They’d reached the other end of the gorge, walking in silence towards the once-flooded village of Agia Roumeli and the lazy, turquoise sea. Catrin had arranged to meet up with Lana and Judith at a café called Irene’s when they’d all finally finished the hike. Sol said he could wait with her for half an hour, but then he’d need to get the ferry to Sfakia. ‘I wish I could stay,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see your friends again. They seem like a good laugh.’

‘Is that the only reason?’ she teased, slightly scared that it might be.

‘I think you know it isn’t.’ And he looked at her, his eyes gently chiding.

They ordered an Orangina each and the waiter swiftly brought them over along with two ice-filled glasses. Sol asked him for a pen and a piece of paper, and quickly scribbled down his phone number. ‘I’d really love it if we could stay in touch, Cat,’ he said.

She looked at the small sheet torn from the waiter’s order pad. A flimsy, cheap sliver of paper. Insignificant, yet bearing so much. ‘Write your name down too,’ she said. ‘I might have forgotten it by the time I get home.’ They laughed. Truth was, she wanted something more to remember him by than just a series of digits on a page.

He took back the piece of paper and wrote something else, shielding the words from her with his hand, before folding it and placing it under her glass. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to go,’ he said, clearly annoyed that he did. ‘If I miss this ferry I’ll miss the plane. Eddie’s already gonna be wondering where I am. I said I’d be back at the hostel an hour ago.’

‘What?’ She laughed. ‘You told him you could walk the Samaria Gorge in five hours?’

‘It has been known.’ He smiled, reaching across the little café table to take her hand. ‘I have loved today,’ he said quietly, his forehead leaning gently against hers, their fingers interlocked.

‘I have loved today too,’ she whispered, too scared to speak in case her voice might break.

People were playing on the beach nearby, splashing in the sea; the scent of sweet tobacco drifted in the air, mixing with the smell of suntan lotion and coffee and freshly squeezed lemons; a baby was laughing and Greek music spilled out from a tinny speaker in Irene’s café. It was the perfect summer-holiday day.

And the perfect backdrop.

To the perfect kiss.

He didn’t say goodbye. She watched him walk to the ferry, get on board and wave. She waved back and didn’t stop watching till she could no longer see the ferry’s wake or hear its tired engines growl. And when she knew he had finally gone, she took the precious piece of paper from under the glass, opened it and read. Beneath his name and number, he’d written:

Today when we built our pyramid of pebbles, the wish I made was to see you again. And I think that will happen.