Page 13 of Never Too Late to Date

She did need to think seriously about when the right time to hand over the reins would be, but for now, she urgently needed to serve the customers with the smile they deserved.

Three hours in, and with her feet aching like mad, she was pleased to see her elder son, Giannis, make an appearance.

‘Hello, gorgeous.’ She leant over the bar to kiss him on both cheeks, and he planted a kiss on the top of her head. Greek men had no problem showing affection, unlike many of their British counterparts. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘Bloody hard work.’

‘Oh, dear.’

She pushed an ice-cold bottle of the local beer, Eza, in his direction. Her boys were chalk and cheese, physically and temperamentally, but they never fell out with each other, or indeed their great mate, Charlie, just with her occasionally.

‘Here, drink this.’

Giannis pushed his hands through his short, dark blonde locks before picking up his beer. His colouring and mannerisms were so similar to those of her long departed but sorely missed father. It always gave her a jolt to see her elder son, even if she’d seen him only hours before.

‘Thanks. The court case dragged on longer than expected.’

‘Poor baby.’

She reached over and stroked his hand. The fatigue in his dark blue eyes with their black shadows was obvious.

‘Mama! That’s enough.’

Her eldest son’s job as a lawyer took a lot out of him, as he cared so much about his clients. He rarely took the holidays he was owed.

‘And where’s Kat?’

‘Working late. She’ll be here in a minute.’

His wife worked as hard as he did. When they’d ever find the time to have children, she had no idea. Not that she was rushing to be a yiayiá, a Greek grandma, but if they wanted any little ones they needed to get a move on now. Kat had hit her mid-thirties, and Giannis was already thirty-eight. Not that it was any of her business, although she knew Kat’s fierce mother, Despina, gave them grief on a daily basis about not having a grandchild to hold.

Having got the whole pregnancy thing over in her early twenties with her two boys meant Suzie had been largely free by her forties to do as she pleased. She smiled to herself. Which was mainly slave away in the bar and still cook and run the household like a proper Greek wife, but still.

A whistle and a ‘hey’ from the other end of the bar caught both their attention. Kostas’s voice travelled across the room.

‘If you two have stopped holding hands, I could do with some help over here.’

She sidled up to her younger son and bumped hips with him.

‘Jealous, are we?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Just under pressure.’

‘Your poor brother’s had a hard day.’

‘Haven’t we all?’

‘I thought you were out on the boat fishing all morning with your dad?’

Kostas’s expressive eyebrows shot up.

‘You surely don’t expect me to work twenty-four hours a day?’

‘No, dear. Of course not.’

The music had segued smoothly into the first slow dance section of the evening, and the crowds at the bar had thinned out somewhat as customers coupled up and thought about something other than drinking. A couple of women looked longingly in Kostas’s direction, but she could have told them that, even if he hadn’t been working and available to dance, they’d have been out of luck.

Manolis, the young, fit, curly-haired barman pouring drinks down the other end of the bar, was much more up her younger son’s street. She’d seen them talking quietly together outside, heads bent together, when she’d locked up on several occasions recently. They’d make a good fit, especially compared to some of the guys Kostas had been out with. But, as with Giannis, she wasn’t looking to interfere in her younger son’s love life.