much time in here,” he said warmly. “But this is where I store all my books. I figured you’d want to pick something out, to read by the pool.”
And at that, all the breath went out of my lungs. “I can pick any book?” I whispered, gazing around the room. “Can I take several of them?”
“Sure,” he replied with a crooked smile. “As many as you want. But you can only take more out if you return some. I’m very specific about who reads my books.”
I gave him a mocking bow. “Proud to be one of the privileged few.”
And then I turned and made my way to the first bookshelf, wondering how the place was organized—and how many he actually meant by ‘as many as I wanted.’
The pool was situated so that it overlooked the beach, and as much as I adored the view of the olive grove and vineyard, as I lay there next to the pool, my eyes on the large, turquoise expanse of the ocean, I had to admit that this was even better.
I let out an enormous sigh and thought about reading one of the many books I’d brought up to the deck with me. I thought about getting up and actually getting into the pool—smaller than the ocean, but just as turquoise—for a swim. But honestly, I didn’t feel like moving.
“What are you thinking?” Nikos asked from behind me. He came over and handed me a glass of iced tea, then sat down on the chaise next to me.
“I’m thinking I should read or go swimming, but that neither of those things sound as good as just staring at the ocean,” I admitted. “I don’t see how you get anything done when you have this sort of view, or when you have that sort of ocean at your fingertips. I would be in it all the time, I think, just soaking up the saltwater.”
“Do you want to go down there right now?” he asked.
I glanced at him, surprised. “Huh?”
“Do you want to go to the beach?” he asked, changing his wording a little bit as if he thought I hadn’t understood him before, rather than having just been so surprised that I didn’t believe what he’d asked.
He pointed to a specific spot on the beach, where the rocks had tumbled down from the cliff and into the water, hulking there like small monsters in the blue. “See that spot? Where the rocks are in the water?”
“Sure,” I said, frowning. What exactly was he going on about?
“Best snorkeling on the island,” he said. “Best snorkeling for several islands, if you ask me. You want to go?”
His voice had turned excited, like a little kid sharing his favorite toy with a new friend. I looked over and was surprised to see him all lit up with it, too.
I wondered how long he’d been waiting to have someone to go snorkeling with—and then felt a little guilty at the assumption that he’d been by himself. After all, he might have people out here all the time, I remembered, given how well he cooked and how big the house was.
Given, too, the amount of clothing he seemed to have at his beck and call. The extra toiletries in the bathrooms.
I might have just happened to crash (literally) on his island during the week when he happened to be here alone.
Still, the excitement at having someone to share the snorkeling with, the giddiness with which he’d taken me on that golf cart tour of the island, made me think that he didn’t get to share his home with people nearly as often as he would have liked.
Or maybe—just maybe—he didn’t get to share it with people he liked as much as he liked me.
Which was exactly why I said, “I would love to go snorkeling. I’ve never done it. But I assume you’re an expert and can teach me.”
Nikos grinned, jumped to his feet, and grabbed my hand, already asking how strong a swimmer I was and if I’d ever worn a mask before.
I repeated that I had never been snorkeling, and had therefore never had any reason to put on a snorkeling mask—which should have been an obvious conclusion, in my opinion—and he shook his head quickly and told me that it didn’t matter.
“Easiest thing in the world,” he said. “You just have to float. More or less.”
I glanced down at where I could see the waves crashing around the rocks where we were evidently planning to go swimming