The distillery turned out to be rather fun. We were shown around by an older Greek gentleman who had limited English and an eye for the ladies; he grinned and winked at us the whole time. I was also fairly certain he poured us larger samples than he poured for the guys. Kitron, the drink they made, was tasty, but even the weakest variety was potent; they were not messing around with that stuff. To be polite, I bought a little bottle of the weakest one, which was bright green. At least the colour was nice.

‘You okay to ride?’ I asked Josh as we geared up to ride for the final time that day.

‘Yeah, I only had a few sips. I’ll be fine. Do you trust me?’

‘I trust you.’

I knew, with a pang in my stomach, I was commenting on more than his scooter-piloting skills. Sure, we were friends, but trusting him the way you trust a guy you’re romantically involved with – that was different.

Was I seriously reconsidering the whole ‘holiday romance’ thing?

No matter what I did to distract myself on the ride back to the marina – oh look, a Greek farmer on a donkey!! – I couldn’t stop myself from returning to this one thought. It was like when you get a sore in your mouth, and you keep touching it with your tongue. It kinda hurts, but it also kinda feels good.

Thinking about hooking up with Josh – for absolute real – was like tonguing a mouth ulcer.

*

Believe it or not, some of us actually wanted dinner that night, but only some of us. It was me of course – I have the appetite of a lumberjack – and Josh and Gary and Marie. Hannah was off with the people from the other boat – traitor – and when we invited them to dinner, Gerry and Duncan opted to stay on the boat. Alone time must be hard to come by when you’re sailing with five other people. I was more than happy to give them some privacy.

Sometime after nine, the four of us set off into the town with no clear idea where we were going. We eventually found somewhere off the main thoroughfare, which had more locals than tourists. We took a small table out front on the footpath – four chairs crowded around a table that would typically fit two. Cosy. Gary and Josh spent the first few minutes engineering a solution to the table’s rocking issue – we were on cobblestones – and by the time the waiter came, the table was stable. He placed a basket filled with bread in the middle.

‘English?’ he asked in a curt tone.

‘Ne,’ I replied, using one of my five Greek words. His face crumpled into what looked like a judgemental frown. He then rattled off a series of specials in thickly accented English, tossed a stack of laminated menus on the table, and disappeared.