It’s their first day on Crete, and Cassie and Bea are at a restaurant recommended to them by Petros, a man Bea met on the beach a few hours earlier.

They idled at our table, two dishy, hair-blessed men of a certain age––our age––freshly showered, hair still damp. Looking crisp in their tailored shorts and snazzy, lightweight shirts.

“You found my favorite oasis for dining. And you saved places for us. See, Stavro.” Petros nudged his friend. “I told you.”

Stavros lifted his sunglasses and looked at me in a gesture that hinted at intimacy we hadn’t yet shared. “Yes, you told me.”

Bea finished chewing quickly, her gaze flitting from Petros to his buddy. She patted the seat beside her.

“Oh, we’re interrupting your meal.” Petros hesitated, shifting closer.

“Don’t be silly. We were starving, had a couple appetizers,” Bea hastily explained.

I held the menu in front of my face and tilted it to block the two men from seeing my lips move. Restroom, I mouthed twice, exaggerating the word, hoping Bea would catch on. I needed to talk to her right now.

She was staring up at Petros, oblivious to my distress.

“They have color photos on the menu,” I piped up hoping the two men wouldn’t notice my odd behavior. “It was easy to order.”

“Maybe you have some other suggestions?” Bea gestured for them to take seats. “Please, help yourselves.”

Petros and Stavros gazed around at the half-eaten plates of food, the now-cold calamari. Bea nudged me. “Shouldn’t we order some––”

“Please, allow us to order for you,” Stavros said, letting his gaze settle on me, irises a burnt umber like a foggy landscape.

“We order better.” Petros’ smile was genuine. Even so, what were two middle-aged eligible guys doing hanging out at the beach? Didn’t they have lives?

Stavros called for two more place settings. The waiter hustled over, fussing over the four of us. Jolly, cracking jokes I couldn’t understand although they were clearly jokes judging by the hoots of laughter from the two men and a guy at a nearby table.

No longer very hungry since I’d stuffed myself with all those goodies, I wondered if Bea planned to eat another meal, all for the sake of getting chummy with Petros.

This was simply dinner, I reminded myself. Nothing more. After that, Bea and I would take a taxi back to the hotel, even more exhausted after drinking wine and probably that raki, whatever it was. Bea would be ecstatic about having dinner with two handsome Greeks. I needed to suck it up and put on some charm, do this small thing for my friend.

Stavros leaned in, invading my space in a quiet, polite way. “Nice to meet you.” He smelled of toothpaste and a woodsy soap, and his olive complexion was flawless, as if he’d just had a facial. His accent was a softer version of the guttural accented English I’d heard around town, a sexy inflection more than a mode of pronunciation.

“Nice to meet you, too.” God, I was clever. It was all too much, he was too much. Silly, but the man was pretty, manly pretty, and here’s the thing. He was so masculine, his chest a mass of muscle, his shoulders broad like the bow of a ship. Greek godly. What a cliché. Not to belittle Jay, my lanky husband, but I wasn’t used to this high degree of pulchritude.

He crossed his legs, and I made the mistake of glancing over at his thighs for all of a nanosecond. My pulse quickened. No more wine for me. I’d have to pace myself, especially if that raki stuff appeared suddenly.

“What brought you to Crete?” Stavros’ question floated in the air, and I let Bea answer. Bad idea.

“Cassie honeymooned here a long time ago, and she and her husband always planned to come back.” Bea, always blurting out information without thinking. “And when he died, I suggested we come here to––”

Stavros looked over with a careful expression, as if he didn’t want to feel sorry for me. “Your husband died recently?”

He had those eyes. Expressive, hinting at complexity below the surface, ready to be explored.

“Four years.” Two minutes ago. “It’s been four years.” I hated the question, but he hadn’t asked directly. Whenever someone, usually a stranger, asked about the timeline of Jay’s death and I answered, judgment floated in their question. Four years? You should be moving on, not grieving. While every time his birthday passed or the holidays loomed, it was a reminder of another anniversary without Jay.

“I’m so sorry,” Stavros said.

“It’s okay.” I tried on a half-smile wondering why I’d let Bea talk me into this trip. I didn’t want to explore beaches and ruins with my best friend. Enough with the “Jay’s gone now, and you’ve got a whole new life ahead of you.” I loved Bea. But at the same time, I wanted to slap the back of her head and tell her to leave me alone.

“I’ve been divorced for three years,” Stavros said, startling me. “Of course, it’s not the same thing.” He patted my hand sending heat up my arm. “I apologize for even mentioning it.” His hands on the table were smooth with clean, neat nails. I wondered what he did here in Crete. Did he live in town?

Bea gave me a funny look and nudged me, which didn’t make it easier to make small talk.

“And is the trip what you expected?” Petros directed his question to Bea. “Bea? Is that a nickname?”

“No, it’s my real name.” Bea went all flirty and coy.  

“Expect from the trip? Well, first of all, I didn’t expect to meet two such good-lookin’ single friends who both speak perfect English.”

“Oh, we’re not friends,” Stavros said. “Petros is my cousin. We all grew up together and his sister lives here full time now.”

The waiter jollied up again, and there was a lot of jibber-jabber in Greek, the men giving orders and laughing, and then the owner came over and there was more laughing. A few moments later, the waiter reappeared with an armload of appetizers.

“Sea urchin, baby meatballs in tomato sauce, fried eggplant, zucchini, beets, and homemade fried potatoes.” Stavros named each dish as the waiter put it on the table. “Cooked in olive oil, the Greek way.” I groaned inside. My father always said it took fifteen minutes after eating to feel full. My fifteen had already kicked in.

“Taste these beets, Bea,” Petros said. Quite the flirt. “These are home-grown right here, try one. I’m waiting to see what you think.” He nodded toward me. “You too, Cassie. Please.”

And it went on and on, taste-and-bite and stories of food. I took tiny helpings, chewed slowly, pushed my food around my plate. If Stavros noticed, he said nothing. He asked non-invasive questions about my favorite dishes to cook for guests, my mom’s cooking and my kids. Sweet guy.

Petros told us not to miss the Minoan palace and the archeological museum.

“If you’re into tiny shards of pottery and bulls,” Stavros added. “Lots of bulls. I shouldn’t joke, though. It’s a beautiful collection.”

“To think you arrived only today,” Petros said in a moony voice when, an hour later, we excused ourselves to visit the restroom.

I’d needed a respite from the intense scrutiny, probably imagined, and the effort it took to entertain strangers. Too much testosterone. I yawned and splashed a little water on my forehead, careful not to mess up my makeup.

“Petros and Stavros. Don’t you love their names?” Bea couldn’t wait to spill now that we were alone. “Come on, who would have thought we’d meet––”

“Stop right there. I’m not here to meet anyone,” I huffed. Maybe Bea and Petros had hit it off in the past hour, but that didn’t mean… my stomach heaved with the full weight of the two meals I’d just eaten.

“Come on, we’re having fun.” Bea lined her lips and smoothed on lipstick.

“Are you making plans with Petros?” Accusatory, yes, but more worried about being on my own than anything.

“He asked me to come with him to his village. Apparently, they all have a village.”

“What did you tell him? Aren’t we going to those ruins tomorrow?” How embarrassing, clinging to Bea because I was afraid to go out on my own. No, I wasn’t afraid. I spent plenty of time alone since Jay went and died. This vacation was supposed to come with a built-in companion. If I wanted to do stuff alone, I could have stayed home.

“I think Stavros likes you.” Bea gave me a sly sideways glance.

“What? We’re in the eighth grade?” Sometimes I had to get snotty with Bea or she ignored my opinions. “Did he pass you a note?”

She put her hands on her hips in response, a major show of attitude. “Stavros is a sweet man. Why don’t you chill out? Have another glass of wine.”

“Thanks, I’m pretty chill already.” But I didn’t want to be fixed up, not on vacation. “Forget it. Not interested in some overgrown beach boy.”

“Wow, you’re judgmental, aren’t you?”

“He probably hits on all the tourists. This isn’t Shirley Valentine, and I’m not out for a vacation fling.”

“Beach boy? Honey, that’s no boy.” Bea stuck out her lower lip, exaggerating her confrontational stance. “Stavros is a grown man.”

“You’re lucky.” I fluffed my hair, gone slightly curly-frizzy since my swim, and jutted my chin then took out my lipstick and bellied closer to the mirror. “Petros has already seen you in a bathing suit.” Did that even make sense? I didn’t care. My hand slipped, giving me a clown-like lip line, my bottom lip extending to my chin. “Do you have a tissue?”

“Of course. I have everything in here.”

After wiping the lipstick off, I started over, careful not to smudge. “Bea?” My voice quavered. How could I be such a meanie to my best friend?

“Yeah?” She tilted back, checking my lip line.

“I’m having fun.”

“Um hm.” She made a moue with her mouth and regarded me, her eyes slits. “Careful there, I wouldn’t want you to have too much fun.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a little uptight here.” I checked to make sure no trace of lipstick remained. “I can’t imagine taking my clothes off in front of…of a stranger.” I side-stepped from the mirror sure that hilarity would soon follow my remark.

“Relax.” To my surprise, instead of making fun of me, she patted my shoulder. “This will pass. It’s all that testosterone you’re not used to.”

True. And it had been a long four years.

She was dead right about one thing, though. Stavros was a grown man.

The Mediterranean has a way of dissolving even the most carefully constructed excuses.

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