Page 26 of Accidental Getaway

When I make it to the lobby for our dinner date, Niko is speaking with Alexander at the front desk.

Even though we’ve spent so much time together now, I still stop dead in my tracks at the sight of him.

He looks more handsome every time I lay eyes on him.

Tonight, he’s dressed in a short-sleeved cream button-up shirt with navy embroidered details down the front and around the cuffs.

He’s got on gray linen plants and black loafers.

I look down at the off-the-shoulder, lightweight navy sweater I’m wearing. I’ve paired it with a denim skirt and gold sandals. We’re accidentally matching with the navy. Maybe we should take a selfie. Would that be weird? I’d love to send one to Piper and Sarah.

The moment Niko sees me, his face lights up.

That smile. My knees go a little weak every time I see that smile.

It takes me back to yesterday afternoon—the salty taste of his mouth when he kissed me, his hands tracing my back, his warm light illuminating long-dormant parts of my soul as we lay in the sunshine on the back of the boat.

My face flushes with the memory as I move toward him, watching my step over a spot that has clearly just been mopped.

The last thing I need right now is another clumsy accident from which Niko can sweep in and save me.

A time or two is cute, but any more than that and he might start to think I’m doing it on purpose.

When I look up, he’s making his way toward me with a soft smile.

“Hi,” I say, not know what to do with myself.

“Hello.” Niko grabs my elbow and places a light kiss on my cheek. He steps back and looks me up and down. “You look beautiful. Are you okay to walk tonight? I was hoping we could walk to the restaurant. It’s not far.”

“Of course. I would love to.” Some fresh air would probably do me some good, clear up the love-drunk way my body is acting around him.

We bid farewell to Alexander, but he is staring at his computer monitor, muttering under his breath.

“Is everything all right, Alexander?” I ask. “You seem a little stressed.”

He looks up, blinking away his distraction. “Oh, Miss Jenni. Yes, yes. We found more ducks today, and I don’t know what to do. Nothing like this has never happened before.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Niko says. “Take care, Alexander.”

“You too, Mr. Psomas. Have a good night.”

Niko winks at me as we turn and head toward the door.

“You’re horrible!” I whisper. “The poor guy is miserable!”

“He’ll survive. Stop worrying so much.”

I pout and can tell that Niko is holding in a laugh. “This better work out in the end, or I am going to feel terrible for being complicit.”

He nudges me. “It’ll work. I promise. You trust me, remember?”

“Using my own words against me—how dare you! The boat surprise was entirely different from pranking your poor concierge.”

The night is warm and lovely as we make our way down the hill toward the beach.

I’m reminded of my first night in Greece.

I was so uncertain of myself, fearful and alone.

So much has happened since then. Now my fears are different.

If I do accomplish this assignment, what am I going to do?

Will I really be brave enough to leave Pineview Springs?

What happens when I go home, alone, while Niko stays here?

Will that heartbreak put me in bed for weeks again, like it did when I left Chicago?

Niko turns us down an alley a few blocks short of the beach. Shops line the street. We snake through a few more alleyways, walking under fuchsia flower arches and blue-painted window shutters, before coming upon a small restaurant with one small metal table out front.

“This is a restaurant my mom used to take me to. It’s kind of a hole-in-the-wall, and they only have three things on the menu, but it’s amazing. The same chef has run it since I was a kid. It’s totally local.”

Peeling vinyl lettering on the door spells out Yia-Yia’s Café. Niko holds it open for me. “You won’t find this on any tourist top ten lists, but it’s my favorite spot on the island.”

I walk into the cozy restaurant and Niko follows.

It’s tiny. We have a full view of the kitchen behind an old register sitting on top of a chipped counter.

Two small tables with red-checkered vinyl cloths and white plastic chairs make up the dining area.

Small white candles flicker on the tables alongside piles of napkins and plastic ketchup bottles filled with tzatziki sauce.

An older man sits alone at a table, contentedly reading a book while he eats.

“Welcome to Yia-Yia’s!” Niko says proudly, as it if it were his own grandmother’s café. And I wonder if it is. Is that why he brought me here ?

“ Yia-Yia means grandmother, right? Is this another of your family’s businesses?” I smile but fully recognize the absurdity of my question as soon as it’s out of my mouth. The same family that owns hundreds of Greece’s most luxurious wineries does not bother with tiny hole-in-the-wall cafés.

“I wish,” is Niko’s only response as he approaches the counter. A young teen comes to take our order.

“Niko!” The boy greets Niko excitedly in Greek, laughing and punching in an order without Niko ever opening his mouth.

“Hey, Eli, how’s it going?”

It still catches me off guard when Niko interacts with everyone like they are an old friend.

It is just so out of character from all the other rich and powerful people I know.

“And yes, twice in one week. You caught me. But tonight is special. I wanted to share your family’s food with someone. This is my friend Jenni.”

I smile at Eli and say hello. The fact he called me his friend and not his associate or business partner does not go unnoticed.

“Friend” sends rays of sunshine through my body.

I’m afraid he’ll see my goofy grin, so I turn my attention to deciphering the menu on the wall, which is written in Greek with tiny English phrasing underneath.

“We’ll take two of everything. For here, please. Thanks, Eli.”

Well, that makes things easier.

“Sure thing, man! Beer?” Eli switches to English, probably for my benefit.

Niko hesitates and looks at me for the answer.

“Maybe just water,” I suggest. I’ve already drank way more than I usually do on this trip. Some water wouldn’t hurt.

He nods and turns back to Eli, pulling out a wad of cash. I fish in my bag for my wallet, but Niko puts a hand on my arm to stop me. “It’s on me. ”

“No, really, it’s fine. I should be the one paying. Aspen Sky has a budget for this sort of thing.”

He looks at me, confusion in his eyes at my offer to pay. Amber did send me with a budget.

“Well.” He rolls his shoulders back. “So do I. It’s on the hotel. Marketing expenses.”

His words sound cold, and my heart sinks a degree. Did I say the wrong thing? We move to the open table to take a seat.

“So what are we having? Why is this place your favorite when there are so many five-star restaurants on the island? It must be really special.” My smile feels forced, all cheeks and eyebrows. I’m trying to fix whatever tension I just created.

Niko sort of grunts, but as he talks his face lights.

“It’s definitely special. Not because it’s fancy or groundbreaking.

Sure, there are five-star restaurants on the island that most people would choose over this any day, but Yia-Yia’s has heart.

The food is simple and true to itself. It’s just good old-fashioned Greek street food, perfected over decades.

I’ve been begging them to take over our restaurant, but they don’t want to. ”

I’m no longer surprised that Niko’s answer has much more to do with the personality of the place than anything else.

He is so far from the “30 Under 30” businessman I read about online.

Of course, he prefers the home cooking place with heart instead of the upscale restaurant Ana took me to the other night.

“This reminds me of a place back home that I’ve been going to since I was a kid,” I say, thinking about Bobby’s Café and his BLT sandwiches. “But I don’t think I’ve ever really appreciated it in the same way you do.”

Before Niko can respond, Eli is at our table with two small plates. “Dolmades for the gentleman and the lady,” he says as he sets the plates down in front of us.

“Thank you,” I say, appreciating his use of English on my behalf .

Niko hands me a fork from the silverware basket on a shelf behind him. “Dig in!”

I prod at the green things on my plate. They look like egg rolls, but wrapped in leaves? I swear I’ve seen something like this in a movie, but I have no idea what they are or how to eat them.

I hesitantly stab one with my fork. “What is it?”

“Dolmades? You’ve never had them? Okay, this”—he gestures to the roll on his fork—“is a dolma. It’s a mixture of rice, nuts, and herbs stuffed and rolled in grapevine leaves. You’ll love it!”

I watch as he dips the end in yogurt sauce before taking a bite, leaves and all.

I hesitantly do the same. To my unpleasant surprise, the dolma is cold and slightly bitter.

The softness and creaminess of the rice counteracts the bitterness.

I can also taste hints of mint and cinnamon.

I can’t tell if I like it, but I chew and swallow.

“That’s good,” I finally say. “Not what I expected. But good!” I take another bite, trying not to gag. Something about the cold temperature and slimy texture of the leaves is just not doing it for me. I’ve got two more on my plate, though.

Niko is on his last dolma already, and I’m barely two bites into mine. The last thing I want to do is offend him, but the second to last thing I want to do is eat another one of these.

“You look like you’ve smelled a skunk,” he says through laughter when he looks up. I guess I didn’t hide my distaste as well as I thought I did. “You don’t have to pretend with me. It’s okay if you don’t like them. That just means more for me!”