gaining an exciting edge.
“Did you ever see the movie Before Sunrise? You know, the one with Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy? They meet on a train in Vienna, spend the night getting to know each other, and then here’s the crazy part: They agree not to exchange any personal information.
No numbers, no last names. They promise to meet one year later, at the same spot.
No guarantees, just the hope that if it’s meant to be, they’ll find each other again. ”
“What are you saying? You want us to meet back in Mykonos next summer? After a year of not communicating? That’s insane. Besides, I know your last name. And you know mine.”
“You’re right, no communication is way too nineties of a concept when most of us can’t go twenty-four hours without social media, and a year is way too long. But what about December?”
“What about December?”
“I’ll be in Paris most of December for work. We could meet there. It’s a hell of a lot closer than South Africa or Greece for you. And think of it: Paris around the holidays. What could be more romantic?”
“Let me get this straight. You want us to agree to meet up in Paris in six months’ time, based on . . . ? An old movie trope, a week of mind-blowing sex, and . . . what, exactly?”
He tilted his head, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his lips, aware that I was deliberately undermining the depth of what had passed between us.
“Based on the fact that I’m falling head over heels for you.
And I think you are for me too. We both know this week has been about more than just sex.
But if we need more time to make sure this isn’t just a rush of lust and strong Greek wine, let’s keep it casual and take this next part of the year to see if we feel all those same feelings when we meet up again”—he looked down at the calendar on his phone—“on December twenty-fourth at the Eiffel Tower. Cliché, yes, but magical, also yes.”
“I don’t know, Leo. You don’t understand. My radio show. My brand. It’s all hinged on the idea that this . . . this feeling . . . this possibility . . . that this”—I gestured between us with a wave of my hand—“doesn’t exist.”
“But how can you deny what’s standing right in front of you? It does exist. I know you feel it.”
Suddenly the Athens airport intercom crackled with the final boarding call for my flight to New York.
“Shoot, I’m going to miss my plane if I don’t . . .”
Leo stepped closer. “Tell me you’ll meet me. December twenty-fourth. The Eiffel Tower. Promise me.”
I picked up my bags and turned to leave. “I have to go.”
He grabbed my hands and held them tightly. “Elliot, promise me,” he repeated.
I looked into his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment, then gave a small, wistful smile. “Okay, I promise.”
With my Q and A, book reading, and meet and greet now over, I milled around the rooftop space, glancing out onto the skyscrapers lighting the night instead of stars.
Chatting with guests and peeking at the raffle basket goodies, like baking items, pricey bottles of booze, lottery tickets, and Yankees swag, I continued to sip the complimentary wine that Cassidy had made sure I was never without.
“Excuse me, dear, I just wanted to say how interesting I found your talk.” A soft hand touched my shoulder, and I turned to see a striking woman who looked like she’d been waiting for me.
She had jet-black hair and inviting gray eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of centuries instead of decades.
She was a bit (well, a lot) older than my usual demographic, but I was happy to see my message was universal.
“That’s wonderful. So glad you enjoyed it,” I said with a smile.
“I happen to be one of the entertainers hired for the event. Tarot readings. I just wrapped up for the night but was wondering if you’d like a turn before I leave, as a thank-you for your shared perspective this evening.
” She gestured to an open table as she already started to move to take a seat and shuffle a tarot deck in her weathered hands.
I watched her continue to maneuver the cards as if I’d already agreed.
“Oh, um . . . sure, I guess,” I stammered, and slid into the chair across from her.
She trained her focus on me as she continued to rearrange the deck like a Vegas hustler.
Cutting it in half, she distributed three face down and flipped them one at a time, nodding sagely as she delivered a generic-enough reading that included past heartache, present walls, and a future I refused to entertain.
And it wasn’t lost on me that since she admitted to hearing most of my talk that she knew exactly what hot buttons to press and buzzwords to use to get me to buy into her act.
I continued to play along and inwardly roll my eyes until she pulled one more card.
As she drew it into her line of sight, she hesitated, squinting between me and the image she’d drawn.
The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows over her face, but it wasn’t just a trick of the light.
Something in her also seemed to have shifted.
Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she tapped the card once, deliberate and firm.
“Hmm. You think love is a beautifully branded illusion, but I sense that there’s been someone, a kindred spirit you met not long ago, who tested the mettle of your resolve,” she murmured, her voice smooth and smoky.
“He could see you, really see you, and you were too afraid to let him in. Maybe it’s not love that needs to change, but the lens you’ve been viewing it through? ”
A cold sweat prickled up the back of my neck.
“Um, okay.” My voice caught in my throat, and I was surprised at how strangely accurate her words were.
In fact, they registered like she’d struck a gong in my chest, the reverberations moving like shock waves through me.
“But I don’t really understand. How am I supposed to change the way I see the world?
How’s a person just supposed to stop seeing life the way they, you know, see it?
And how do I stop being afraid?” I hoped my tone didn’t sound sarcastic because I was genuinely curious.
“All good questions. And I think I can help. How about you shake things up a bit with a little love spell, perhaps?”
I barked out a laugh and then bit it back when I realized she wasn’t laughing too. Or even smiling. She remained as stoic as a storm, her stare fixed and focused.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling too sober for this conversation. “Oh. You’re serious.”
“About magic? Always,” she said, laying a single card she’d drawn down between us. The Lovers. My stomach did an uncomfortable little flip.
I cleared my throat. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think a love spell is really for me. I don’t really believe in that sort of thing.”
“Love, you mean?” she asked. “I know this. You’ve said as much.”
“Well, no. I meant the spell. But yeah, also love.”
“Isn’t it worth, perhaps, taking the risk?
” The woman leaned down, rustling through her bag until she found what she was looking for: a long red string.
She knotted it three times and placed it in my palm.
“This is your thread, the one that ties you to another,” she explained.
“You thought it was broken, but”—she closed my fingers around the thread—“some connections aren’t so easily severed.
” And when I opened my palm again, the string was gone.
I blinked hard. “That’s it? No abracadabra? No hocus-pocus?”
Now it was her turn to laugh. She reached for her deck and wiggled the cards back into their box before stuffing them into her bag. “For amateurs. Trust me, real magic doesn’t require theatrics, just faith.”
“Faith in what?”
“Faith in second chances, even the ones you didn’t ask for.”
I stared at the table, lost in thought. I never did meet Leo in Paris like we’d planned. There were so many reasons I’d convinced myself I couldn’t go, and though I hated to admit it, so many nights I’d spent wondering whether by not going I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.
But that was all in the past. That door had closed, and I wasn’t about to reopen it. Second chances were for hopeless romantics, for the naive. For people who believed in things like tarot cards and magic spells, fairy tales and happily ever afters, and I was none of those.
But even so, a small part of me couldn’t help but wonder . . . what if?