Page 55 of Willow in the Wind

The man put his hand on Stella’s shoulder as though to comfort her. “His mother died in June. It is enough to destroy a man. Maybe not at first. But it catches up to him.”

Stella took a sharp breath.

She’d known James for nearly three months. She’d known him since immediately after his mother’s death. He’d never once mentioned his mother. He’d never once mentioned his devastating loss.

What did that mean about their relationship? Was it real at all?

Stella hung back and watched as the Greek man followed James and the others. Maybe they were going back to their hotel. Perhaps they were going someplace else.

Stella went back to her plate of untouched food and hung her head. Outside, the storm churned the Mediterranean.

Chapter Twenty-One

September 2024

At The Lucerne Hotel that late afternoon in Manhattan, Stella changed her clothes five times. There was the black dress she’d planned for reading in Greenwich Village tomorrow, the maroon blouse, the flare jeans, the cardigan. Every piece of clothing told a story about modern-day Stella, but every story seemed inaccurate.

How do I want to be seen by James Atkinson?

What do I want to make him think?

In the end, she opted for a pair of jeans and a French-chic blouse. She put on earrings, then she took them out and brushed through her hair again. She wondered if he could tell her hair was mostly dyed these days. Gone were the days of all-brunette curls.

At ten minutes to seven, Stella sat in the living room of her hotel suite and poured herself a glass of wine.

At five minutes to seven, she imagined how angry she would be if he didn’t come. If he ghosted her.

She imagined writing a sequel toThe Athens Affairthat attacked James’s personality. She imagined revenge!

But one minute to seven, a call rang from downstairs. The bellhop asked if it was all right to bring a Mr. Atkinson to her suite. Stella’s mouth went dry. She said yes.

The time between the bellhop’s call and the knock on the door was either ten hours or two seconds. Stella lost all concept of who she was and why she was there.

And then, suddenly, James Atkinson was on the threshold. “Come in,” she said, smiling in a way she hoped was normal.

James wore a pair of black jeans and a button-down; it was the uniform of a cool music journalist. Stella searched her gut for some sign that she wanted to throw herself into his arms.

“This is some place you got here,” James said admiringly as he walked into the living room. “Quite a view.”

“My agent booked it,” Stella said. “I couldn’t believe it when I walked in.”

“It puts those Greek hotels we stayed in to shame,” James said.

Stella’s throat tightened. He’d already mentioned Greece! Their shared history! She was going to faint.

“I liked those old hotels,” Stella said. “They were charming.”

“We were just broke,” he said. “We were happy to have a roof over our heads.”

“I’m still happy to have a roof over my head,” Stella said. “But I don’t mind the thousand-count sheets.”

James laughed, and Stella felt as though she were going to melt across the rug. “Can I pour you some wine?”

“Please.”

Stella tried to focus on her breathing. She filled his glass and topped herself off. They clinked and looked into one another’s eyes for a little too long.

“So,” James began, sitting down on the sofa beside her. “That was some book you wrote.”

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