Page 89 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

“Yeah, I…” He stopped. He wasn’t even sure how to explain himself in English, let alone Greek, so he smiled and shrugged, hoping that would be enough.

Apparently, it wasn’t. Her eyebrows went up.

“He was standing in the middle of the road. I didn’t want him to cause an accident.”

The woman nodded along, clearly not understanding a word he was saying. She gave Pericles a swat on the backside, and the goat trotted off toward an open gateway that led into the yard of one of the little stone houses.

“He is bad boy,” she said with a smile before following him.

Blane smiled to himself as he continued up the hill. The more time he spent here, the more he liked the place. Even the people. From what he could tell, their attitudes aligned pretty well with his own. There didn’t seem to be a whole lot of complicated social bullshit. Just simple assessments. Bea was a good woman. Pericles was a bad goat.

His smile faded. Bea was a good woman, but why had that old lady in the bakery seemed to think it was such a good thing that Blane was here with her? Was there some reason for that he didn’t know about?

When he got back to the house, he found Bea sitting out on the terrace with a cup of coffee, taking in the view. It bothered him that the only way she could sit in this particular spot—the one with her favorite view over the village below, the olive groves, and the little white houses dotted across the hillsides—was to drag a folding chair out here. He set the bags down.

She didn’t smile when she looked up at him. Instead, her expression turned concerned. “Oh dear. The eyebrows aren’t happy this morning. What’s the matter?”

That made him laugh. “Not a damn thing. Well, nothing other than thinking we need to do something better than this chair for you.”

She got to her feet with a smile and curled an arm around his waist. “There. The chair doesn’t matter now. I’m standing anyway, and I’d much rather be here with you.”

He landed a kiss on her lips. “Don’t go telling me you prefer looking at granite cliffs to pretty Greek hillsides; I won’t believe you.”

She rested her hand in the middle of his chest the way she did. “Then you’re a foolish man, Blane Wilder. You should believe me, because it’s true.”

He kissed her again, taking more time over it this time. When they finally broke apart, her eyes seemed to shine as she looked up at him.

“What?” he asked, feeling strangely self-conscious.

She held his gaze for a moment. “Nothing really. I’m just thinking what a good man you are.”

He kissed her forehead, surprised at himself when he didn’t even try to deflect. If Bea saw him as a good man, that was how he wanted to be. Her words brought the conversation at the bakery back to him.

He picked up the bags. “Stopped to get you some of those baklava things.”

“Oh, Blane. Thank you so much.”

He shrugged. “Know you like them. And I was passing.” He frowned. “The woman in there…”

Bea smiled. “The older lady? Isn’t she wonderful? Oh, she didn’t give you a hard time, did she?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think so. But she talked so much and I understood so little that she might have.” His smile faded. “But, Bea, something she said bothered me.”

“What did she say?”

“Is there any reason people around here think you shouldn’t be in this house alone?”

Her expression immediately turned serious. “Oh my goodness, no. What makes you ask that?”

“That woman in the bakery. She kept saying it’s good that I’m here with you.”

She patted the middle of his chest. “Well, then she’s right, isn’t she?”

He covered her hand with his own but couldn’t let it go. “Yeah, she is. But it sounded like…” He frowned. “I don’t know, Bea. It didn’t sit right.”

He was grateful that she didn’t automatically dismiss him. He could see her giving it some thought, and when she finally spoke, her answer made sense.

“I imagine it’s probably because I’m a woman living alone. They knew that, you know. The last time I was here, the house purchase was already in process, so they knew I was coming here by myself.” She smiled. “And if you think about it, we are in Greece, after all. I’m sure there’s still some traditional thinking, especially in a village like this and especially among the older people. An unattached woman arriving from another country to live alone in a neglected old house…” She gave a little laugh. “Well, Greece can be quite matriarchal in its own way. If you describe me like that, it’s probably enough to activate every maternal instinct in the village, isn’t it?”