‘Um …foveró?’
‘Amazing,’ Sam replies. ‘Though not as good as I’d hoped.’
He makes my drink with care and precision. His hair tied on top of his head, fairy lights illuminating his black clothing. The hum of chatter behind me makes me glance over the crowd, gathering at tables where carved pumpkins flicker with candlelight. They wear long-sleeved clothes, light jackets, jeans or trousers. It’s different from the last time I was here.
I haven’t been in Greece for long. Coming back in October feels like I’ve entered a different place. The weather is more British summer, yet the tourists are few. Judging by the locals’ attire, this is colder to them than it is for me, in my soft shorts and T-shirt.
Alice and Jackson decided to let my apartment, which means I get to keep my plants. I spent the month I was home packing,meeting my new team at work a couple of times, and then as soon as my visa got approved, I was catching the next flight.
Now, as Sam hands me my frappé, I have to resist the urge to grab him and pull him over this counter. Or maybe I could even do him on the counter.
‘So, fortune-telling?’ I try to shift my focus.
At the front of the coffee shop sits an older woman, peering into a coffee cup. Lydia before her, her arms crossed.
‘Well, what do you see?’
‘A pair of breasts,’ the woman muses.
I stifle a laugh, turning back to Sam.
‘Tasseography, they call it,’ Sam says. ‘Orkafemandeía. I’ve hosted it here before. It helps business in the colder months.’
I sip my frappé, and a hint of spice dances upon my tongue.
‘Is this pumpkin spice?’ I ask.
‘I did promise you, didn’t I?’ Sam says. ‘It’s gone down a treat with the locals, too.’
‘Of course it has. Pumpkin spice everything during the spooky season.’
‘Some people have asked me to keep it on the menu all year round.’
‘Illegal,’ I say.
Sam comes from around the counter, and I hold out my arms. We stand in the coffee shop, the crowd before us, hugging one another like old friends.
Because we were. Those weeks in Cardiff dragged on, and every day I pined for Sam more and more. I craved his touch, the scent of his hair, his skin. I wanted to feel him, taste him, be with him. Now, being here, fresh off my flight, I can’t wait for this evening of fortune-telling to end, despite the warmth of chatter, the flickering shadows and the smell of coffee.
We take a seat at our table as Lydia returns.
She sinks into her chair, her eyes wide.
‘Everything okay?’
Lydia looks at me. ‘She said Agnes is back.’
‘Agnes? As in first love Agnes? Is that true?’
‘I got a message from her last night,’ Lydia says. ‘She wants to meet me.’
I gasp. ‘That is incredible.’
‘Sam, where did you find this woman?’ Lydia asks, eyes still wide in shock.
‘Mum has been seeing her for years,’ Sam says.
As Lydia got lost in reminiscing about Agnes, my thoughts drift to Ollie. Since arriving back home, Ollie has shared his honeymoon photos, announcing them on Instagram like a celebrity issuing an apology video. We’ve kept in touch, but we haven’t seen each other in person.
