Page 64 of My Turkish Fling
“Ourbreakfast?” Tabitha followed us to the edge of the lawn, her eyes flashing with interest, and I wanted to bite my tongue for misbehaving.
“No… I mean it’s been a long day…” I glanced at Emir for confirmation.
“Yes,” he said.
A vein in Tabitha’s neck ticked like a time bomb. Catching me with a strange Turkish guy must have been the scoop she’d been hoping for all year. The juiciest piece of gossip in town, especially as she connected the dots with whatever Len had revealed about our date. I could tell she was desperate for more and we were about to slip out of her reach.
Worried that she’d follow us to the restaurant, I took a step closer, dropping my voice to sound like I was speaking in confidence. “Let’s have a proper catchup soon, okay? I’ll call you.”
She answered with a meaningful nod, eyes wide and animated. “Perfect. Let’s.”
Casting one last look at Emir, she sailed away with her head held high.
I gazed up at him too, feeling terrible. “I’m sorry about the third degree. She’s relentless.”
Emir’s face was unreadable. “She wanted to know if we’re together.”
“I know.” I looked away, feeling squeamish under his gaze. Was he hurt I hadn’t announced us sleeping together to the worst gossip in town?
“And now she’s going to go through her contact list to find someone else to set you up with.” Emir nodded at Tabitha’s trim figure teetering on the sky-high heels.
I opened my mouth to protest, but immediately ran out of steam. Because he was right. That’s exactly what Tabitha would do.
“Well, you told her you’re here for two weeks. If I told her I’m dating you, it’d be like announcing a holiday fling. Is that what you want?”
Emir studied me for a moment. “No.”
I groaned. “What is it that you want then?”
He didn’t smile, but somehow, his eyes smiled. “I want to have dinner with you.”
We stepped into the restaurant. All the tables were taken, but I spotted a couple of couches and a coffee table on the terrace.
“Mind if we sit here?” I asked him, plopping down on the couch. “You can say no, I’m just testing the cushions.” I grinned up at him.
“If this is your favorite place, I would expect you’re pretty familiar with the cushions already.” He sat across from me, grabbing one of the menus the quick-moving server thrusted on us.
We ordered the daily special, whiptail.
“Are you sure it’s fish?” Emir asked when the waitress left. “It’s not like… lizard?”
I chuckled at his expression. “I’m pretty sure they don’t serve lizard anywhere in New Zealand.”
We sat at the restaurant until sunset, ordering desserts and talking. I could tell he was building up to something, but taking his time, drawing it out. I didn’t mind. I wanted the evening to last forever. I never wanted to arrive at the hard questions—I already knew they’d steal away this mellow feeling brought on by a glass of wine and the peachy hues of sunset. I loved listening to his deep voice and those throaty consonants of his accent, the eloquence of his speech. We talked about anything safe. Books. Movies. Language. Culture. I loved his carefully considered opinions, balanced views and references to data. Emir didn’t base anything on a hunch. He read and studied and seemed to absorb everything. I thought of myself as well versed in current affairs, but he kept surprising me. Where my knowledge was broad and light, Emir’s was digested and deep.
After he finished explaining the ins and out of Turkey’s dreadful economy, the conversation came to a lull. I saw the shift in him before he even opened his mouth.
“How are you, Janie?” He asked, leaning forward. “I know I’ve caught you right after a divorce. You’ve been hurt.”
“So have you.”
He nodded. “But mine’s not that fresh.”
I thought about it. He was right. We were all products of our environment and circumstances, and what a product I was. “It’s true. You caught me at my worst. The last two years have been tough. I feel like I’ve gone from one low to the next. And maybethat’s why I’ve been acting so out of character. I don’t jump into bed with my house guests… I don’t even have house guests, or flirt with drunken idiots… I’m not proud of how I acted. It’s not okay.” I hid my face behind my hands, trying to compose myself.
We’d had such a lovely time, moments I’d never forget, but he could see how out of control I was. Up and down. Fragile. I was in no condition to date anyone.
“That’s not what I’m getting at, Janie.”
