Page 71 of Not My Greek Wedding

‘My mother is a social butterfly with lots of hobbies,’ he continues. ‘My father, not so much, so I think she feels better if he is occupied. Secretly I think he agrees.’ He smiles. ‘He is already looking at new suppliers for the shop, he always loved it there. My mother says he can relax when the summer season is over.’

‘My gran always says that people need a purpose in life,’ I tell him. ‘Which I guess is true.’

I head back towards the window, captivated by the view of the rolling sea as Andreas produces a tape measure from his pocket, ready to measure a wall.

‘I think that maybe she is. And you know? I guess I have finally realised that my purpose is to create things for other people to enjoy.’

‘I don’t doubt that for one minute, you have a real talent,’ I say.

‘Thank you. And surely your purpose is to bring the gift of your voice to people,’ he says as he joins me at the window, and we both glance out across the sea.

I can feel his presence as he stands next to me, taking in his calm, masculine demeanour, and his woody cologne. He is tall, and more rugged than Christos, whose manicured look is probably a result of spending hours in barber shops and salons. Not for the first time, I wish Andreas was the only Greek man I had met here in Santorini.

‘Shall we make a move?’ Andreas asks, although I would honestly be happy standing here for a while longer.

‘Sure,’ I reply, a little reluctant to leave.

‘Or maybe you would like a walk along the beach before we head off?’ he suggests.

‘I would love that. And you never know, you might find something interesting.’

We go for the door handle at the same time, and when our hands brush, I’m surprised to feel a jolt of something between us.

We walk quietly on the stretch of northerly beach that has a strong breeze. I watch a young boy with an older man, laughing gleefully as his kite takes to the air. One or two swimmers are braving the waves and enjoying a morning swim.

‘I can see why the surf shack is there,’ I comment, noticing the foaming waves as we walk. ‘Do you enjoy water sports?’ I ask.

‘I like to jet ski occasionally, although I prefer swimming,’ he says as he bends down and picks something up from the sand.

‘That’s pretty,’ I say as I watch him turn over a piece of green, marbled sea glass.

‘It is,’ he says, sliding it into his pocket.

As we stroll along, I realise how much I enjoy the company of Andreas, and don’t want our day to end. I also think of the feeling I experienced when our hands collided, and wonder if he felt it too?

At the far end of the beach, Andreas finds an unusual-looking gnarled piece of wood in shades of brown and cream and lifts it from the sand.

‘I should have brought a bag,’ he says, dusting the sand from one of nature’s treasures.

‘One moment,’ I say, diving into my shoulder bag. ‘Another thing my gran says is always carry a spare bag.’

I fish out a string bag I bought from an artisan market back home.

‘This gran of yours sounds like a remarkable woman,’ he says as he happily carries the bright-pink string bag with the piece of driftwood inside.

‘She is. I spend a lot of time with her. She’s funny too,’ I tell him, thinking of some of the hilarious conversations we have had.

‘My grandmother was funny.’ He smiles. ‘And you could always rely on her to give her honest opinion,’ he remembers fondly. ‘I miss her.’

I don’t even want to think about the time when my own grandmother is no longer here.

As we walk and talk, I realise my phone has been firmly in my pocket the whole time. I should probably be taking some photos for my social media accounts, yet I don’t feel compelled to do so.

Having not eaten breakfast, when we arrive back at the beach café, Andreas offers to buy us some breakfast.

‘Sure, but I insist on paying,’ I tell him as we take a seat outside. ‘I never did thank you properly for saving me from a fall that day in Fira.’

Andreas protests, but I insist. I am heading home in a couple of days, and I still have plenty of euros left. The sensible part of me thinks that I could change them into sterling when I return home, but as I don’t know when I will travel abroad again, I might as well enjoy myself while I’m here.

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