Page 88 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

When she finally set it on the counter, she gave him an approving nod. “For Bea. Good lady.”

That much he understood and could agree with. “She is.”

“You here with her.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Her nod became even more emphatic. “Is good.”

“Yeah. She’s a good woman.”

She shook her head. “No. Is good. You here.”

Blane frowned. “Why?”

Her brows drew together, and she stared at him as though he’d asked something particularly stupid. “Why?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I’m asking.”

She continued to stare at him, apparently waiting for him to realize that she’d already answered.

“Why is it good that I’m there?”

“Is good lady.”

“Yeah. She is. She’s a good, good lady.”

The woman gave a satisfied nod, as if they’d finally managed to get him there.

Blane wasn’t convinced they had.

But the woman had moved on—she told him a price, and he pulled out his wallet. He had no idea whether she’d charged him for six pieces of baklava or sixteen, but the bag was heavy enough that he wasn’t going to argue. He handed over the money, then pushed the change she gave him straight into the tip jar. That earned him another broad smile and a stream of Greek he didn’t understand. He smiled back anyway.

After he left the bakery, he stopped at the little market beside the road to pick up more tomatoes, lettuce, and some of the local mizithra cheese that both he and Bea had taken a liking to. By the time he set out again for the run back up the hill to the house, he had a bag swinging from each hand. He decided he might have to make this extra loop past the stores part of his regular morning run. The hill was steep and the sun was hotter now, so carrying the bags only added to the workout.

As he rounded the blind corner on the steepest stretch, almost back to the house, he stopped dead. A goat stood in the middle of the road. He couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling it was the same one that had blocked the road when they first arrived. It had the same baleful, indignant look about it. The same bad attitude, too.

It just stood there, and on a blind corner like this it’d be a hazard if a car came around any faster than Blane had been running. The goat turned its head slowly and gave him a long, assessing look, its strange horizontal pupils making it seem as though it was asking what the hell Blane thought he was doing on its stretch of road.

“Go on. Get out of it.” He waved his arms.

The goat just stared.

He took a few steps toward it. He’d approached much more dangerous targets in his life, but he had no frame of reference for a damn goat. Did they charge? Were they timid? He had no freaking clue, although as he got closer and it lowered its head, he decided this one was definitely not timid.

He stopped. On second thought, it wasn’t really his responsibility to clear the road for whoever came along next. He could leave the damn thing there. He took a step away, but his conscience wouldn’t let him do it. Turning back, he waved his arms again. “Just fucking move, would you?”

The goat continued to stare at him, chewing on whatever the hell it had in its mouth.

“Pericles!”

Blane turned at the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Pericles!” she called again, waving her arms.

Blane could only stare when, instead of standing its ground or lowering its head at her, the goat sauntered over as though it had been planning to do that all along. The woman caught hold of its ear and started leading it away.

She looked back over her shoulder and gave Blane a curious look. “You is good?”