Page 38 of Love on the Rocks
I wrapped the photos in the throw blanket on the couch, ignoring the temptation to study them again. I’d never been one to snoop into people’s private lives—as a physician I was privy to lots of personal information, and it was essential that I learn tohold it at a distance. But where she was concerned, I wanted to know more; she aggravated and fascinated me at the same time. I wanted to learn all her secrets.
Once the personal items were packed away, I started on the bookshelf. Now here was one area where I could admit to being nosy.
“You brought a lot of books,” I said, sitting down on the floor to study each one before setting it in the suitcase.
“Yeah, well, most of them are for research. And I’m a mood reader. I like to read books about the places I’m in.” She poked her head out of the bedroom, and my eyes drifted to the silky camisole she held in her hands. “What did I tell you about snooping? Just throw them in the bag.”
“I have more respect for books than that,” I muttered. The idea of creased spines and dog-eared pages made me shudder. It was possibly the only area in my life where I had an actual stick up my ass. Callie, however, clearly belonged to the well-loved book school. Most of hers looked to have been read dozens of times.
There were two enormous cooking manuals that were practically falling apart. A Greece travel guide, The Odyssey, Ovid, and Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho.
“You know, if you want some recommendations for modern Greek writers, I can give you some. The classics are nice, but complete bullshit,” I said, half joking. I’d lived on a steady diet of mythology as a boy and could still quote chapters ofThe Odyssey. But I wanted to get a rise out of her.
“Did you really just insult Homer? I was sure that if you cut yourself, your blood would be the color of the ‘wine-dark sea.’”
“I have nothing against Homer, but if you want to understand Greece today, you should read some contemporary authors.” I shut Sappho and moved on to what looked to be a much more interesting set of books.
All right, now it was getting good; I’d discovered a set of old category romance books with titles each more improbable than the next:The Greek’s Reluctant Mistress, The Cozakis Bride,A Baby for the Greek Tycoon. I picked out an especially well-worn book entitledOne Week with the Greekand flipping through its yellowing pages, wandered over to the bedroom.
“Is this research?” Leaning against the doorway, I began to read: “He was as hard as a marble statue, his muscles glistening in the moonlight as the waves crashed against the shore—”
With surprising rapidity given her sprained ankle, she was next to me, tearing the book from my hands. “What did I tell you? Keep your eyes to yourself!”
“Okay, but if this is the type of research you need help with, I could perhaps be of assistance . . .”
“Forget about helping me with my research. It’s not going to happen.” She hopped back over to the bed and got back to her folding. “And don’t judge! I didn’t say anything about those soporific philosophy books you gave me to read yesterday.”
“Had I known your tastes, I’m sure I could have found something a bit spicier for you.” I picked up the book from the floor and slumped against the door watching her as she slipped silky garment after silky garment into her suitcase.
“Those spicy books are what got me into reading. They were my grandmother’s. I found them under her bed one Thanksgiving when I was eleven or twelve,” she explained. “Anyway, they have helped me with my recipe development. My best friend and I have had a Books and Cooks club for years.”
“What’s that?”
“We read together and then invent recipes inspired by the books. It really helps me when I’m in a creative slump. Food for me is about love and connection. It tells a story. That’s what I’m trying to do here: tell the story of this place through food. Except that things have been so bloody difficult since I arrived.”She sighed, and I was hit by another wave of guilt. She thought fate had intervened to make her life difficult when it had all been engineered by me.
In the past twenty-four hours, I’d almost forgotten that I was supposed to hate her. It was a lost cause. I hated the company she worked for; I hated that she didn’t see how the resort would be a disaster for the island.
But I found her challenging. And, like her, I enjoyed a challenge. I’d made up my mind yesterday that I had to abandon my plan to make her run crying back to Greystone to convince them that the resort was a bad idea. It had been naïve of me to even think that would work. I was no Odysseus, cunning and content in my own ruse. I took no pleasure in hurting people, and I couldn’t help but feel that she’d injured herself ultimately because I’d tricked her.
She was too worthy an opponent to best by cheating. I was still determined to win this battle, but I’d do it fairly. On my own terms.
I was pretty sure, however, that whatever fragile truce we’d made today would be over once she found out that I’d tricked her.
“Are you just going to stand there staring at me, or are you going to finish out there?”
“Yeah, let me know when you’re done.” I went back to the living room, but instead of placing the book in the suitcase, I slid it into my pocket.
* * *
After loading up the wagon with Callie’s suitcases, we made it back down to Kamini. “I can’t believe that I’m just blindly lettingyou lead me to some new home. You’re not bringing me back to your place, are you?” she asked as we approached the main road.
“Not unless you want to come back to my place.” I glanced back at her and wiggled my eyebrows over my sunglasses. She was perched on the donkey’s back, clinging to his mane and gritting her teeth.
The house was on the opposite end of the hamlet from mine, tucked away behind a cherry tree that had just started to bloom. Like my house, it had its own water entrance and a terrace overlooking the sea. Yiannis’s father usually rented it to the occasional tourist who came to the island.
I helped Callie down as she surveyed the place. “This is nice.”
After retrieving her bags from the wagon, I made my way to the blue doors and waited for her to hobble over. Once inside, I went straight to the bedroom where I set the bags down next to the iron-framed bed. I felt ashamed as I looked around and saw the kind of accommodations that she should have had for the past ten days.
