“There’s no—there’s no reservation here.” Hannah looked at the list again and bit her lip. She shuffled the papers, eyes tearing through another one. “Oh, no.”
“Is the reservation for another time? It’s all right—we’re in no rush. In fact, I can have a new one made right now.”
Hannah sighed. “It’s for another place. Oh, I can’t believe it. I was making reservations for Athens and Santorini together, and I must have—” She folded the sheaf of papers and put a hand to her forehead. “I must have confused the two. That’s why I couldn’t find this restaurant on the map.”
Kyril took the sheets from her hands and read through them again. “The name of the hostel here.” He refrained from any other comment about it. “It’s very similar to the restaurant. An easy mistake. But there are many wonderful places to eat here. You need only—”
He looked up at Hannah with a smile, but to his horror, her bottom lip was quaking.
“Darling.” He cast aside the papers and gathered her in while she furiously wiped at her eyes. “It’s all right.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said furiously. “I’m—these hormones, and—” She sniffed. “This was going to be my one big splurge for the trip, and now I’ll never—”
“Don’t say that.” He put two fingers under her chin and tilted her face to his. Her lips softened under his, parting in a wicked way that made him want to cancel all dinner reservations until the end of time. It was a difficult thing, to break away from her. “I’ve always loved it here.” He pressed one more kiss to her forehead. “Santorini is one of my favorite places on earth. I know just what to do.”
* * *
Hannah tried her best not to be devastated, but her heart was heavy as Kyril led her through the city. “I can’t believe I screwed this up,” she said mournfully, and Kyril ran a reassuring hand down her back.
“I promise you, Hannah, you’ll have another chance. In the meantime, this is our turn. And it will be utterly delicious.”
Hannah peered up at the building on the corner. It was another whitewashed house, smaller in stature than Kyril’s villa. “Someone’s house?”
He grinned. “No.” They followed a narrow path around to a wide porch overlooking the ocean, where a uniformed host waited to seat them at the tiniest restaurant Hannah had ever seen. It was only seven tables, warm in the sun, and she loved it instantly.
A man in a fine suit came out of the building, saying something in Greek with a wide smile on his face. Hannah could only catch Kyril’s name, but she knew by his answering smile that the two men must be friends. He greeted Kyril with a boisterous clap on the back, and they spoke rapidly to each other in Greek. Kyril turned to her after a moment, eyes shining. “Adrian, the owner of one of the world’s finest restaurants.”
“Hannah,” she said, extending her hand to shake.
It was a little impressive, the way Kyril moved in the world. The people he knew.
It was less impressive when he ordered her dinner for her.
Adrian took them personally to their table and stood nearby while they perused menus printed on thick white paper.
Kyril turned to him
without so much as a glance in her direction and ordered for them both—a salad of olives, feta, cucumber, and onions; roast lamb; and skordalia. Adrian nodded, took their menus, and began to turn away.
Hannah couldn’t let that stand. She was a grown woman, and she could play his game. “Adrian, one moment.”
“Of course.” He stepped back to the table.
“We’ll have the baklava as well,” she said. “Up first, before anything else.” Adrian looked to Kyril for his confirmation, but Kyril was busy gazing at Hannah, his lips curved upward in a certain amusement.
“My order wasn’t enough for you?”
“Having a man order isn’t true to the experience,” she sniffed, and Kyril laughed.
Still, she had to admit, she’d been thinking of ordering the lamb.
Kyril was right. It was utterly delicious.
Hannah rushed through her plate until she caught herself. There was no need. She was starving, still—but they had all evening. Conversation. She would focus on the conversation.
“You love Santorini enough to have a home here?”
Kyril finished another bite of his own meal. “Oh, yes. It’s one of my favorite places to get away from—” He paused, considering. “I hesitate to say pressures. The responsibilities of Al-Dashalid.”