Either it’s some bad news concerning his grandfather’s motivations, or else I’ve accidentally poisoned him with the Sophocles literary cocktail. Accidental mix-ups with poison are much more common than you think.
Gran’s third husband, Riku Shenjuku, went to bed after a lovely anniversary dinner with Gran at a sashimi restaurant in Tokyo, only to wake up dead six hours later. It’s believed his simple serving of puffer fish wasn’t prepared properly and he ingested the toxin tetrodotoxin. Gran was in bits over it, but luckily hadn’t shared the dish because she doesn’t eat seafood. Well, she didn’t that night at least.
‘I overheard my grandfather talking with a friend, and he said if the rent wasn’t paid soon then he’ll look at selling the property. He’s tired of worrying about it, and at his age, he said he’d prefer to have the money in the bank rather than chasing tenants over unpaid rent.’
‘Oh no! He can’t sell this place, not after all the money she’s invested in renovating it. This is a disaster.’God why am I poor!
‘I mean … he almost got arrested for disturbing the peace. It shook him up a little. He’s been a law-abiding citizen his whole life.’
I swallow a guilty lump in my throat, knowing that farce was orchestrated by Gran to keep him at arm’s length. Had she considered it might push him too far the opposite way? She usually plans for every scenario.
‘I wish I could say the same for Gran, but she’s been arrested on at least eleven occasions for being a public nuisance and that’s just the times I know about. Can’t we level the blame directly at her and assure him he’s still a good man, and selling isneverthe answer with property investment?’ My voice rises as panic sets in. ‘Would it make a difference if she showed him Epeolatry?’ The situation is suddenly desperate and again I’m bamboozled about how Gran landed in this predicament.
With a shrug, he says, ‘I doubt it. It’s supposed to be my early inheritance, but he’s holding off until I get married. All the other grandkids have been gifted theirs.’
‘Well tell him you’ll take it as is! Just like this!’
He gives me a sad smile. ‘It comes with a lot of rules though, Evie. And marriage is one of them. It’s so old-fashioned, but that’s the way he thinks.’
‘OK, so that’s out for the foreseeable.’ I love my gran but getting fake-married to the guy to keep the bookshop doesn’t sit well with me. ‘If we can increase bookshop sales and get this place up and running, perhaps we can persuade him not to do anything hasty.’
We stare at each other as the sun bursts on the horizon in an orange cloud. Even the colours are brighter here, more vivid. ‘I’m sure you and Floretta can do it. While it’s quieter on this side there’s still a bunch of tourists and day trippers. It’s about exposure, informing them that this place exists and is the perfect stop to get their beach reads sorted. And Epeolatry,’ he says, wistful note in his voice. ‘Who wouldn’t want to spend an evening or two here? It comes down to spreading the word so they can find you.’
He’s right. We’ve probably had hundreds of missed opportunities simply because people aren’t aware that on the top of the cliff is a veritable treasure trove of novels just waiting to find their owner.
‘The launch has to bebig. The name Epeolatry must be on everyone’s lips, so when a tourist asks they can be directed here. That’s going to be the indicator of whether or not all of this is viable. The only problem is, I’m not much of a party person so in terms of organising it, I’m not sure where to start.’
What I omit is the fact I routinely avoid all parties, as a matter of course. I’ve had every debilitating tummy bug you can imagine. Suffered through Covid eleventy-seven times. Three broken wrists and two broken legs. Shingles. A small apartment fire. A couple of dead Tamagotchis. Three kidnappings and one severe book hangover.
That’s just in the last year or two, thus I’m not experienced with what is expected at parties, especially happening ones that need to be the talk of the town. Do people even say happening parties anymore? No clue.
‘OK, I can help you plan the launch if you like? I’ve been involved with a lot of publicity campaigns through the years.’
I bet he’s always the life of the party too. ‘That would be amazing! Do you think we can have one of those banners that say:Please leave by ten?’
He goes to speak then stops himself.
‘Joking!That was a joke! Unless you think we could? In which case I’m all for it.’
This time, laughter barrels out of him like machine-gun fire. When he’s composed he says, ‘All we have to do is make sure no “for sale” sign gets pitched out front before Floretta can achieve her goals here.’
I come crashing back to reality with a thud. The stakes are even higher with the impending threat of Yannis washing his hands of the property. It can’t happen.
I’ll have to really up the romance with Georgios. Surely his grandfather wouldn’t dream of selling if he thought Georgios and I were madly in love? Even though it’s strictly against my first-date principles and a wild leap out of my comfort zone, more of a long jump really, I throw myself at Georgios and smack my lips against his. He tastes sweet, like grenadine from the cocktail.
It’s chaste, as far as kisses go – closed lips is my limit at this point – but a thrill races the length of me at my derring-do. A warmth spreads when he drops his hand to my hip and pulls me tight against him. A moment later, I pull my lips from his. We’re both wide-eyed and breathing heavily. He double blinks. I smile, a little robotically, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances. I’ve just broken one of my own cardinal first-date rules and I feel a sort of wanton abandon. Like I could even perhaps attempt an open-lip kiss, but then I talk myself down. That would be a step too far.
My heart skids against my ribs, a greatkathunka-thunkaas if I’ve just committed a crime rather than innocently kissed a major hottie. Is it the ruse that makes my body react in such a way, or the fact that he’s delectable? Ah no – it’s breaking my own rules. Even my mind is muddled and I’m confusing myself when it’s quite plain that … I lose track of my thought as he gives me those bedroom eyes, a sensual loaded gaze that I’d once presumed was a simple descriptor for works of fiction. Just what is going on here? The man looks like he’s ready to pull me into his arms and kiss the life out of me. Possibly with an open mouth, and that might lead to God knows what else. It’s too fast. Too soon! What if I return the passion in some chaotic, fevered way? It cannot happen like this.
‘Ah, sorry …’I need a good excuse.‘Can’t do dinner, Georgios. The thing is … I – uh, left a pot on the stove.’ What?! ‘And it’s probably boiling over and doing untold damage. The last thing we need is this place to burn down, amirite?’ Perfect! The old pot-on-the-stove trick, it never fails.
I grimace-smile to imply that if I didn’t have this boiling potdramedyto contend with, I’d be perfectly at ease with him throwing me that lusty-eyed gaze. I’m expecting him to be understanding, but instead he gives me that same small smile as if he’s amused. Why would a potential fire hazard be humorous for crying out loud? There’s no time to stick around and ask, as I’m still in reaching distance and my heart is thudding away with no care that I’ll need it to keep beating yet for another good fifty years or so. I do what I do best.
I run.
Until I hit the bookshop where it’s more a slow jog, and then finally more of a walk. Blame the excessive beating of my heart. I can barely catch my breath, as blood must be pooling around the organ to keep me alive when I need it to circle around my entire body. Yikes. What is happening to me? I’m light-headed. Woozy.
Inside my villa, I flop on the bed to allow my body time to get itself back on track and resume its regular functioning. As far as first dates go, I’m not sure it was a success, but it wasn’t a total disaster either. Was it?
