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“You’re pretty,” she says that a lot to me.
“Thank you. You're very pretty too,” I reciprocate as always.
“Papa says I’m going to be the most beautiful in the village.” She is proud as punch, and it makes me smile widely.
“Oh, I bet.”
She takes my hand.
“Come on, look at the mess down here,” she says, tugging me along. I go, smiling along the way. She greets everyone, and I smile a hello too. Faces appear from windows and doors, watching us move through the square.
“Here’s the mess.” She huffs. “What a mess!” She shakes her head, and I laugh, looking to see the response of others watching close by. I freeze, and my face pales. Black eyes and dark hair move back from the shadows.Callan.
“Callan?” I call. I move to go to him, the small hand in mine slipping freeas I walk towards the alcove.
“Ouch!” she cries, and I turn, rushing to help her. Blood spills from her foot, and her lip wobbles.
“Careful, there is glass all over the street.” I lift her up, twisting to look for Callan, but there is no one there. The doorway is empty. I search the streets, but I see no sign of him. Maybe it wasn’t him. I didn't get a good look, I reason, trying to calm my racing heart. I’m seeing things. I must be. He made it clear we would never see one another again.
A man comes towards me, and Thalia puts her arms out, but I’m too busy searching the streets for a beast of a man. He’d be too hard to miss. Thalia alone would remark on his appearance. But those around us seem unfazed. Someone would have seen him. He’s not here, I tell my frantic heart.
“Papa!” My attention returns to the little girl.
“I’m so sorry. She’s cut her foot,” I say, looking to where she is bleeding. He takes her from me and stares at me openly. I worry he has recognised me, but a woman slaps him up the back of his head and snaps at him in Greek. Although I have tried to learn some, I have no idea what she has said, but I can tell by his red cheeks it was to do with me.
“Papa likes your hair!” Thalia giggles.
I look shocked. I see him shrug, and his wife rolls her eyes, puts her hands on her hips and smirks at me. I relax slightly and focus on Thalia.
“I didn't know there was glass. I’m sorry.” I grimace at her parents.
“It’s okay, Miss Lia,” Thalia says.
Her mother pulls her from her father’s arms and inspects the small nick on her foot, wiping it clean.
“Go and find your shoes.” Her accent is thick. “Not to worry.” She smiles.
“Okay. I’m glad Thalia is okay.” My heart palpitates, causing me to feel on edge. I need to get home. “Sorry, I need to get going,” I tell them, smiling politely. Thalia grins at me, and I give her a little wave as she pulls her shoes on.
Chapter Thirty
I trudge back up the track, feeling out of sorts and shaken. I’m not far from the old man’s house when I get the feeling I’m being followed. I stop and wait, listening out for the crunch of footsteps, and when I hear it again, I turn and gasp. Callan is standing a few metres away, kitted out in black jeans and an open-neck black shirt. Pressing my hand to my mouth, I shake my head. It’s like seeing him again for the first time. I have no words, and for some reason, I refuse to allow myself to get excited. I don't want to fall victim to hope. We stare just like all those times before, each observing, neither speaking. It’s a few tense and emotional minutes before he speaks. I had almost forgotten the sound of his voice, rich, rough, and so deep. I step forward, needing to go to him, but I can’t allow myself further heartache.
“Hello, Zara.” He smiles sadly at me, and I hold my bag tightly for support. I come to the conclusion he is here to check up on me. Conclusions have never been my strong point, but my frayed heart can only take so much.
“Hey.” I frown at him. All the times I have wished him to appear, yet when he does, I want to cut our meeting short so I don't have to be a casualty to the pain tearing through my sternum. “I’m doing okay,” I tell him, keeping my gaze just out of eyeline. It’s too much. He doesn't speak, but his brows pull down, and I’m unsure what to do.
“I’ve got to get home. I’m glad you’re okay. You look good.” My voice tapers off. Turning quickly, I begin to walk quickly up the path. I’m practically running in my haste to get away from him. I’m not sure why or what has come over me, but Iwasdoing okay. I thought I had dealt with the grief of losing him, but I obviously haven’t. Blood is rushing through my ears, pounding louder than the rain last night, so loud I don't hear the heavy footsteps behind.
“Za-Lia!” he calls. I crash into the door and try to unlock it, but I’m shaken to the core. I can’t cope with the possibility of him popping in and out of my life to check on me, to see him, but for him to never give himself to me. I’m near sobbing as I manage to get the key in. A big hand connects with my shoulder, twisting me, pulling me until I’m facing him. I slam my hands over my face, not brave enough to look at him.
“I can’t do this. Why did you come?” I’m angry. “I was doing okay. I was. Doing. Okay.” I sniff and hiccup through my words. I had created a Callan-free bubble. I was doing okay, but okay isn’t great or happy. It’s just okay. Okay is me living in denial—devoid of true happiness.
“I wasn’t,” he admits gruffly, fingers prising my hands away, “I wasn’t, Zara. I was breaking, angry, hurt. Lost.” My wet eyes find his remorseful ones. “You're so beautiful.” He smiles. “Look at you.” He fingers a blonde curl. “I missed you,” he confesses. “Letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Zara.”
I shake my head. I don't want to believe him. Not if he is going to leave again.
“I can’t do it again,” I tell him tearfully.
