rate increased.
‘Henrik flies over tomorrow, to make a report for ThinkBig on the next stage of development. He and Stavros will meet for lunch, to catch up.’
‘Great,’ I said, voice shrill at this unexpected mention of my ex.
The six-foot-four height, oat-coloured hair, those crinkly slate eyes – at one time all those things would have put a silly grin on my face.
Georgios turned up his collar with his free hand. ‘He is only here for two days, so I doubt we will see him.’ He chuckled. ‘And I was looking forward to getting him happy, happy on retsina again.’
My Greek family-to-be amazed me – how little propensity they had to hold a grudge. After all, only a few months ago, Henrik had arrived here all set on turning Taxos into some character-less, concrete holiday location. At least he’d finally seen the sense to back down – and accept me and Niko as a couple.
Gosh. Henrik here? I’d only seen him once since our break-up. I pulled Niko closer, as if to protect myself from any…any inappropriate feelings that might still linger. Goodness knows why, I mean honestly… I had no particular desire to see my ex again. None whatsoever.
However as Georgios and Niko laughed amiably about Sophia again, why did I suddenly experience a fizzing sensation in my chest? More likely it was because my brain twitched and a zillion questions jumped into my head that I would ask him about mutual friends, plus our favourite city spots at Christmas, his job, the latest stockmarket figures…everything that, back in London, used to turn me on.
The palm of my hand ran over the smooth surface, fingers trailing across tasty contours. Was there anything more sensuous than firm, creamy scone dough, rolled out, its bumps of coloured ingredients promising bursts of different flavours?
Okay – Niko’s chest might come a close second, taut from hauling fishing boats onto the beach. My mind filled, for a moment, with an image of the way his mouth would quirk up on one side, as if daring me to kiss the corner, although, truth be told, my knees became more wobbly at the sound of his crazily caring, Greekish tones – especially when he teased me if my baklava came out of the oven drier than a beached bunch of seaweed. There were several local dishes that still got the better of me.
Humming, I picked up the circular scone cutter. In a couple of hours the taverna would buzz with villagers, here to discuss my Christmas market idea. We’d set a meeting for late afternoon, after Saturday trade had finished. I’d already made cranberry and white chocolate scones to test out. This batch boasted festive sage and onion, plus a handful of chopped walnuts (my secret ingredient for a great British stuffing recipe).
Mmm. What a taste-bud seducing smell. Cue happy memories from Christmases past, even though Mum and Dad were never far from their smartphones and we usually ate out in a swanky restaurant. More than once I’d wished to spend the day at home, the three of us basting the turkey. I’d never seen the Queen’s speech, nor eagerly searched for chocolates on a Christmas tree. My busy parents would simply pull a ready-decorated pop-up one out of the loft.
My lips upturned. That’s why this Christmas was going to be really special. Just like the one from my childhood when we visited Taxos. Georgios and Sophia had insisted that we join their family celebrations. What fun, with everyone mucking in with cooking and washing up, before playing cards. Georgios even got Dad dancing, after they’d shared a carafe of red wine. We’d enjoyed board games whilst snacking on pomegranates and nuts. Mandarins and fairy lights added sparkle and colour to every room. Late evening, Niko and I had snuck off to the beach with torches and hidden in a boat to scoff a secret midnight feast.
‘Those Christmas cookies were yummy,’ I said, still reminiscing, a few hours later, as villagers arrived.
Niko chuckled. ‘I could hardly see what I was eating as we pulled the tarpaulin over us to keep warm.
‘I pushed it off quick enough when that slimy frog jumped into my lap.’
Harmonica in one hand, Cosmo strode in. He embraced us before sniffing loudly.
‘Ya sou, talented Pippa. What scone recipe do you please us with today?’
‘Guess,’ I said, as potter Demetrios came over, shook Niko’s hand and kissed me on both cheeks. The two men breathed in deeply.
‘Tea?’ said Cosmo, brow furrowed.
I shook my head. ‘Not a bad attempt, though.’ Sage was an ingredient of a favourite hot Greek beverage.
‘Asapargus and walnut?’ said Demetrios, who had taken off his scarf to reveal one of his signature brightly coloured cravats – today’s was lagoon-blue.
‘Close,’ I said and took a plate from passing Sophia. I offered the men the sage and onion scones. ‘They are stuffing flavour,’ I announced.
‘Huh?’ they said, in unison.
‘What this stuffing?’ said Cosmo, tired eyes a-twinkle. ‘Stuffing is a material to fill cushions and soft toys, no? Whereas this has…mmm…real flavour.’
Someone tugged at my elbow and I looked down – it was Theo, the eldest son of the Dellis farmers. In one hand he clutched a Nintendo. Almost out of primary school, he spoke a few words of English.
‘White chocolate good, Pippa,’ he said, flecks of cranberry around his mouth.
I ruffled his wavy locks and bent down to explain, in my best Greek, that I’d put two aside in the kitchen for him and his little brother to take home. Puzzlement crossed his face, so Niko quickly translated. I might have been missing mathematical problems to solve, but linguistically I’d never felt more challenged.
From behind, a small hand fiddled with my hair.
‘Honey dumpling!’ I said (sounding like an old Greek mama for a moment) and spun around. Sure enough it was the toddler girl from a few doors down, in her mum’s arms.
‘Pip…Pip…’ the two-year-old managed and leant out to grab my cheek. I gave a wide grin. Ever since she’d first seen me, this little tot had been obsessed with my red hair and freckles.
Across the room, Niko welcomed villagers. My heart swelled as he shook hands and clapped shoulders. Sophia caught my eye and nodded. It was time to call everyone to attention. However, a grape-like smell distracted me – Grandma’s favourite perfume. She’d appeared at my right side, a floral scarf tying back her wispy grey hair.
‘I just hear the news, Pippa.’ She slipped an arm around my waist. ‘Your Henrik – back in Taxos.’
‘He’s not my Henrik any more.’
Crepey skin around Grandma’s cinnamon eyes crinkled. ‘The ladies of the village will be pleased that their Gigantes has returned.’ She gave one of her gap-toothed smiles.
With his Titan height, half-Dutch Henrik had made quite an impact this year. His easy charm, coupled with the suave clothes and Atlas shoulders, had only fuelled the local girls’ crushes.
Grandma stared at me. ‘Must be strange for you – seeing a friend from home
