Enchanting Wilder by Cassie Graham Page B

“Technology is awesome.”
    He chuckles and squeezes my hand.
    We walk though the cobblestone streets, taking in the sights of people sitting outside their homes. A woman waves at us as we pass her sitting on a chair knitting some sort of clothing. Another man cleaning the bricks outside a store greets us using a word neither of us have heard before. “Kalimara!” he said.
    Thanks to a quick Google search, we learn it means “good day.”
    “Kalimara!” Declan and I greet every person we come across, laughing hysterically each time. His sickness forgotten, Declan looks lighter, healthier and more carefree. He twirls me around, dancing in the streets for everyone to see. This is a side of him I didn’t think I’d ever see. People clap as Declan dips me and I wonder if this is who he would be if he didn’t have the guilt of his life on his shoulders.
    “We’re a couple of goofs,” I say when we find a small café in a village just off the water. Time passed at lightning speed, we’ve already been here a couple of hours.
    Time is such a fickle thing. When you most want it to slow down, it puts on its running shoes and heads for the hills, leaving you behind in the dust feeling sad and alone, mourning the loss. And, in the moments you need it to speed up—the moments when you miss someone so badly you’ll do anything for the hands on the clock to tick faster just to be with them—they inch at a snail’s pace.
    I’m still a little out of breath from dancing so I take the scarf off my neck and fan my face. The sparkling sun reflects off the water, creating a laser eye beam, and I’m glad I brought my sunglasses. It can’t be more than seventy degrees but it’s bright as hell. “I’m having a lot of fun.”
    Declan pulls out my chair and then sits across from me. We bump feet underneath the tiny table. I relish in the feeling, questioning if I’m going crazy having that little contact with him, or if I’m just on a high from traveling across the world.
    “Me too. Thank you for bringing me.”
    Pulling my jacket off, I sit back in my chair. “Thank you for reminding me to live a little. I wouldn’t have done this without you.”
    Declan flashes me a toothy smirk.
    Under the table, he skates his foot next to mine. I’m far too scared to move, so I do my best to hide I’m totally freaking out. Why is this freaking me out? An amazing-looking guy is giving me a playful smirk with a metaphorical go-ahead, and I’m sitting here sweating bullets.
    A beautiful, blue-eyed Greek goddess with raven hair walks up to us and I slump in my chair—embarrassed by my sloppy appearance. She eyes Declan with a palpable want. I can’t help but question my beauty. Especially with her standing within inches of my proximity, I’m contemplating it—and coming up short. I have an entire day and a night of drinking under my belt. To say I need a shower would be overly correct.
    To my complete surprise, Declan doesn’t notice her. His eyes stay trained on me, and when she realizes he isn’t going to give her much thought, she begins to spout a bunch of Greek words Declan and I can’t understand. We look at each other in question and laugh. We hadn’t thought about the language barrier when we decided to come here. We try our best to point and make gestures, hoping she understands us. We probably should have gone somewhere where they speak English. Stupid 20/20 hindsight.
    “Oh, oh. You speak English?” the waitress says, laughing at our theatrics, her ego no longer hurt.
    Declan breathes a sigh of relief and looks to me. “We do. What would you like, Mighty?”
    Eyes wide, I stare at the menu, but, unlike America, it doesn’t have words I can comprehend, nor are there any pictures. “Oh, umm…eggs? Scrambled.”
    The waitress smiles. “That, we can do.”
    “A croissant? Orange juice?” I add.
    She nods and slides her eyes at Declan. “And for you?”
    He slides his foot farther under the table, fully wrapping