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“Well, you certainly have fans. And if you keep playing like you did against the Milano Seamen, you have a future. That last catch—one-handed. Beautiful.”
Huh.
“Even if you were over the line.”
“What?”
She laughed. “Gotcha.”
Okay, whatever. “I’m hungry. And we have four hours before the boat is ready.” He pushed out his chair, got up.
The world tilted at him, coming up fast, and he staggered, catching himself on the table. The force of it tilted the table, the glasses spilling over. Iris caught them, set them right.
“Are you okay?”
He pressed his hand to his temple. “Whoa. Head rush.”
But she stood there, frowning at him. “You sure? You don’t look great.”
“Thanks for that.”
“I mean—okay, hotshot. You’re just too big for me to drag back to your hotel room.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean. Sheesh. Okay, clearly, you’re fine.” She headed to the buffet.
Maybe not so fine. A sweat prickled his skin. The room still spun, just a little, so he kept his eyes on her, following her to the long, overflowing breakfast buffet.
“Are you kidding me? There’s like, twenty different pastries, then there’s breads, and is that homemade yogurt? Probably. And olives and…oh, wow, you picked wisely, Indy.”
He knew that line. From somewhere, but he couldn’t place it. “A movie reference?”
“Please.” She picked up a plate from the stack. Handed it to him. It was warm. “Did you grow up under a rock? That’s a clearIndiana Jones and the Last Crusadereference.”
“Australia—at least, until I was nine.”
“No movies in Australia?”
“Not in the outback. But yeah, I did see that. I think.”
“For the love, I hope so. Life isn’t right without being able to quote Indiana Jones. Or really, any of the Harrison Ford movies. Pick a blockbuster, you’ll find Harrison Ford. Oh my—is that bougatsa?”
She picked up a phyllo pastry filled with cheese. “I’m in heaven.”
He loaded his plate with olives and tzatziki and fresh crusty bread, and another phyllo pastry called tiropita, and some hot spanakopita along with honey-coated feta cheese, and finished with dolmades.
“I’ve never had stuffed grape leaves,” Iris said, her plate high as she headed back to the table.
“They’re really…good…” He slowed his step behind her, the world angling around him. His skin turned prickly, his entire body rushed with heat. He might have emitted a groan, because she turned.
Her eyes widened. “Hud. You’re bleeding.”
She set down her plate on a nearby table and swiped up a cloth napkin. Stepped up to him and pressed the napkin to his nose while retrieving his plate with the other hand.
“Hud?”
He fell to his knees, taking her with him. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, kept holding the napkin to his face. “What’s going on?”
