His mum gasps.
‘No.’ Her hands find her face. ‘That isn’t Will Cooper?’
‘It’s been too long, Mrs Greer.’
She waves her hand. ‘Call me Jill, Will.’ She chuckles at the rhyme. ‘You two reconnected again? You didn’t tell me you’d got back in touch.’
‘No.’ Sam leans against the counter, and I fight hard to look anywhere but his bum. ‘This is pure chance.’
‘Fate,’ Jill says. ‘What are the chances?’
‘About the same as winning the lottery,’ I say. ‘I fell into a bush.’
Fate.
A thrill jolts through me.
How is this happening? Jill wears a blue shirt and cargo shorts with black boots, looking like she’d be at home on a ranch in Tennessee, not running a coffee shop in Athens. She’s shoulder height with Sam, and slicks back her grey hair with her hand. She always was a cool mum.
She gasps, ‘Your arm!’
In the car, Sam handed me a tissue to stop the bleeding. Don’t ask me why he had tissues in his car. I took one with no questions and dabbed, feeling queasy, certain I’d lost pints of blood by this point, even though there was just a trickle, but you never know. After stepping out the car, a small bit of blood had leaked again.
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
‘No, Sam, take him upstairs right now. Get him cleaned up,’ Jill orders.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ He plants a gentle kiss on her cheek and motions for me to accompany him.
‘Nice to see you again, Jill.’
‘We’ll have a proper natter soon.’ She gives me a wink.
I follow Sam up the staircase, and the shop disappears as we round the corner. Chunky beige walls, more reminiscent of a cave than a home, glow with lit candles. Sam carries my bag,allowing me to focus on my bad arm. At least I only hurt my arm and nothing else.
Upstairs, I expect more customers, more exposed beams, more coffee. Instead, we’ve entered an apartment, light and spacious, with a view out over the rooftops of Athens. A thick, fluffy white Flokati rug in the centre of the floor is an added spot of colour and a touch of luxury in an otherwise brown, rustic, masculine apartment.
He leads me past the kitchen with its modern worktops, then down a large hallway and through a heavy wooden door into a bathroom of marble.
‘Take a seat,’ he says, dropping the toilet lid so I can sit down.
He crouches, his back to me, and I trace the contours of his skin, seeing the hint of crack at the base of his spine. His head in the cupboard under the white sink, his hands sorting through who knows what.
‘This is your place?’
‘It is,’ Sam says, his voice sounding dull from inside the cupboard. ‘I don’t live with Mum, by the way.’
I wouldn’t have cared if he did.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Came with the shop,’ Sam says. ‘Obviously.’
I’m fixated on his bare chest as he turns to face me. He catches me looking, and I hold my breath.
He breaks eye contact first. He has the same smile he had as a kid, just with straighter teeth.
‘This will sting.’
