Page 12 of The Greek Café

‘If you like.’ She smiles. ‘So how about you? What’s your story?’

I tell her all about losing my job at the leisure centre and coming out here for the summer season.

‘When I realised my mum was having a better social life than me, I thought it might be time for a change,’ I admit. ‘It’s so easy to slip into a rut. After becoming single last year, my job became my focus. My dad passed away unexpectedly at the beginning of the year, which has been unbelievably hard to deal with. I’m hoping being here will finally get my ex out of my head, once and for all, and help clear my mind a little.’

‘Ah, I’m sure it will,’ she says kindly. ‘I can’t think of a better distraction than a beautiful Greek island.’

‘That’s true. I came here with my ex James actually.’

‘You did?

‘Rhodes, I mean, not this hotel.’

‘Well, maybe it’s time to make more happy memories here in Rhodes,’ she says positively. ‘Reclaim it.’

‘Exactly that,’ I reply.

‘And I understand how your job can become your main focus,’ says Summer before taking another sip of her drink. ‘Other than work, I was spending too many hours alone in my one-bedroom flat watching films. What are we like?’ She laughs.

‘Here’s to us then,’ I say as I tap my glass against hers. ‘Getting out and seeing what life has to offer.’

‘And making loads of memories along the way,’ adds Summer.

I can barely believe I got on a plane alone and made this happen, and I am super proud of myself to be sitting here with someone who is such easy company.

‘Let’s drink to that,’ I say.

We finish our drinks then head down a winding side street, flanked by busy bars and tavernas, the sound of music mingling with the chatter of diners seated outside. I take my phone from my bag and pull up the name of the restaurant recommended to me by the taxi driver.

Taking a left turn, we find the yellow-painted building, which has dark wooden tables and chairs outside and the name The Olive Tree Restaurant written across a metal sign fixed above the door.

‘This place comes highly recommended,’ I tell Summer. ‘Although it was the taxi driver’s brother’s place, so I hope it lives up to his hype,’ I laugh. ‘He might be on commission.’

I surprise myself with my cheeky comment and hope Summer doesn’t think I am being too cynical.

‘Well, it’s busy so that’s a good sign,’ she says, glancing around the packed outside space.

As we wait patiently, a waiter zips towards us and shows us to a table that I never even noticed.

‘Is this okay for you?’ he asks, pointing to the table beneath a pretty olive tree that is draped in lights. A waitress is quickly clearing away the glasses and plates from the previous diners.

‘As long as we don’t get covered in bugs, yes.’ I laugh.

‘No bugs.’ He shakes his head, ‘Only the sweet sound of crickets. Although maybe as we are so full, the noise of people chatting and laughing also.’

He gives the warmest of smiles as he swiftly covers the table with a paper tablecloth, and the waitress returns with a menu that she hands to us.

It is difficult to choose, as everything sounds tempting but, eventually, we place our order.

We dine on the most delicious food. Summer chooses a traditional, creamy moussaka, which she tells me is one of the nicest she has had, whilst I opt for a slow-cooked lamb kleftiko. The tangy rich tomato sauce and meat falling from the bone has me in raptures. We share a crunchy Greek salad and a bottle of chilled white wine.

‘Your taxi driver was not exaggerating about the food here,’ says Summer, pushing her plate away. ‘I don’t think I will eat again for a week.’

‘That’s a shame.’ I nod towards a waitress who is approaching our table with complimentary dessert: a small slice of sticky baklava.

We somehow manage to eat the sweet dessert, before paying up and leaving a good tip.

‘Perhaps we ought to walk back up the hill to the hotel after all,’ says Summer. ‘Burn off some calories.’