Chapter two
741 Words
Running to Greece.
Noelle's POV
I found a bar that night.
It was a small place. Open air. Worn stools and strong drinks and nobody asking you anything. Perfect.
I sat down and ordered a shot.
Then another.
Then one more just because.
I was not drunk. I knew where I was. My head was clear. I was just — loose. That tight feeling in my chest had gone soft for the first time in days and I didn't want to let it go yet.
The bar filled up slowly. Couples. A loud group of girls celebrating something. A few people sitting alone like me, staring at their drinks.
I ordered another shot.
The bartender looked at me.
"I'm fine," I said.
He poured it.
I was on my sixth — maybe seventh — when someone sat down two seats away.
I didn't look up. I was busy with my glass.
Then the bartender put a big water bottle in front of me.
I looked up. "I didn't order this."
He nodded down the bar.
I looked.
It was him.
Beach man. The one from this morning. He was dressed now. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled up — and he was worse up close. Strong jaw. Dark eyes. The kind of face that had caused problems for a lot of people and knew it.
He was looking at me.
"You don't have to do that," I said. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
The corner of his mouth moved. Not a smile. Better than a smile.
"I can see that," he said. "Drink the water anyway."
I looked at the water.
I looked at him.
I drank the water.
"Thank you," I said reluctantly.
"You're welcome," he said.
He turned back to his drink. Something dark. No ice. He wasn't looking at me anymore but I could feel that he knew exactly where I was.
"I'm Roman," he said.
"Noelle."
He nodded. Slow. Like he was storing my name somewhere.
"Here alone?" he asked.
"Very," I said. "You?"
"Yes."
"Work trip?"
"Vacation from work," he said. "Different thing."
"How?"
He thought about it. "A work trip you come back the same. A vacation from work means something had to stop."
I understood that more than I wanted to.
"What about you?" he asked. "Why Santorini?"
I had a normal answer ready. Something simple. Something that didn't need explaining.
But I was on my seventh shot and he had kind eyes and I was so tired of holding things in.
"I found out my fiancé likes c***s," I said.
Silence.
He looked at me.
I looked back.
"More than p***y," I said. "Two men. Same time. Our bedroom."
He was quiet for a second. Then he said, "That's a good reason to get on a plane."
I laughed. Just like that. Real and sudden and a little broken.
"It really is," I said.
After that we just — talked.
Three hours. Easy. I switched to juice somewhere in hour two. He never pushed for more than I gave but I kept giving more anyway. He talked about work. Finance, sports, media. He said it the way people talk about something they're good at but don't love anymore.
I knew that feeling.
I talked about my job. Events. Managing chaos. Being good at taking care of everything around me while missing what was falling apart at home.
He didn't say anything stupid like, “That's not your fault.”
He just listened.
That was better.
By midnight the bar was nearly empty. I stood up and the floor moved just a little.
"I'm okay," I said fast.
"I know," Roman said. He was already standing. "I'll walk you back."
I thought about saying no.
I looked at him.
I didn't say no.
We walked the cliff path back to the hotel. The sea was dark below us. The air was still warm. He walked close but didn't touch me.
I noticed him not touching me more than him actually touching me.
At the hotel door I stopped and turned around.
"Thank you," I said. "For the water. The walk. For everything.”
"Anytime," he said.
He was watching me the way he had all night. With curiosity and something else.
I don't know what came over me.
That's a lie. I know exactly what came over me.
I reached up. Took his face in my hands.
And I kissed him.
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