Declaration (15 page)

“Hey, I get it.”

“You’re an Anglophile geek, too?” I arched a disbelieving brow.

“
Ha
. No, but I know what it’s like to have a dream you can’t quite make come true. When you’re passionate about something but you can’t make it a reality, you find other ways to make it happen. You work with what you’ve got. You’ll get to England someday, though. You’ll see.”

I pushed some chips around on my plate, contemplating that statement. I hoped she was right.

“What do you dream about?”

“All sorts of things.”

“Like?”

Whitney wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood, carefully making her way around to my side of the table. She pushed herself up on the edge, seating herself next to my plate. My eyes bounced to her bare, shapely legs as they dangled over the edge, brushing the side of my thigh. I stiffened and put down the piece of fish I’d been holding to give her my full attention.

“I’m not a wanderer,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t dream about seeing certain countries, like you do. I do want to see the world, but I always want a home to come back to. I want a huge yard and a state-of-the-art kitchen. I want the windows open all the time and the sunshine pouring in. I don’t need a big, fancy house or flashy cars or anything. I’d live in a tiny cottage, I don’t care. I just want something…peaceful. Steady.”

“You’re so free,” I said, tossing my napkin next to my plate. “Won’t you feel tied down?”

She slowly lifted one leg and slipped it over my lap, sliding her body to the left to center herself with me. My plate and silverware were bumped aside by her hip, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t even notice. She just claimed the space and then brought herself down onto my lap, straddling me and leaning back on the table with her arms. “Never. Know why?”

“Why?” I wiggled beneath her, my skin growing hot.

“’Cause I can fly out one of those windows and explore the world any time I want. Home will always be waiting when I get back.” She extended her hand and swiped the corner of my lip with her finger, collecting a small speck of tartar sauce. “It’s the best of both worlds.”

Watching her suck the sauce from her finger nearly undid me, but I restrained myself and focused hard on what she was saying. “You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

Bending down, she trailed her fingers along my jawline. “I want dessert. I know just the place.” She kissed my cheek and rose to move off of me, making a show of brushing her ass against my thighs as she slipped off my lap.

I watched her slink into the kitchen with her dishes but quickly snapped myself out of my mesmerized state to cover up the leftovers. I’d barely touched my meal, but I wasn’t about to turn down dessert if that’s what she wanted. Dinner would be waiting when I got home. Right now, the little bird in my kitchen wanted to fly away, and I wanted nothing more than to take that flight.

“Come on, Montgomery,” she smirked and shut the fridge door, then reached for my hand, “it’s time to go to Greece now.”

“Greece? Wait, how? Why?”

“Just because.”

Sounded like a good enough reason to me.

8
SPARK

We walked down to the beach, where Whitney pulled me into a small blue and white building on the corner of an old strip mall, the sign boasting the name “Orpheus.” The door jingled as we entered, and festive, exotic music hit us, immediately transporting us to some Old World locale. The bare cement ground was cracked and distressed, covered by large, Oriental area rugs. It was painted the same bright blue as the exterior, popping against the white walls.

“Little Miss Sinclair!” A loud, cheerful voice boomed.

“Tony, good to see you!” Whitney rushed forward, dropping my hand to let a tall, tan guy with stark black eyebrows and gray hair envelop her in a burly hug.

“You come for spanakopita tonight, Little Miss?” He pulled back to grab her shoulders and deliver a bright, welcoming smile.

“Not tonight, Tony. We’d like two orders of the baklava and some house red, please. This is Carter, my date.”

Tony turned to shake my hand, landing me with the same infectious smile with which he’d greeted Whitney. “Ah, Carter. This is the one you told me about, yes?”

Whitney linked arms with me. “Yup, this is him. Is Tia here tonight?”

I returned Tony’s hefty handshake with the same enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“Same here, my boy, same here. Tia is in kitchen. We chat in a moment, yes? Your order is coming right up, Little Miss.” He pinched Whitney’s cheek and clapped his hands. Hopping with the music, he danced around the corner and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Come with me,” Whitney said, tugging me along. We weaved around a few tables and past the main dance area, where three beautiful belly dancers were performing with swords. Their outfits were outlined with purple and golden jewels, and their long, thick black manes swung wildly over their shoulders. People clapped and hollered and a chorus of “opa!” sounded from all around. Waiters passed by with flaming dishes, and the most mouthwatering, Mediterranean-infused aromas teased my nostrils.

“You come here often?” I spoke up over the noise, letting her lead me to a small table near the corner.

“It’s my favorite Greek spot. We’re lucky to have such an authentic place on the island.”

“I know we just had fish and chips, but the smells in the place are making me hungry. God, that’s good.” I inhaled deeply and let the scents sink into my lungs.

“Just wait until you try their baklava. It’s divine. Oh, and I might have mentioned you to Tony a few days ago when I stopped in to pick up lunch. He wants you to meet his daughter, Tia.”

“Oh? What, are you trying to pawn me off on some other girl? Is the date that bad?” I laughed and squeezed her shoulder, putting my arm around her as we wiggled into the tiny booth.

“Something like that.”

“Miss Whitney!” a little girl sang, her happy voice sailing over the crowd as she came toward us.

“Hey Tia,” Whitney said, opening her arms.

The little girl slid around the belly dancers and wormed her way between the wall and the edge of the table to accept Whitney’s hug. “Is this him?” she asked, letting Whitney pull her on to her lap.

“Yup, this is Carter. What do ya think, kiddo? Cute, huh?”

“Very!”

“Who’s this?” I asked, smiling at the chipper little thing. She couldn’t have been more than 6 years old.

“This is Tia,” Whitney said, wrapping her arms tightly around the child’s torso. “Tony’s daughter. She wants to learn how to play guitar. Don’t you, lovely?”

Tia nodded enthusiastically, her glossy black bangs bouncing against her golden complexion. “Will you teach me, Carter?”

“Me?” My head jutted back and I pointed to myself.

“Tony has a job proposition for you,” Whitney said. “He’d like to know if you’d be willing to teach Tia how to play twice a week. It might turn into a long-term thing, so he’ll understand if you need some time to think on it before you make a decision.”

“Wow. I don’t know, I never really thought about teaching.”

Before Whitney could respond, Tony appeared again, plucking Tia from her lap to lift and spin her in the air. Tia erupted in explosive laughter, begging her daddy to put her down. Tony tickled her for a few more seconds before finally setting her down. He pulled up a chair to sit across from us, setting Tia on his lap. “Well, Little Miss?” he looked to Whitney. “Have you talked to your boy, here?”

“I was just filling him in,” she said, leaning in to me.

“Well, would you be interested, Carter?” he asked, settling his friendly eyes on mine.

“What are you looking for, exactly?”

“Just basic lessons for my baby, here. Whitney told me you’re a musician, yes? She said she’s heard you play. Said you have much talent, much passion. We like gusto here!”

I laughed nervously, moving to fold my hands on the table. “I’ve never taught music lessons before, sir.”

“Please, call me Tony, yes?”

“Well, I’d love to try teaching her, Tony, but I can’t promise you anything. I’ve never been asked to give lessons before.”

I wanted to add that Tia was also a child. Teaching someone how to play an instrument was challenging enough. Teaching kids was even harder. They had to have the focus, the desire, and the determination. That was a lot to ask of a 6-year-old.

“Ah, don’t worry, my boy. I just want her to have fun. I wouldn’t expect you to turn her into a sensation overnight. She’s expressed much interest in music, you see. Especially the guitar, since her mother passed away. Her mother used to play for her. She was always enamored with the sound, even as a baby. And now, being in this place,” he gestured to the musicians staged behind the belly dancers, “I think the influence has fueled her desire, you see?”

I eyed the performers and then Tia’s expectant face, noting just how much she looked like her father. Her dark eyebrows were thick and bold, framing deep, rich brown eyes. Her tawny complexion was natural and flawless, much different than the tans you saw the locals and tourists sport around the island.

“Just think on it,” Tony said, calling my gaze back to his, “and get back to me, eh? No pressure, my boy. I’d like her to try two days a week. I can pay you in advance and I will pay well. I don’t want to send her into town for lessons, you see. It’s too far and I want her to study with someone in private, here in our home, where her mother played. We live upstairs. You think and let me know. Come, my baby.” He tapped Tia’s shoulder and she hopped off of his lap. She waved to me and Whitney and darted off, leaving her father standing there with a blissful grin. “Ah, that little one. Such joy, you know?” He offered me another handshake.

“Thanks for the offer, Tony,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Your order is coming! Be right back!” He hustled off, leaving us alone again with the restaurant chatter and lively music.

“He’s great, right?” Whitney asked, watching with a smile as he hurried away.

“He’s a great guy, yeah.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About teaching his daughter?”

“Yeah. You’d love Tia, she’s just like her daddy. Happy and full of life.”

“She’s a cute kid. I don’t know. I mean, I guess I could teach. I’d have to see how it would work with my schedule at the shop.”

“I’m sure Tony would work around your hours. Sleep on it for a few days and see how you feel. You never know,” she shrugged, lighting up when she spotted the baklava and wine coming our way, “it might be a fun way to earn some extra cash.”

A waiter set our desserts down and then poured the wine. We dug right in, decadently feeding one another in between our own bites. The later it became, the busier it became. Within an hour, the room was packed from wall to wall with patrons, all smiling, drinking, dining, and bobbing to the exotic music. We were stuffed with Tony’s famous baklava, but energized by the enticing energy of the restaurant, and nowhere near ready to call it a night.

“Don’t laugh,” Whitney said over her third glass of wine, covering the top of the glass as if it could hear her secret, “but you know what I really want to do?”

“Tell me. I want to know.” My arm was draped around her small waist. I thumbed the edge of her dress hem, which was riding dangerously high, and began rubbing small circles over her thigh. She was absolutely vibrant in the bright blue material, and the way her silver necklace shimmered over the swell of her breasts made the curves of her neck and throat all the more alluring.

“Don’t laugh, though.”

“Pinky swear.”

She beamed up at me and hooked her finger with mine, keeping her free hand over her wine glass. “I want to open my own bookstore. I know, I know, physical bookstores aren’t what they used to be. E-books have taken over the publishing world, but nothing beats a paperback. Lots of people still like paperbacks, you know.”

“Oh, I know. I’m one of them.”

“Me, too! I mean, I still have an e-reader and I love the thing, don’t get me wrong, but…God, the smell of a new paperback? There’s nothing like it! Old paperbacks smell even better.” She sighed dramatically, sinking against my chest. “I want to host book signings, book clubs, events…I want it all.”

“Then you should go for it.”

“You think? Really? But isn’t it a hopeless idea?”

“How is owning a bookstore any more hopeless than what I used to do, playing music for a living? Working with art is always a risk.”

“True, but you actually made a living. I’ve seen indie bookstores go under left and right, especially around here. I need to be able to pay my bills.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“That’s just a saying. Lots of people have the will, but they don’t have a way.”

“The starving artist term is just a saying, too. Many people make a living working around their favorite art. You don’t have to own a nationwide bookstore franchise or be Bono to be successful, you know.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Trust me. You can make it happen. You might not make a fortune, and sacrifices might have to be made, but it can be a reality. You’re going to school for business, right?”