Page 13 of All We Need

Some would call me a workaholic.Fromthe few menI’vedated in the past, apparently being career focused is an unattractive trait to have as a woman.

Boohoo, to their masculinity.

ArgirosEnterprisesis a huge, multinational company.Mymother’s father started it in the sixties and it quickly grew into the multimillion-dollar organization it is today.We’rewellknown for our chain of boutique hotels across the globe, but we have our hands in a few other pots too.

My parents met when my dad moved toAthenson a whim, working for my grandfather fresh out of college.Whatstarted off as a summer romance quickly turned into a transatlantic love story until mypappoúsgave his blessing for them to wed.Theymarried two months later, and to many people’s surprise,Dadtook my mom’s name.Whenmy father was offered the opportunity to take the company stateside, my mom didn’t hesitate to follow him.

We’re always looking for new investments, keeping track of up-and-coming markets.Whichis whereIcome in as senior associate.I’vetraveled the world hunting for new opportunities, andI’mitching to get back out there.

Admitting defeat,Ipack up my laptop, headphones, and water bottle before heading downstairs.Livingabove the bakery was inconvenient at first, but not nowIremember they have freeWi-Fi.

Five steps is all it should take for me to enter the bakery.OnlyIbarely make it inside thanks to the line of people backed all the way to the door.It’sbusy.Reallybusy.Thereisn’t a free table, and from the frazzled look onQuinn’sface, serving customers as quickly as she can, there won’t be space for a while.

Stepping back outside,Ihike my scarf up over my ears to fight off the bitter temperatures.

While coming up with a new plan,Itake in the surrounding buildings.

Mismatched brickwork and brightly colored storefronts line either side of the street.Darkblue state flags flap in the wind.Everywhereyou look, there’s signage about fresh lobster or fishing trips, a nod to the town’s backbone.Thestreets are quiet, but a few people stroll down the hill toward the sparkling bay.

I’ve always loved the ocean.Afterspending my summers on the island ofParos, where my mom was born, the smell of salt air and strong winds blowing through my hair always calms me.Here, it feels different.It’sclean and crisp likeGreece, but without the stifling heat, you can take in the other scents.Thesubtle smell of pine, salty tang of low tide, and fresh seafood.

SuddenlyIhave a hankering for oysters.

I know exactly the placeIcan get them.It’smore spacious than the bakery, but asImake my way toward the redbrick building,Ipray it’s as busy soIhave an excuse not to go in.

The glass door swings open, the bell above my head notifying the hostess of my arrival, and my prayer goes unanswered.It’salmost three p.m., so the lunch rush is over, leaving plenty of unoccupied tables.

The decor is exactly what you’d expect to find from a seafood restaurant in coastalNewEngland.Thewhitewash paneled walls and exposed brick create a rustic vibe, with the fishing gear and vintage photos giving it character and authenticity.Thewooden bar is clearly handmade and unique.Everythingabout the interior is cozy and welcoming.

I straighten when the smiling hostess jogs my way.

“Table for one?” she asks jovially.She’syoung—fresh out of high school young.

Nodding,Ipoint to a two-seater table adjacent to the bar. “Thatone would be great, if that’s okay?”

“Sure thing.”Shegrabs a menu and escorts me to my seat. “Theresawill be your server today.She’llbe right over.Ican get you started on a drink now if you know what you want?”

I quickly scan the laminated menu. “I’llget a ginger beer with a slice of lime, no ice, please.”

“Perfect.Ifyou need anything, my name isSandy.”

Once seated,Iunpack my laptop, connect to the internet, and flinch whenIsee the number of unread emails.Onehouroffline andI’mswamped with requests.Idive straight into reading, flagging, forwarding, and responding.

My drink arrives, andIorder half a dozen oysters with horseradish ice.

It’s easy for me to switch off and give my undivided attention to my work.Withinforty minutes,I’veconquered almost half of the emails as the noise of customers and silverware fades.

That is until a booming, carefree laugh pulls my attention to behind the bar.

And my eyes land right onDimples.

I already knew he worked here, soI’mnot surprised to see him, butIslump down in my seat, using my laptop as a shield.He’sdressed in a fitted gray athleticT-shirt, hair hidden under a backward baseball cap.Hechats and jokes with the bar staff, easily making them laugh.Hisattention snags on the few tables in here and he greets them cheerfully, like old friends.

You wouldn’t dare make eye contact with someone on the subway back home.Whenthe server dropped off my food, it was hard not to grimace when she asked me a slew of questions about whereI’mfrom, how longI’mhere, and what my plans are.

Small towns are hive inducing.

Booth nudges a man a little older than him and they talk in hushed voices.Theother guy pulls out his phone and showsBoothsomething on the screen, immediately changing his demeanor from happy to pissed.Herips the cap off his head and pulls at his hair in frustration.

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