Page 82 of Dagger in the Sea

“You’re happy to be here, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Am I that obvious?”

“You’re relaxed, not tense, a smile on your face.”

“You too,” she said. “And it’s good to see.” She blushed again.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

I could imagine her in high summer, skin bronzed and sleek, wet and salty from the sea, laughing as she ran over to me where I waited for her with a towel and a deep kiss. An incredible combination of girl and woman, naive yet wise. Innocent heart with the soul of a vixen.

Dangerous. A dangerous I’d never known before.

“I’m taking your advice seriously,” she said. “I’m determined to stop being moody and glum.”

“You be any way you want, Adri. I’ll be right here.”

Her gaze caught mine. Truth, my words, not offhand bullshitting.

Twisting off the cap on the large icy bottle of spring water, I filled our glasses and drank like the thirsty traveler I was. Water, relief flowed through me.

“When was the last time you were here?” I asked.

“A long time ago,” she murmured. “The past few years we’ve only been going to Mykonos where we have a vacation home. But Mykonos is so very different. All of the world goes to Mykonos for a holiday, to party, to shop, to be seen. It’s fun, but—”

“Not much of a getaway if it’s the same people you see in Athens.”

“Exactly. Andros is not that. Here, things are not pretentious, extravagant, or flashy. Here, it’s simple and not so loud.” She bit off a piece of bread. “I like it very much.”

The Eurotrash heiress preferred simple and not so loud?

“You said that your mother’s family is from Andros?” I asked.

“Yes. I was very close to my grandfather. He lived here all year round the last ten years of his life. I would come here on my own as a child and stay with him all summer. I lived with him here for a while too.” Her lips twisted slightly. “He passed away four years ago. I suppose that’s when we stopped coming regularly. For me and my mother it was much too painful.” Her gaze darted to the sea.

The bright blue, wooden, louvered doors that led to the kitchen swung open on a squeal and two waiters brought out dish after dish for us. Butterflied roast sardines in a pool of olive oil, wine vinegar, and oregano, two long octopus tentacles on a bed of black lentil puree, a Greek salad like no other I’d seen before—a high mound of tomatoes, cucumbers, green bell pepper, and thinly sliced red onions topped with a creamy white cheese and a thick swirl of olive paste and oregano. Serious Mediterraneanmeze.

Adri dug into each platter with her fork and filled my plate. No serving spoons, no turn taking, just indulging and sharing that indulgence. Rich, simple flavors filled my mouth; my palate whirled on a Greek pinwheel. The sun shone brightly over our table warming us, glinting in the gold-green olive oil lacing the dishes.

She filled our small, slim glasses with ice cubes and poured a measure of ouzo and a dash of water in each. The liquid clouded immediately, the glass frosting. “This was my grandfather’s favorite.”

“I’ve had it once or twice before, but I must admit, I didn’t care for it much.”

“Well, ouzo in Chicago in some restaurant or this—” She waved her glass over the glistening-in-olive-oil colorful platters of fresh seafood and salads, and raised it toward the calm, blue bay before us, the mountains on the opposite shore. “This is how it should be enjoyed. Keep all this in your heart right this very second, so that every time you take a sip of ouzo after this, wherever else you may be, you’ll enjoy it the proper way.”

“All right.” I raised my glass at her.

She held her cloudy ouzo glass before mine, those blue gray eyes full of light.“Yiá mas.”

“Yiá mas,”I repeated. We clinked glasses.

We sipped, her gaze on me. Anise, aromatic and icy, flooded my mouth.

She licked at her upper lip, sliding on her sunglasses. “What do you think?”

“Refreshing. Crisp. Provocative even.”

“Provocative?”

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