Page 8 of Accidental Getaway

The last thing I remember is thinking I would just rest my eyes.

But when I open them again, the room is darker, and the fading light of the sunset bathes the view from the window.

What time is it? I reach for my phone and find that it’s a quarter to seven.

No wonder I’m ravenous. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

I rummage through my bag and throw on a pair of jeans and a light-blue, off-the-shoulder blouse. I twist my hair into a messy bun, cursing myself for falling asleep instead of showering, and go in search of food.

I navigate the hallway maze back to the elevator and notice stairs hiding behind it. My sandals clap on my heels as I descend, echoing in the white stairwell all the way down. The lobby is even more beautiful with the warm light of gold sconces mounted on the walls.

Alexander is standing at attention at the front desk. “Miss Jenni! Wonderful to see you. How are you settling in?”

“Good, thank you! I passed out. The bed is so comfortable! I’m starving, though. Can you point me in the direction of the hotel restaurant? ”

“Ah yes, the best beds in Mykonos,” he says with a wink. “Unfortunately, our restaurant is full at the moment. You could come back in an hour or so for a table, or you can walk down to the beach. There are a lot of restaurants along the water.”

I let out a sigh, my shoulders slumping. I didn’t think I’d have to leave the hotel just yet. I bite my lip, contemplating. My empty stomach does not want to wait over an hour just to be seated, but I also don’t think my brain is quite ready to tackle venturing out. Alone. Nearing nightfall.

Alexander leans across the desk and attempts to whisper. “Honestly, you might enjoy the beach restaurants better if you are starving. They will have bigger portions. More food, yes?”

My stomach lets out a low growl. “How far of a walk is it?”

“Not far at all! Just follow the road downhill until you get to the beachfront resorts. You’ll see a path to the water. Once you hit the sand, just head right. You can’t get lost unless you start walking uphill!”

“Downhill, got it. Thank you, Alexander! Send a search party if I’m not back in a couple hours, okay?”

He laughs like he’s supposed to, but in my gut, it wasn’t entirely a joke. Please, travel gods, let me make it back to this hotel in one piece tonight.

The walk to the beach is delightfully pleasant.

A light breeze mollifies the heat emanating from the asphalt road, and I can smell the sweet flowers hanging off buildings and crawling up the hillside.

I stick to the far-right edge of the road in fear of cars and Vespas zooming around the turns.

It would be just my luck to be pummeled in an accident before I even get started here.

I’m nervous, but not quite that desperate to get out of my meetings.

I can feel the steepness of the road in my quads and wish I had worn tennis shoes instead of cute sandals.

After only a few minutes, I find myself staring up at the beachfront resorts.

Wow. If I thought the Omorfiá Hotel was swanky, I don’t have a word to describe these resorts.

They are all larger and flashier than the Omorfiá, with glittering walkways and huge spotlights casting a yellow glow on the signs and entrances.

Looking around, I see a small placard that reads “Beach Access” with an arrow pointed toward a walkway between the resorts. I follow the path and find myself out on the sand. I can feel the moisture in the air even more down here than up at my window, and the seascape takes my breath away.

I visited the ocean once as a little girl.

I can’t remember exactly, but we were somewhere in Southern California.

Dad had been attending a convention, and all four of us had piled into the Subaru and taken a road trip.

We hung out at the hotel most of the week.

I think Mom was terrified of the traffic and massive freeways in California.

But on the last day of the convention, Dad finished early and took us to the beach.

I must have been eight or nine, with Jeremy a bit younger.

We dug giant holes in the sand and ran around right at the edge of the water.

Little foamy waves tickled our toes amidst squeals and giggles.

I remember scooping up big handfuls of the salty water and throwing it in the air, letting it rain down around me like confetti, glittering in the sun.

We were carefree in that childlike way that feels terribly out of reach these days.

At one point, late in the afternoon, Jeremy decided he was going to be brave. He didn’t stop when the water reached his ankles. He kept going, running and then wading further into the ocean. In an instant, I knew I wanted to be out there, too, so I started running after him.

But then, he just disappeared. He must have tripped or stepped in a hole, but all I remember is his head slipping under the surface.

My dad was close and managed to reach Jeremy in seconds, but it felt longer.

When Dad pulled him out of the water, Jeremy had the biggest smile on his face.

Like he had just experienced the thrill of the lifetime.

I figured it must not have been that scary after all and was about to start running again when my mom put her arms around my shoulders, hugging me to her stomach.

“I’m so glad you will never scare us like that, Jenni. I can always count on you to be the sensible one.”

Her words float in my mind now as I watch the dark water churn.

Sensible. Responsible. Reliable. Always doing exactly what my parents wanted and expected of me.

I’ve always prided myself on being all those things.

Which is part of the reason it hurt so much to lose my job and go back home.

There’s nothing sensible or responsible about that picture.

It’s all just too much to think about. I shake my head and my stomach grumbles, reminding me why I’m down here. I slip my sandals off and walk in the sand toward a handful of restaurant patios alive with people and music.

I put my shoes back on and ask for a table at the first restaurant I come to.

I don’t even glance at the menu board, thinking only about satiating my hunger.

The hostess sits me at a small table against the wrought-iron fence separating the dining area from the beachgoers.

I look over a menu of traditional Greek fare.

People pass by, holding hands and talking quietly, and I feel starkly alone.

Eating by myself doesn’t usually bother me, but there’s just something about the setting, or maybe being so far from home, that feels particularly isolating.

I order a Greek salad and a gyro plate—grateful that the menu has pictures and some English.

When the food comes, the salad is unlike any Greek salad I’ve had in the States.

First, there isn’t any lettuce. Instead, big juicy chunks of fresh tomato, cucumber, green olives, and red onion are drizzled in oil, salt, and spices.

And in the middle of the bowl, on top of everything, is a solid block of feta cheese drizzled in golden olive oil.

The only problem is that I don’t know how to eat it. What am I supposed to do with a giant block of cheese? I glance around the tables. Is anyone else eating a salad? Will I look like a dumb tourist if I pull out a knife and cut it? Ugh. This is what I was afraid of!

It’s just a simple salad and already I’m going to embarrass myself.

I decide to jab at the cheese with my fork and it breaks off in a chunk, which I’m able to scoop up with a few of the veggies. As soon as it hits my mouth, I let out a tiny moan. Yes, I’m a walking cliché. Whatever. It’s that amazing. I want more in my mouth, right this second.

After my second bite, I decide that’s it. I’m never eating an Americanized Greek salad ever again.

The gyro plate is just as delicious. Lamb gyro sizzles on a bed of round-cut french fries that are the perfect combination of crispy and smooth.

The outside is crispy, while the inside is steamy smooth.

Next to that, a mound of hummus and chopped up cucumbers drizzled with more olive oil cover giant wedges of pita bread.

Alexander wasn’t kidding about the portion sizes.

There is so much food on my plate right now.

However, in what feels like a matter of minutes, I have cleared both the plate and the bowl without a second glance around the restaurant.

My waitress returns, smiling.

“Looks like you enjoyed it! Is this your first time in Mykonos?”

“Oh, my gosh, it was amazing! Seriously so good. And yes, this is my first time in Greece, actually.”

“In that case, let me bring you a dessert. Our specialty, on the house!”

She walks away before I can say I’m too stuffed for dessert and I lean back in my chair, taking in the vibrant ambiance of the evening—the warm air, the mood lighting, the relaxing sounds of the ocean.

If this meal is any indication of what is to come, this trip might just be better than I thought .

I start to take a sip of water when my gaze lands on a familiar blue shirt, half-buttoned across a golden chest. Niko is walking my way along the sandy sidewalk between the beach and the restaurant.

And of course, as if right out of a movie, there’s a stunning and equally golden woman in a silky full-length dress dangling on his arm.

Crap . I can’t see him again today. We’ve already proven how terrible I am at small talk.

I don’t need any more reason to be embarrassed around him.

As they get closer, I panic and turn my entire body in toward the restaurant, pretending to look for my waitress in the hopes Niko won’t see me. Once they pass and I go undetected, I turn and stare after them.