Page 57 of The Summer Show
“It’s okay. You didn’t drool on my face.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Gods help me, I was going to drown in his eyes.
“Do I hear whispering?” Ana said, sneaking up on me. I jumped. Nick let go of the spinach but saved the packet before it hit the floor. He handed it back to me. “Are you two gossiping?”
“Show stuff,” I said, begging my heart to stop freaking out about nothing. Her eyebrows shot sky-high when she spotted my new and definitely not improved complexion.
“Holy cow, what happened to your face?”
Beside me, Nick tensed. He still blamed himself even though it was nothing more than a dumb set of circumstances. Really, if anything was to blame, it was gravity. Gravity was single-handedly responsible for all falling objects and people.
“This is what happens when you try to exfoliate with the ground. That’s the last time I ever take beauty tips from TikTok. Zero out of ten, do not recommend.”
“Okay, okay, I guess I’ll see it for myself when this season airs.” She waggled her brows suggestively. I swatted at her. Cackling, she ducked and made a beeline for the coffee pot. “You’re here early,” she said to her brother. “Coffee bad at the hotel?”
“I slept here.”
“On the couch?”
He shrugged and went back to making coffee.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“Why? Did you fart?”
“There he is.” Ana folded her arms. Her smile was smug. “There’s Nick Merrick, not whoever you’ve been since the body snatchers showed up.”
He ignored her and handed me my mug. One sip told me everything I needed to know: Nick could be trusted with my coffee order. I got the feeling he would even make sure my name was spelled right on the cup.
“Thanks. It’s perfect.”
Over his shoulder, Ana was making her own coffee, but she was watching us.
“Think about what I said last night,” he told me. “I’ll sleep on the couch again if I have to, but the bed is nicer.”
The meaning of his words trickled in after the words themselves, after he’d kissed his sister on the forehead and gone to the yard to drink his coffee.
Nick had stayed here and slept on the couch for me. To make sure I was safe.
twenty-one
Nick didn’t show up for lunch at his family home that day.
Where was he? As protective as he was, I imagined him hiding on the nearby rooftops with a pair of binoculars, watching for amateur and professional paparazzi to reveal themselves.
Which begged the question: Why had he taken it upon himself to be my keeper here on Nera? Was it that I was his sister’s friend? Were we friends? Did he feel sorry for me because I didn’t speak the language and had to rely on the holy trinity of signing, a translator app, and the goodness of English-speaking Greeks to communicate?
Even worse, what if he knew I had a crush on him and he—it was too awful to think it, but my over-thinking brain went there anyway—pitied me?
“What are you doing? You have barely touched your third helping of fish and skordalia,” Yiayia said.
“I’m fine.” By this stage I knew that Greeks asked what you’re doing instead of how you’re doing, because what you’re doing is always more interesting than feelings. Except in this case me struggling to eat a third helping of fried fishies and a bread, olive oil, and garlic sauce was significantly less interesting than my feelings for Nick. These women could never know that. Yes, even Ana. “My face just hurts, that’s all.”
“Onions,” Proyiayia said. “Anastasia, cut onions for my Ana’s friend.”
Onions? Did I want onions? The correlation between onions and my face wasn’t clear.