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‘I ate the chocolate on your desk,’ Galen said.
‘I know you did.’ Roula nodded. ‘How did you know my password?’
‘I’m good at retaining numbers. Your date of birth,’ Galen said. ‘And your little dog Benji...’
She gave a soft laugh. ‘I still miss him.’
Perhaps dancing wasn’t quite so pointless.
Her hair smelt like sunshine, and her once cold hand had warmed to match the temperature of his, and the almost imperceptible beginnings of a thaw was taking place in his arms. Not much...just the dusting of her curls on his chin as she moved a little more freely...yet it felt so rewarding.
They were polar opposites.
Roula was a nice Anapliró girl, and that generally meant commitment before bed—or at the very least dinners and conversation and all the things he just did not do. Though he would like to stroke the skin on her arms beneath his fingers. Just to feel the shiver that was, he was almost sure, there between them.
Not acknowledged.
Not quite...
Roula felt his shift in awareness and could not quantify it, for they were dancing the same dance and he held her the same way. Yet his scent made her want to breathe deeper. And from nothing of note she felt a band of constriction from the two bras which she always wore to flatten her generous breasts.
It was just a moment during a dance, but what had felt simply natural suddenly flustered her as the moment—whatever it was—dispersed.
‘Are you okay?’ Galen asked.
Roula frowned, for it was as if he had felt her sudden tension. ‘Of course.’
Yet she wasn’t. It really was time to go home. But she was saved from making an excuse to leave, because the music suddenly died and they both looked over at the sound of a crash.
Leo had faded rather abruptly!
It was quite fun, watching Deacon carry him out, and then Mary and Costa were cheered and clapped off to bed, and like soapy bubbles the little crowd started to disperse.
‘It was nice to see you again,’ Roula said.
‘And you,’ Galen agreed. ‘Roula, I heard about...’ He faltered. ‘Well, I’m sorry—’
‘Please...’ she rapidly cut in, and then corrected herself. ‘You weren’t to know.’
‘How many yearshasit been?’ Galen asked, and he was not discussing her late husband. ‘I mean since we saw each other?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Roula said, but there was a slight edge to her voice as she spoke. ‘You’re the one who’s good with numbers.’
He found himself staring into unblinking umber eyes and saw that there was turmoil there. Despite popular opinion on the island, Galen was not a robot—orrompotas he’d been called in Greek.
‘Are you...?’ He didn’t know how to ask if she missed her husband. ‘Weddings must be hard.’
‘There’s one every week here.’
‘I meant—’
‘Please don’t try to guess about me, Galen. It’s the national sport here.’
Galen looked at her then, at that gorgeous hair in the moonlight, stripped of colour, and her face so pale. It felt surreal to be here. To stand in a place so familiar, with someone he’d once known and yet no longer recognised.
He thought of her near tears on the beach—not that she was aware he knew she’d almost cried. But she was hurting today. Galen was sure.
And so he broke the heavy silence.
