Page 64 of Love on the Rocks
I cut a tiny triangle of the gooey white cheese and took a bite. It was so pungent, I could feel it in my skull. “Wow, it’s like I licked a goat.”
“It’s an acquired taste. It’s nice with honey and walnuts,” he said, reaching past me to extract an amber beer bottle from the fridge. He flicked open the cap and poured the fizzy gold liquid into two glasses. “This you’ll like. Guess who made it?”
“You?” I took a swig of the pale lager. It was nutty with a zing of citrus at the end. “Wow, that’s good.”
“Panos. His dream is to open a bar with a microbrewery out back.”
“Well, he’ll need customers for that. Tourism and all. I’ll be able to bring him over to my side no problem.”
“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” He ran the seaweed under the water, massaging the green fronds. I couldn’t help but think about his fingers on me, stroking inside me until I was quivering with need. But his mind was clearly in tamer territory because he went on to explain, “This is myyiayia’srecipe.”
“Teresa told me that your family has been on the island for as long as anyone can remember.” I took another swig of the beer. It was strong, and I could already feel it going to my head.
“I hope you don’t listen to everything she tells you about me. I’m not her favorite person.” He plunged the seaweed into boiling water and filled another bowl with cold water and ice.
“I can’t imagine why that would be. What did you do to her?”
“She thinks I’m a bad influence on Yiannis. He’s like a younger brother to me and she’s jealous.” When the kritamo was bright green, he transferred it to the cold water, dried it on a clean cloth, then dressed it in a bowl with olive oil and lemon. He threw in a handful of plump capers, and with a final twist of the pepper mill, he held out a forkful for me. I opened my mouth and took the cool greens on my tongue; the texture was strange, but the hit of acid and iodine tingled and made me want more. His eyes lingered on my mouth, and I wiped a drop from my lip with my finger and licked the tip.
“Delicious.” I hummed.
“So, does it need anything else?” he asked, finally meeting my eyes. “You’re the chef. What should we serve it with?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I tossed the barbounia at him, opting to make acourt bouillonthat would pair nicely with the salad. He sat on the edge of the counter as I worked, silently. I got into my groove quickly, weirdly at ease in his space. I liked having his eyes on me.
“It’s not often that I have my own personal chef. And a beautiful one at that.” His husky voice was laced with desire. My knees quaked but I wasn’t about to let him sweet-talk me into an afternoon of lazy sex. Even though that’s what my body was craving, especially after all the sea, sun, and beer.
I made quick work of the delicate fish and then plated them up with drizzle of olive oil and finely sliced wild fennel. Nikos carried the plates out to the table on the terrace and we ate listening to the waves and the hum of the cicadas.
“Wow, how do you get so much depth of flavor in that so quickly?” Nikos set his spoon down after his first taste of my smoky broth.
“You approve?”
“Yeah, you’re clearly gifted. What would it take for you to cook for me all the time?”
“I don’t think you could afford it.”
“What about an exchange of services?” His gaze intensified. He was thinking about sex, and now I was too.
“No bartering.” I shook my head and leaned back in my seat.
“So, why did you come back to Lyra?” I asked finally. I tried to pretend I didn’t want to know more about him—after all it was dangerous if I still wanted to keep him at arm’s length. The more I understood him, the harder it was to hate him.
“This is where I’ve always belonged,” he said simply, setting his fork down to pour sparkling water into my glass. “I used to come every summer as a kid. And then when I was in college, I was always too busy. Seduced by parties, the big city, girls . . .” He glanced at me. “Then, three years ago, my grandfather was undergoing chemotherapy. He needed help and refused to leave the island, so I stayed with him until the end. Haven’t left since.”
“I’m sorry, that must have been difficult.” Before I could stop myself, I’d covered his hand with mine. Then, just as quickly, I reached for my glass and sat back in my chair. “That’s why you’re so protective of the island. You’ve taken up his cause.”
“You could say that.” He paused, and I wondered if he was going to tell me about Diana Russo and the fake artifact, but he hit me with something much darker. “That’s not the whole story though. Before I left, I was working in the ER, which was always tough, but one day there was a shooting . . .” A sickened expression passed over his face and he closed his eyes. “They try to prepare you for it, but there’s nothing that could ever . . . just the absolute senselessness of it all.”
He shook his head and swallowed. “And then the next night, I had to go to a party downtown and I stood there staring at all these people who didn’t have a care in the world, and it was just too much. The contrast was obscene.” He let out a deep breath. “I started having these panic attacks and I came here to try to get myself back together.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I wasn’t really prepared for him to have shared something so personal. “And here I come bringing more problems to your doorstep.”
“I didn’t tell you this for sympathy,” he said softly. “Just in the interest of honesty.”
“I appreciate your honesty. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His brows drew together as if he wanted to say something else but stopped himself. “And now it’s your turn. Why are you so committed to this project when you could probably have your pick of restaurants? You prefer this to London?”
