Page 41 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T he flight to Athens is less than two and a half hours. In that time, I say “I can’t believe we’re flying to Greece,” at least seven times. As we descend, I see the Aegean Ocean sparkling beneath us, and Greece’s most famous ruins waiting to be explored.

Jake gets us a cab at the airport, and I take in the city of Athens as we speed toward our hostel. It’s loud. And indecently hot. And I can’t understand anything. But my skin is tingling with the thrill of being in a new country.

We check in at our hostel then go straight to the restaurant next door. I get a Greek salad. The tomatoes are red and juicy. The cucumbers are fresh and crisp. The olives and purple onions add sharp bites of flavor.

“You’re making your happy food sounds again,” Jake says with a smile.

After we finish, I head back to the counter and thank the wonderful souls who made my food.

“Amazing work you guys. Truly incredible. There should be statues built of you.” I’m not sure how much English they understand, but one of them gives me a thumbs up.

“Okay,” I tell Jake once we’re out on the sidewalk. “I’ve planned the perfect day for us. Are you ready to get punched in the face by Ancient Greece?”

“I think so?”

“Perfect. Follow me.”

The hike to the top of the Acropolis is steep and the heat is sweltering. By the time we make it to the top, Jake and I are both covered in sweat and grinning like maniacs as we gaze at the ruins around us.

“This is incredible!” Jake says.

“I know!”

I take approximately one trillion photos. We stroll along the towering columns that make up the perimeter of the Parthenon. We visit the temple of Athena Nike and explore the Ancient Agora and Temple of Hephaestus. I tell Jake interesting facts about each site.

“Wow,” Jake says. “Did you already know all this stuff, or did you learn it so you could be a sexy tour guide?”

“Not telling,” I say. Then Jake wraps his arms around me and starts kissing me just below my ear. It gives me the shivers and makes me giggle.

“Okay, fine. I read a bunch of stuff on Wikipedia to impress you.”

“It worked. I’m impressed.” He kisses me until I’ve forgotten everything about the Acropolis and my first name.

“Should we blow off these ruins and go make out somewhere?” I whisper.

“And miss out on you as a sexy tour guide? No way!”

We keep exploring until our legs ache and our stomachs start growling.

“Are you ready for some dinner?” I ask Jake.

“If it means I can sit down, yes.”

“You’re in luck,” I say. “I chose one of those fancy Greek restaurants with chairs.”

I use the tourist map and lead us to our destination.

“We’re having dinner at a hotel?” Jake asks.

“Just wait,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him into the elevator.

The Athens Gate Hotel has a rooftop restaurant with a 360-degree view of Athens.

A hostess leads us to our table, and I watch Jake’s face as he looks around him.

The whole city is laid out below us. Purple clouds have formed behind the Acropolis making it look especially dramatic. He turns to me with a huge grin.

“Wow,” he says.

“I know!”

“How did you find this place?” he asks, turning to look at the view behind him.

“An old woman came to me in a dream and told me about it.”

“Really?” His eyes are huge.

I laugh. “No. I found it on the Internet.”

“Well, it’s the coolest restaurant I’ve ever been to.” He squeezes my hand, and I feel pretty proud of myself.

We devour pita with house-made hummus and flavorful tzatziki sauce, mushrooms stuffed with spinach and garlic, and grilled pork skewers so juicy I have to lick my fingers and hands. I eat so much it’s physically painful, but I have no regrets.

We stay at our table and enjoy the view as the sun sets, the white marble of the Parthenon turning pink in the sunset’s glow.

“Thank you for an awesome day today,” Jake says. “I loved all the things we saw.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” I say. “The people who actually built the monuments did their part too. But you’re welcome.”

The check comes and Jake takes it. I take it back. “It’s my night to treat.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that,” Jake says. “It seems so silly for you to pay.”

“But we agreed.” I say. “I worked hard and saved for this.”

“I know you did. You’re amazing. But what if you used that money toward a plane ticket to visit me in New York?”

“I’m going to get a job when I get home,” I say. “I can save more money.”

“Do you have a job lined up already?” he asks.

“Not exactly,” I say, heat creeping up my neck. “But I was going to talk to the manager at Jamba Juice and see if I could get my old job back.”

“I think it would just be easier this way,” Jake says. “I would rather pay for stuff here so you can fly out to Columbia later and not put a strain on your finances.”

I hand him the check just so we can be done with this conversation.

I was excited to pay for dinner at this fancy restaurant tonight.

I felt really cool and mature. Now I feel small and lame.

I know Jake’s trying to be kind, but for the first time, he seems like a rich guy paying for his girlfriend because she’s too poor to pay for herself.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

I take my time. I admire the bright blue tiles around the mirror.

I take some deep breaths. It’s not a big deal.

Jake is literally the nicest guy I’ve ever met.

I head back to the table and resolve to get over it.

And it’s easy. Jake is sweet and the view is amazing and as we walk back to our hostel, I marvel at how lucky I am.

That feeling only grows over the next two days as we explore ancient and modern Greece and gorge ourselves on unbelievably yummy food. We bid farewell to the city of Athens from the deck of a ferry headed to the islands. The sun shines, the sea shimmers, and everything about the world is golden.

We disembark in Naxos and follow the other passengers down a long dock.

I foolishly imagined the Greek islands would look like Hawaii.

They don’t. Naxos is an island of craggy cliffs and scrubby shrubs.

Less palm trees and more pine trees, and the air smells like maple syrup.

We stroll through a town square and up a hill, then Jake stops in front of a group of white condos.

“This is us,” he says.

It’s not big, but it’s got everything we need. Two bedrooms. A bathroom with a shower and tub. A small living room and a kitchenette. From our balcony, we can see all the way out to the ocean.

“What if we stay here and never go home?” I ask. “Ooh! We could fake our own deaths! ‘Young couple dies tragically in Greek volcano incident.’”

“Or…” Jake says, “We could just come back on our honeymoon.” He gives me a hopeful look.

“That could work,” I say. “But if we end up marrying other people, that would make for a very awkward trip.”

I take a shower in our connecting bathroom, happy to rinse the sand and seawater out of my hair. The water pressure isn’t great, and it only gets lukewarm, but it still feels divine.

Fifteen minutes later, Jake knocks on my door. I’m sitting on my bed trying to brush out my hair.

“It’s me. Jake,” he says, which makes me laugh. Who else would it be?

“Come on in.”

I give my hair a vicious yank. The complimentary conditioner was pretty much worthless.

Jake looks fresh and clean from the shower, and his nose and forehead are kissed from the sun. He glances at the brush I’m holding in a death grip.

“Did I ever mention that Naomi taught me how to French braid?” he asks.

“You did not.”

He climbs onto the bed and sits behind me.

He takes the brush from my hand and gently works out the rest of the tangles, starting at the tips.

He doesn’t rush. His hands move slowly and tenderly, freeing each knot.

Each brush of his fingers on my neck sends tingles down to my toes.

Then he starts at the top and, strand by strand, works his way down, French-braiding my hair.

He doesn’t say anything and neither do I, but the air in the room seems to buzz with a charged energy like the beach before a storm.

When he’s done, he says, “There,” very softly, and puts the hairband at the bottom.

“Thanks,” I say. But I don’t move. Jake’s hands move from my neck to my shoulders and down my arms until he’s enveloped me. We stay like that for a long time. Eventually, he gives me a sweet kiss good night, and I lay in bed with my heart pounding.

* * *

There is a lot to enjoy about Naxos, and we spend the next five days doing it all.

We spend an afternoon at a secluded beach near an olive grove.

We’re the only ones there and the air is filled with the intoxicating scent of warm olive oil.

We eat snacks and swim. And when the sky gets pink, we kiss and whisper sweet things to each other.

It’s one of those moments when the whole universe seems to exist solely for our pleasure.

We spend one morning riding bikes around the port town of Naxos. We stop to visit a beach and quickly discover it’s clothing optional. I try to play it cool, but of course I turn bright red, because my body betrays me every chance it gets.

The low point of the week comes when we go to rent scooters. It’s not fair to call it a fight, but a disagreement doesn’t quite capture what transpires.

We wanted to check out more of the island and scooters seemed like a good time. I’ve never actually driven one, and I was excited to try. And then this happened:

“There’s not much to it,” the guy at the shop says. “Just take it easy on the turns. A crash could wreck your whole vacation.”

And I think, ‘Easy on the turns. Got it. Let’s go.’

And Jake says, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

And I say, “Why not?”

And he says, “I don’t want to crash and wreck the rest of our vacation.”

And I say, “We’re not going to crash.”

And he says, “People crash. My parents put them back together every day.”

And I say, “We’ll be just fine.”