We also found another beach, which was the best seeing as it had absolutely nothing built around it at all, you had to trek to it and it was pure and beautiful and so relaxing, regardless of the fact that we were not the only ones there, even Sam was happy to hang.
And the best part of Sam winding down and hanging was that a lot of the time he did it, he did it lying on his side next to me in the sand, elbow in the towel, head in his hand, chest on display, talking to me quietly. Or he’d roll to his back, pull me up on his chest and run his fingers through my hair while we talked quietly. Or he’d get to his feet, pull me to mine, guide me to the sea and we’d drift around, my legs around Sam’s hips, my arms around his shoulders, his hands at my ass, him treading water or floating and we’d again talk quietly.
After our explorations, except when we stayed at the fishing village, we went back, found dinner then wandered to an open air taverna, had drinks then we wandered back to the hotel and had a different kind of fun that wasn’t relaxing until after its culmination.
In other words, Lake Como wasn’t heaven.
Crete was.
It was perfect.
No dramas. No rushing out of restaurants like the fraught heroine in a romantic comedy. Just sun, beautiful vistas, relaxing beaches, exploration, being together and discovering each other.
The only thing that marred this was, without a variety of things to pull our attention away from each other, such as grieving friends, new acquaintances and the aforementioned crises, it was beginning to unsettle me that Sam couldn’t relax.
It was definitely part Sam being an action man and not content to wile away the hours doing pretty much nothing.
But it was more.
He seemed aware and alert all the time, like he was when we had our first dinner together. He was into me, giving me his attention, listening to me, talking to me but even as he did this, he scanned, he observed, both our surroundings and mostly the people in them.
I tried to tell myself this was a leftover from being a commando, trained to be aware of every nuance of your environment so you were not taken off-guard.
But he’d got out of the Army ages ago and we were in Crete, not Afghanistan. Sure, there were always a variety of dangers anywhere you were but, unless we were behind closed and locked doors to our rooms, this was Sam’s constant state.
And I’d overheard what I overheard Sam and Luci talking about and, try as I might, I couldn’t un-hear it. Sam didn’t mention it. In fact, he continued to be open, honest and communicative but… not. I freely mentioned him being an ex-commando, usually in a teasing way, he’d grin, smile, even laugh. But he wouldn’t share.
Maybe he thought I knew, considering I’d internet stalked him, it would stand to reason that I’d read the book about him (which I had).
But as our time together wore on, as I learned more about Gordo and how deep their connection was, but only through fun stories of what men got up to when they were carousing, not war stories; as I learned about his brother Ben, but only amusing stories of brothers getting up to mischief and not how he was lost or how Sam felt about that; and absolutely nothing about his time or activities in the Army, why he got out, anything, it became less about him thinking I already knew (when I couldn’t possibly) and more about him keeping things from me.
And, considering a great deal of the time we shared included intimate moments and quiet conversations where he guided me through stories of Cooter, what Cooter had done, how I’d felt, why I’d made the decisions I’d made and Sam had gone to great lengths to assure me my behavior was perfectly natural, my decisions were rational based on my circumstances, my actions were understandable considering they were self-preserving and I shouldn’t beat myself up about them, it was clear he was not shying away from deep, meaningful, revealing conversations.
They were just all about me.
On this thought with my sunglassed eyes trained on the waters of the pool, my cell beside me rang. I picked it up and looked at the display seeing it said “Paula Calling”.
I was surprised, it was way early at home. I was also freaked because it was way early at home.
I flipped it open and greeted, “Hey, honey.”
“Problem,” she announced, sounding frustrated.
Oh man.
“What?”
“Well, the other person bidding on that unit at The Dorchester upped their offer by ten K. Ten freaking K! Again! The text just came in. Just now. You made your last bid two days ago and they’re texting me at the five o’clock in the freakin’ morning!”
I closed my eyes.