Page 62 of Roaming Holiday

“The same, I suppose. My little cousins used to love them. They are more liked by the children. Adults are too busy working to care.”

Eleni nods in agreement.

“Now it is our turn to ask a question,” Sebastian says, pressing an elbow onto the table. “You say you love it here; what is your favorite part?”

If not for his grandmother and neighbor as witnesses, I might be apprehensive about him, but he hasn’t asked personal questions or called me any nicknames like baby or beautiful.

At first, I almost say the food is the best part, as it always tastes fresh and flavorful. Next, I want to say the views. The medieval architecture and ocean sights are otherworldly. But I could also say the people; everyone in Maldana is welcoming, and it’s strong enough to overpower what my attacker said to me. The weight of comfort I find here hits me all at once.

I never want to leave.

“Everything,” I admit. “Picking one thing is impossible.”

Eleni rears back with a hearty laugh, clapping her hands together. The bulldog hops up at the commotion. “Lo tósché Maldasso.”

I echo the words in question. Sebastian bows his head, hands pressed together as if in prayer. “It means The Maldanian Touch, and that we have done right by you.”

I grin. “I haven’t heard of that, but I believe it.”

“Are you here with family?” Eleni asks in Maldanian, surveying the area as if someone might be searching for me. “It’s not safe to be alone.”

“I’m—I’m actually lost. My phone is dead.” My face heats and I glance down, slightly embarrassed to admit it.

“You need to call someone?” Sebastian asks.

“Unless you have an iPhone charger?”

“Oh, no.” He holds up his phone. “We have the Android. But if you need to call someone…”

I release a breath. “Thank you so much.”

As I dial the number, it dawns on me that Wesley is not going to be happy.

30

WESLEY

Did I say those things today to get Nina riled up in that bikini? Partially.

All I could picture was pulling her onto my lap and feeling every dip and curve of her body with my mouth. The sight taunted me the entire day. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Our interactions break me apart inch by inch, and I’m not far from turning into a man who begs.

After a long shower, I sit on my bed and stare at my personal phone. I’ve been pushing myself to call Cora or Mom for the last ten minutes. Everything I say to them is wrong and comes out judgmental or awkward. I shouldn’t have to struggle to be with my family.

I selfishly accept the affection they offer, but improvement means meeting their efforts. I can say that work takes up all my time. It does, but quick texts after my shift or the occasional call would go a long way. I know that. Doing it is another obstacle.

What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if, with every conversation, they realize that they deserve better?

I hit call. My knee bounces the whole time it rings.

“Hello stranger,” Cora sings, but I can hear the underlying agitation.

“Hi.”

“Isn’t it late for you?”

I swallow my nerves. “A bit, yes.”

“Are you okay?”

---