Halfway to You(28)
I raised my camera and snapped a photo for Mom.
Our days on Santorini were both idle and adventurous. We’d laze outside the guys’ room (they dragged one of my patio chairs over to theirs so I could join them) or under umbrellas on a beach (clothed, though we still chuckled about Keith’s pale ass). We ate a lot of fresh fish, olives, and fried feta; we drank ouzo and mastika and the occasional bottle of Assyrtiko wine. We toasted to anything worth celebrating: to Greece, to friendship, to sunsets, to cheese!
I rented us a pair of mopeds and let the guys drive, tagging along on the back of Todd’s. I loved the excuse to wrap my arms around his waist, nestling my head between his strong shoulder blades and breathing in his citrus musk. We scooted all over the island, visiting red-sand beaches, getting lost among labyrinthine streets, and taking photos of blue-domed churches. We stroked thin donkeys’ faces and fed stray cats off our plates. And after dark, we wandered and laughed and got drunk and talked about what fun this was.
We vowed to be friends forever.
When it came to my winning over Todd, Keith and I were downright conspiratorial. He seemed to believe that Todd and I were meant for each other too. He’d tie our shopping bags to the back of his moped so I had to ride with Todd. He’d sit so that Todd and I had to share a bench, scooch closer. He’d wander ahead—or disappear completely—to allow Todd and me to converse one on one.
If Todd noticed Keith’s efforts, he didn’t say anything. As the days sped by, we grew closer. It became easy to chat about nothing in particular, or laugh at an inside joke—burro!—or brush an eyelash from the other’s cheek. He made me feel both understood and challenged, electrified and soothed. So I overlooked the boundary he’d built. In my mind, the ease and familiarity of our interactions proved his attraction.
But he was also a walnut—tough to crack. We talked about everything except the thing that made his eyes go dark sometimes, the thing that made his bottom lip twitch in a half grimace that he was quick to hide. There’s something you need to know, Keith had warned. I lost someone, Todd had said.
I was afraid to ask.
I wanted things between us to deepen, but I was terrified that the secret lurking in his past would keep us apart. I had the sense that it was big, and maybe he didn’t care for me enough to try to overcome it. But I also sensed that, day by day, we were becoming closer than just friends.
Did his hand linger on my waist?
Was that a relieved smile upon seeing me emerge from my room?
Did his eyes dart to my lips while I was talking?
These things did not seem chaste; the naturalness of them was not insignificant. I tried to offer my own signals, shy little hints that were meant to ask, Are you sure you only want friendship? A lingering hand on his shoulder, a long slow squeeze when I climbed on the back of his moped, a bright sunny smile just for him.
I spent many nights hoping he’d sneak the thirty feet from his patio to mine. I waited to hear a soft knock on my door—fantasizing about the taste of his lips—and was always devastated when he didn’t show. Come morning, I would be determined to act coy and cold, but the moment he lifted his coffee cup in greeting, to beckon me over to their patio, all my frustration would melt and I’d gravitate toward him like a magnet, grateful simply to feel his pull.
Six days into our jaunt around the island, after a long afternoon exploring back roads with a bubbly Dutch couple we’d met at lunch, we decided to all meet in Oia for the sunset. Our new friends had found a spot not far from Oia Castle, a secret place that overlooked a trio of blue domes and provided a private sunset view.
An hour before twilight, I ducked into my hotel room to brush my teeth and freshen up. I swapped my tank top and shorts for a flowing dress I’d bought the day before. Though I’d abstained from makeup for most of the trip, I dug out some blush and mascara and dolled myself up.
The sun was sitting low in the clouds when we arrived in Oia. Keith had packed a few bottles of wine and some extra blankets, and Todd helped him carry the goods. The Dutch couple—I don’t recall their names—led the way as the street transformed into a narrower residential pathway. Our guides slowed, walking side by side. Keith followed on their heels, with Todd and me in tandem behind.
Todd cleared his throat. “Is the dress new?”
My cheeks tightened, but I smothered the smile before it reached my mouth. “Yes, from that boutique yesterday.”
He glanced at me. “It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
A pause. “I’m glad you came here with us. It’s been fun.”
Todd and Keith were heading to Crete next, just for a few days, before they returned to the States. Whatever happened with Todd—friendship, or more—the thought of him going back to Colorado while I stayed behind made my chest clench. I had no plans of living in America again—I couldn’t bear the thought, really, of going back to the one place I would never flourish. But not seeing Todd every day . . . I couldn’t bear that thought either.
“I’m glad you invited me along,” I answered. “Truthfully, I never would’ve come to Greece if it hadn’t been for you. And what a loss that would’ve been.”
“Keith just dragged me here for beaches, women, and drinking.” His mouth twisted, tiny wrinkles creasing his cheek. “We got so much more.”
My heart did the opposite of a skip, a heavy thud-thud. “What’s been your favorite part so far?”