The old port was bustling with activity, and I spent some time watching people arriving on little wave-jumpers from the cruise ships. Right before 1:00pm, I took the funicular to the top of the island and set off for my little taverna. I had a quick lunch, then collected my backpack from the hotel and lugged it to the bus depot.

My attention was drawn back to the bus when a skinny older man wearing a tweed cap climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I heard a cry of ‘Wait!’ and as the bus started pulling away, on jumped the tall, cute American in the baseball cap – out of breath and looking just as frazzled as he’d been the day before.

Chapter Three

As the bus lurched along the dusty, winding roads of Santorini, I watched the cute American with considerable interest from behind my Prada sunglasses. He seemed anxious, as though he might be on the wrong bus or something.

For all I knew, I was on the wrong bus. I realised my usual MO would be to panic all the way to Vlychada – or wherever we were going – but there was something about handling the stolen wallet ordeal that put the whole ‘wrong bus’ thing into a more realistic perspective. And if the bus didn’t go to the marina, I’d ride it back to Fira and start again.

I focused my attention back on the American, who was even better-looking up close than he’d seemed from across the square the day before. He was also far younger than he’d initially seemed – like, maybe twenty-two. Twenty-two was way too young for anyone I would get involved with, or even have a fleeting holiday flirtation with. And besides, I wasn’t looking.

I wondered if the cute American would be joining my sailing trip. We were the only two non-Greek people on the bus, and it didn’t seem as though Vlychada was somewhere frequented by tourists, so it was looking possible, if not likely.

If he was going to be on the trip, that led to an important question. Would we become friends? I decided that if we were sailing together for the next ten days, then yes, there was a good chance we would become friends – unless he was a dickhead. He didn’t look like a dickhead, but you can never be too sure until you actually meet a person. And even if you did meet someone and decided they weren’t a dickhead, they still might be, and it might take you eleven and a half months to figure it out. I knew this from experience. By the way, Neil is the dickhead in this scenario.