Page 24 of Love on the Rocks
Takis was very proud of his olive oil and took me to see the stone mill. Walking around in a circle with his head down, he made a braying sound that was an incredibly accurate imitation of Giorgos’s donkey.
“Oh, you mean the donkey presses the oil? Sokratis?”
“Ne, ne!” he agreed excitedly.
“Good job, Sokratis.” I said to the donkey as we returned to the taverna through the port. I patted him on the head and he flicked his enormous ears in response.
I was so grateful for the welcome I’d received from the taverna owners, who I now counted as my only friends on theisland. They were also incredibly generous. I mean, let’s face it, I was taking up valuable kitchen space, but they didn’t seem to mind, especially since I was happy to lend a hand during the lunch service.
But lunch service was also a moment of profound irritation becausehewas always there like a bad case of dandruff I couldn’t shake off. Every morning, he was down at the port unloading fish and every afternoon he had lunch with his friends at the taverna. He sat there forever, taking up an inordinate amount of space with his beautiful body, playing ’70s music like he was a one-man cover band. I pretended to ignore him, but sometimes I couldn’t stop my hips from swaying to the sound.
Maria always prepared some special dish for him, and he’d pop back in the kitchen to tease her. It was depressing to see that even she seemed charmed by him. And she wasn’t the only one. His fan club was out of control.
Like today. I’d convinced a couple of the local fishermen to taste some appetizers I’d been developing. I was just plating up my red shrimp tartar with fresh basil, orange, and pomegranate when the sound of girlish giggling caught my attention. I peeked out into the dining room where three young women had plopped themselves down at a table next to Nikos. Their fawning was so over the top that I had major second-hand embarrassment from watching them.
What did everyone see in this guy? Okay, he was sexy in a brawny, oversized kind of way . . . but, come on, he so thought he was God’s gift. His personality ruined it for me.
Right, keep telling yourself that, Cal. Liv’s voice echoed in my head. Ugh, she was annoying. Why was she always right?
The giggling intensified, and when I peeked again at their table, Nikos was standing behind one of the girls who was pulling the neckline of her sundress down so he could get a good look at her cleavage.
“Ugh!” I gagged. Had he no shame? Ogling women while other people—old, presumably church-going people—were having lunch at the next table. And then he was tracing his finger over her bare skin of her back.
“Whatever, I don’t care,” I mumbled at my food. When I came out front to serve my taste-testers, Nikos had finished groping his fangirl and was strumming his guitar again for his rapt female audience. It was a miracle my eyes didn’t roll all the way to the back of my head.
I tried to concentrate on my tasters, but when I heard the first few bars of “Rhiannon,” one of my favorite Fleetwood Mac songs, I lost it. I stomped over to his table and demanded through clenched teeth, “Can you not play that song? It’s one of my favorites and I don’t want to associate you with it.”
He stopped playing and raised his palms. Those same palms that had been on me and that I swore I could stillfeel. “Okay.”
He went back to strumming Greek tunes as I served the rest of my menu. I tried to ignore his eyes on me while I asked the men how they’d liked my food. One of them smiled and said something that sounded complimentary, at least I chose to believe it was. Why wasn’t I more proficient in Greek yet? Languages, like food, were my thing and yet, most of my Greek vocabulary came from old romance books.
“He says he enjoyed the shrimp, but the dessert was a little too spongy.” Nikos translated.
So he was eavesdropping now.
“He did not say that.” I gritted my teeth.
“Uh, yes, he did. Evangelos is honest to a fault. You might need to tweak your recipe.”
“That recipe came from a two-star Michelin chef.”
“Well, you know what they say, there’s no accounting for taste.” Nikos shrugged and then said something that made the two men laugh. I turned around and glared at him.
“What? Just doing my job as your translator.”
“Ha!Mytranslator,mytour guide? More like a pain in my ass.”
“That could be arranged.”
I stomped back into the kitchen, but he insisted on following me. When I turned around his eyes were on my ass, and I tried to ignore the shiver of excitement that ran through me. Why? Why did I always get turned on by egomaniacal assholes? What was wrong with me?
“Haven’t you done enough ogling for one day?”
His eyebrows drew together.
“Oh please, you were just staring at my ass. And earlier you practically had your head in your fangirl’s cleavage.”
His responding chuckle vibrated through me all the way down to my toes. “She was showing me her rash.”
