@honeyncherry - Tumblr Blog

Carpe Diem

Author’s note: Fully reimagined old fic to add to the masterlist. Working on a consistent posting schedule as well!

Summary: After working nonstop years after getting your dream job, you take a solo vacation and spend a life changing day with a handsome stranger.

Word Count: 6.7K

There were 150 emails sitting in your inbox when you sat down at your desk, just as the sun began to rise on the city of Berkeley. Some unanswered texts sat in your phone as well, invites to dinner from friends you haven’t seen in weeks. All becayse you’ve been diving head-first into this research on a Phase Two drug set to hit the public market in about a month. You didn’t want to put your name on something that would become a three-part Netflix special about medical malpractice in a decade. Not when you were a part of contract negotiations and sitting in board rooms containing a net worth that easily quadrupled the amount of money the average human would see in their entire lives.

A top 10 global biotech firm hired you right out of college. Your full-time executive assistant job paved the way for you to become the Vice President of Strategic Partnerships, in just three years. The exponential growth in your experience and professional confidence not only gave you a more than comfortable salary, but also turned you into a version of yourself that you didn’t think existed. But with blinding success and licensing deals worth billions, there were more days up at 5AM to get an early start and less time catching up with family, going to the movies or just laying in bed on a lazy Sunday with no plans whatsoever.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you had consecutive days off until your assistant pointed it out to you. The calendar on your computer monitor was color coded and filled with meetings and time allotted to reading about a venture capital firm you’d be on a Zoom call with on Friday. And that pharmaceutical executive who gave you a side-eye when you walked into the room, unaware that he’d have to give a presentation that needed your approval for additional funding. That’s how the world worked. You were constantly having to prove yourself, to show you belonged in these rooms and ultimately hiding your look of satisfaction when those same people that looked down on you were forced to applaud your work, realizing you belonged.

Sitting at the head of the table wasn’t for the weak. And the continuous on-the-move attitude wasn’t going to be sustainable either. A few days ago, you glanced at the PTO you’d accumulated since starting your job and booked the solo trip to Athens without overthinking your plans.

Admittedly, the hotel name was a little on the nose. The Anthology of Athens felt—too touristy.

But then again, you were a tourist and the hotel was a five-star, within walking distance of about a thousand activities. There was no choice but to unplug.

You had officially traded your corner office for a relaxing week by the Mediterranean Sea in your room that had a balcony with a perfect view of the Temple of Zeus. It was the most incredible spot to people watch. You entered your temporary home with a plan: unpack, make a to-do list for the week and squeeze in free time for naps and other things normal humans do to relax.

A couple hours later, you woke up and it was dark. You slept for five hours on accident, months of living on Vietnamese coffee and bite-sized snacks you kept in your bag had suddenly caught up. And the jet lag settled in faster than you had time to process.

Now though, it was 3 in the morning, your time, which meant it was 5PM the previous day at home. You checked your email out of habit and texted your mom that you’d arrived safely. She texted back a red heart and told you to remember to actually be on vacation, almost like she knew what you were up to.

The laptop was closed and shoved back in its spot after that and you turned the tv on, hoping to distract yourself from the fact that you’d impulsively booked this trip in a foreign country on your own without speaking the language. Luckily, you were still a little buzzed from the rosé you had on the flight to think too hard about your decision.

Breakfast the next morning was a feast. An omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like it had just been picked off a tree, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet you understood why it was a Greek staple. Day one was spent as a travel recovery day, complimentary meals and drinks delivered to your door by staff who seemed to relish in the guests’ authentic experience with local flavors. You tried Greek yogurt from the source, which surprisingly was more of a custard consistency, topped with honey and some sort of crunchy cinnamon crumble.

You indulged in a mani-pedi, choosing the vibrant shade of lilac that felt fitting for your stay. Everything was brighter here—and smelled better. There was a constant wave of lemon and some sort of mint that followed you everywhere you went as you continued to explore the hotel, without the scent being too much.

Centuries of history lived in these restored walls, from the rooftop pool to Hadrian’s library where you found yourself entranced by the diverse collection. There were books on wellness and the room was carefully curated to maximize a quiet opportunity to get lost in the pages. You would have had it not been for the activities bulletin board tagging the latest opportunities for adventure in the next few days.

That’s how you found the glass blowing class.

You arrived at the small brick studio ten minutes before class was set to begin and found an available seat at a table near the center of the room. A man walked in a few minutes later, scanning the room quickly before grabbing the last available seat, which happened to be right next to you.

Of course the stranger had a sharp jawline and a slight tan, making his light brown hair look almost golden in certain angles. Tearing your eyes away from the handsome man well over 6-feet tall, not that you noticed. He had to duck a little to enter the doorway. You reminded yourself to focus.

It’s Europe. Naturally, the men would be better looking here.

The second thing you noticed was his clothes. He was wearing a faded purple T-shirt and a bucket hat with flowers on it. You liked the casual look. And the shorts were just unfair.

You reminded yourself to look away again. This was going to be a very long class.

“Welcome couples!” The instructor begins. “Thank you all so much for joining us today. I'm Antonia, the studio owner. I will show you all a demonstration of the basic technique and when you all split up to create your pieces we will walk around and guide you through the process. Any questions before we begin?”

A couples class. You almost laughed to yourself, taking a quick glance around, realizing that everyone else was in fact with their partner. Must’ve missed the letters in the fine print when you signed up for the class.

The broad shouldered stranger actually did laugh under his breath. “So...do we date or tell the truth?”

“Oh, you mean like explain to a bunch of strangers that both of us accidentally signed up for an intimate glass blowing class in a room full of lovers?”

“Did you just say ‘lovers?’” He chuckles again, watching you nod. “You are something else.”

“And your name is boyfriend for the next,” you glanced toward the clock, “74 minutes.”

The man thinks about his new temporary reality for approximately one minute before he shrugs his shoulders, “what the hell, it’s only an hour. I'm Joe.”

“Nice to meet you Joe.” You let yourself laugh this time, giving him your actual name.

You watched the demonstration intently, but not nearly as much as Joe did. There was a certain elevated processing in the way he watched the instructor wield the instrument and mold the molten glass. Like he was used to rapid recall at a rate the average person wouldn't be able to comprehend. Something pulled you towards trusting him when the time came to start. Antonia guided you all to the back of the studio and the heat from the furnaces immediately turned the room into a large oven, not a super uncomfortable heat, but a space that was lived in and smelled like shared experience.

Petros, your one-on-two guide, helped you choose your piece, a flower vase with a long stem. “Didn't really peg you for a flower guy but,” you nodded towards his bucket hat, noting the smiley faced white petaled character on the front.

“What? Flowers are cool.” He says calmly, letting Petros walk him step by step to the beginning. Joe’s hand hovers over yours, whispering “is this okay?” Before his long fingers wrapped around yours, guiding you to the furnace where you spun the stone as many times as you were told. There was a dark scar on the side of his hand, likely a surgery of some kind. You wondered where it came from but didn’t want to pry. Not this soon into your fake date with your fake boyfriend and his stupidly steady hand and the amused look on his face watching you blow into the tool. You chose the color together, a shade of dark purple and you held the flattening block as he spun the glass and Petros came in periodically to help shape the flower.

Petros mentions Okio, a Michelin star restaurant in the area as a lunch recommendation. “I heard about that place,” you speak up first, a tad disappointed, “it’s been completely booked for months though. Maybe next time.”

Joe doesn’t say anything, too busy visualizing his and your future masterpiece.

“This is actually turning out the way it’s supposed to.” You noted, tilting your head to admire the progress so far.

Petros pulled on the piece to create a smooth stem as Joe held the glass without any sudden movements. “He’s literally holding our hands through this like we’re five,” he jokes. The glass blowing expert laughs and pulls the piece off the tool, finishing it off with a flame and let you two know that it would need a few hours to cool down and he’d add a shatter resistant spray to prevent cracking. The piece would be ready for pickup at the end of the day.

You thanked him and thanked Antonia for the course, walking so close to Joe that your hands were nearly touching.

“How long have you two been together?” She asked with a bright smile on her face.

“Oh um—”

“A year,” Joe says automatically. “This is our anniversary trip.” He looks at you with a gaze bathed in tenderness, almost like he genuinely believes what he’s saying for a second. His baby blue eyes are warm in the studio light, pulling you in and you can’t force yourself to look away.

“Iv’e had couples come in here that have been together for years and they weren’t even half as in sync as you two,” Antonia says calmly but you don’t even really register she’s speaking with Joe’s hand now finding its way to your lower back for good measure. “Do you guys have big plans the rest of the day?”

“I’m kinda hungry,” Joe says. “We’ll probably grab lunch.”

“I could eat.”

Antonia gives you a few recommendations and lets you know the studio will be closing at 9 o’clock that night so the piece would need to be picked up before then. You thank her again and head out of the building towards the stone steps. “Well, that was fun.”

“It was.”

“And you said you were hungry, so I guess I’ll let you go. You can keep the vase, you put in a lot of work.”

Joe crosses his arms and turns to face you. “If I get to keep the bowl, then it’s only fair for me to give you something. Relationships are supposed to be 50-50. Even the ones that are an hour long."

You folded your arms while staring at him, waiting to see where this is headed. “Look, I don’t know what you and your other fake girlfriends have gotten into—”

“I mean Okio,” he laughs. Something about his laugh seemed familiar but you couldn’t put a finger on why. “The restaurant you were talking about earlier, my assistant got me a reservation for two. It’s not a weird coincidence, they don’t take kindly to lone reservations so she just booked it for two people. I was gonna lie and say my plus one got sick but now…It’s only fair that we unwind from our date with tiny plates that look like paintings.”

“Well I have been wanting to go…” you tell him, continuing down the rugged street path, “it would be a shame to waste a perfectly good fake anniversary.”

He presses his lips together, stopping himself from giggling before pulling out his phone to get directions. “Alright, I’ll take that as a yes. I think it's just up this street.”

Plaka was just like the TikTok videos described now that you got to experience it in person. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. Okio sat at the top of the hill and looked like an art exhibit had just exploded. Velvet blue seats, platinum sculptures draping the walls like a New York penthouse. Joe gave the hostess his reservation name and the two of you were walked to a private room for an immersive dining experience with the entire tasting menu.

Turns out, Joe can eat.

“What is that?” You nodded toward the third course.

“It’s,” he picks up the tiny place card and reads, “Cod fish, nori seaweed, celeriac root, champagne sauce and...herring eggs.”

“Herring?”

“Yeah I don't know,” he takes a bite, “it’s good though.”

“I’m really glad I got the chicken.”

Joe shakes his head and takes his fork and digs into the plate again. “You wanted the Michelin experience, you gotta try the egg.”

“I do not.”

“You do too.” He says flatly.

“Joseph...”

“Government name already? Scary. Just try the fish.” He holds out his fork and you take a whiff, pleasantly surprised that it doesn’t smell like dirt.

He happily watches you chew, knowing the signs of a person trying their hardest not to show they’re enjoying themselves. He liked the way your eyebrows scrunched together as you decided whether or not you liked what you were eating. The smug look on his face kind of makes you want to spit the food out and you would—had it not been the most delicious bite of food you’d ever put in your body. “The cod’s fine.”

“It’s better than the chicken isn’t it?”

Joe didn’t wait for you to answer, sliding his plate over and asking for another identical plate.

“So...” you took another bite off his plate, grinning like it was the most natural thing, “now that we’re sharing food and co-parenting a fragile glass baby, I feel like I should know more about you.”

“I was in Santorini for a few days, mostly hung out in my room all day. Today’s my last day in Greece actually. Figured I’d do Athens for the day before I fly out in the morning seemed fitting since I’m from Athens…Ohio.” He looked at you fondly and you rolled your eyes at the sentiment as he kept talking. “Wanted to see the city, look at cool buildings, maybe swim. I don’t know. I don’t usually do things without a plan so I guess it’s wherever the day takes me. It’s worked out for me so far. What about you?”

“This is my first day exploring actually. Flew in and crashed all day yesterday and today’s the first day I feel like I’m alive. I was gonna make a to-do list with a bunch of bucket list items but that seemed a little too on brand for me. I’m thinking the best plan is...no plan.” You trace the rim of your water glass. “And since we both have no set plans, maybe we can explore the rest of the day together? At least until our vase is ready? Seems inefficient to split up now.”

“Yeah. I think we can manage that,” he reaches for the check and realizes it’s all together.

“They didn’t split it, did they?”

“No they didn’t. But I got it. I’m glad you wanted to come here too, this was great.” He slides his card into the bill presenter. “Where to next?”

The little gift shop down the street called your name as the two of you walked off your meal. For a Michelin star restaurant the portions were a lot less tiny than you’d expected. Tourist books lined the stand near the entryway, Greek dictionaries in various sizes, tiny mugs you assumed were for coffee and a plethora of souvenir items that you'd definitely be looking at before you left.

“Are you a candle guy?”

“I’m a workaholic who spends a lot of time in rooms with sweaty men.” He pauses. “That sounded less crazy in my head. It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise. I do like candles.”

You couldn’t remember the last time you spent quality time with someone and not talked about science or technology and inevitably, some mixture of the two. He opened the jars with ease, the pomegranate smelled fresh and the lemon one was so intense it probably burned off all of his nose hairs. Laughter came easy, you could tell he was relaxed around you and relished in the fact that you felt the same with him. There were no deadlines, no meetings, you hadn’t even thought about checking your phone or email. You even got matching evil eye souvenirs.

He chose a bag charm and you got a keychain. It felt so domestic it was almost scary. You even bought him the charm for good measure, felt like a fair exchange after he bought lunch.

Joe shook his head slowly, admiring you while you paid, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. He almost pulled out his phone and changed his flight after catching another glance as you thanked the cashier. But he didn’t.

Then you asked if he wanted to get on a boat to a nearby island.

“I’m not really a boat guy.” He sipped on the matcha he’d just bought. You chose a blueberry smoothie.

You almost laughed until you realized he was being serious. “Joe, we’re in Greece. It’s probably against the law to not be on the water. Come on,” you nudged him, “carpe diem.”

“Carpet—what?”

“Carpe Diem. It’s Latin for seize the day.” You playfully nudged him and walked to the port and let him help you hop onto the small boat to Aegina.

The ride was only 40 minutes but each time there was an inkling that the boat was rocking, you felt him tense. Your hand made its way to his thigh, feeling the muscles clench like the waves were threatening to tip him over. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. You stepped into a local shop and grabbed swimsuits before heading to a local resort with a private beach.

Your uber driver was kind, an older gentleman with olive skin and a black cap with a bright orange “B” on the front. Joe slid in behind you and was quiet most of the ride.

“Are you actually gonna get in or are you one of those dip your feet in people?”

He sighs, glancing out the window and admiring the island view. Santorini was beautiful but this place was next level scenery. “I’m definitely getting in.” His voice was softer. You could tell he was more reserved now that there was an audience.

You also noticed the driver stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan man."

The pieces of the puzzle being put together. You’d seen highlight reels and press conferences of this very man all over social media. Your best friend had even sent you a thirst trap, or two. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat after you were dropped off, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks.

Did he worry you’d see him differently now that the truth was out?

He was pretty quiet on the way inside, the tires rolling on the stone street were the only sound you could really focus on until you reached the front desk. Joe gave them his name and put his card down and the associate manager walked you to the pool house to get dressed. You came out in your swimsuit and found him sitting in a chair with his tiny swim trunks.

“The Cartier shades should’ve been my first clue.” You joked as you glanced at the drink menu. “This doesn’t—I don’t care what you do. You’ll always just be the guy who introduced me to herring eggs.”

Joe’s shoulders shake as a giggle bursts from his chest. A full belly laugh you wanna bottle up and take home with you. It echoes off the stone walls of the pool house, unguarded and bright, nothing like the polite smile he’d given the driver ten minutes earlier. That sound might’ve been the best thing you’d heard in a while. Not that you’d say it out loud.

“Thank you for that.”

His voice is softer now, closer to you than it had been all afternoon. For a second neither of you move, the air between you devoid of the car ride’s tension and replaced with warmth that you desperately need to counteract with a swim.

“I do have one question though, if you don’t mind.” You stood to head into the water to cool down and he followed, his footsteps a beat behind yours.

“Oh boy.”

The water from the pool was a shade of blue that only existed in movies, sunlight casting perfectly along the tiny ripples, turning the surface into a shimmery paradise. You eased yourself in slowly, the temperature cool against sun-warmed skin, and he followed without hesitation. The water settled just below your ribcage. He stood close enough that you could feel the heat from him when he stepped nearer, far enough that you could pretend it wasn’t on purpose.

“Does it ever get exhausting? Having to censor yourself?”

He exhales through his nose, eyes drifting out toward the horizon before coming back to you.

“Sometimes.” He says honestly. “Fame is…weird. People think they know you and the support from them is great but then they want things from you. Whether it’s your time or your opinion. It’s hard to navigate being a public figure while being a private person. I wanna perform on the field, not in real life.”

The water laps softly between you. You move a little closer without thinking, the space narrowing until your arms brush beneath the surface.

“Yeah, I get that.” You trace the scar on his hand, your thumb grazing the raised edge before you realize how intimate the gesture is. His fingers still instinctively at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. “I just ask because obviously it’s on a much lesser scale in terms of public exposure by any means. It’s just—my job sometimes feels like I’m performing. And I don’t wanna lose myself in that. I’m good at my job and I want to be good at my job but I don’t want my job to be my identity, you know?”

Now that you’ve started your rant, you can’t stop.

He turns his hand slightly so your fingers settle more naturally against his palm, water shifting around your wrists.

“Believe me, I do. I keep thinking about how my life revolves around working out and rehabbing injuries and always coming back from something. I forget to just exist. Kind of why I came here. I’ve been so focused on coming back from things I forgot to enjoy anything. To enjoy how far I’ve come, to enjoy how much I still have to look forward to.”

There’s no teasing in his voice now. Not an ounce of performance. Just him.

“Same. This trip was supposed to be my reset. A reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and my title. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that’s all I am.”

For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of distant conversation somewhere inside. He looks at you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle and also memorize the way your face looks when it’s glowing in the sun.

Joe sits and thinks about your words, looking you in the eyes, “think we’re doing a pretty good job of unplugging today.”

A server comes out with two drinks and sets the tray on the floor next to where you’re standing, breaking whatever fragile thing had settled between you. The liquid inside jiggles softly as they’re placed down.

He reaches for them, water streaming down his arm, and hands you one. His fingers brush yours this time, lingering for half a second longer than necessary.

“Cheers to being happy.”

You let your cup clink against his, condensation cool against your knuckles. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

“Cheers to figuring this whole adulting thing out.”

The glasses meet with a soft, hollow sound, and neither of you move right away. You talk about his flight time in the morning and what your plans should be for dinner. Nothing is set in stone and your hands are turning into raisins.

“Alright, history nerd,” you say, pushing away from the pool edge. “You wanted cool buildings. There’s a temple up the road.”

He squints at you.

“You googled this, didn’t you?”

“I may or may not have taken a look during the car ride here.”

Joe shook his head, a bit surprised at the fact that you remembered his throwaway comment from lunch.

You’re dropped off at the bottom of the trail, nothing strenuous but definitely a trek to the top of the cliff.

“Were you a Greek mythology fan growing up?” you asked, looking at the ground so you didn’t dive face first into the rocks.

He grimaced. “I was more of a SpongeBob and Star Wars guy.”

“That tracks.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” you turned slowly toward him, “this looks like it would be the perfect setting for a desert battle. You know. Dramatic duel. Capes flying. Lightsabers making that weird sound. Emotional monologues.”

He immediately pointed at a broken column. “That’s where Obi-Wan would stand.”

“You would absolutely think you’re Obi-Wan.”

“Anakin, thank you.” He corrects.

“Doesn’t he become the villain?”

“Exactly.”

You pulled out your phone. “Okay, stand over there. I need a picture of you pretending to hold up the temple. It’s in the tourist constitution somewhere, trust me.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“You absolutely are.”

He sighed dramatically but moved into position anyway, placing his hands flat against the stone like he was single-handedly preventing collapse.

“Little higher,” you instructed.

He adjusted.

“More intensity.”

“I am literally saving civilization.”

You snapped the photo, laughing. “This is going straight to my imaginary scrapbook.”

He walked back toward you, peering over your shoulder. “You’re not posting that.”

“Relax, the last thing I need is TMZ on my back asking for an exclusive on whether or not you’re happy with where the Bengals are headed. I have enough on my plate. This is just for me. To remind myself that today was real. And I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

He paused, expression softening into a light grin. “It’s okay. I’ll take one of you too.”

Once the photo shoot was finished, you continued the climb, traced the columns with your fingertips as Joe had his eyes set on the top of the mountain. The faint carvings in the stone depicted stories of Aphaia.

“She went from a local protector to a literal goddess, that’s pretty badass.” Joe notes as he reads while you continued on.

“Wow,” you breathed, stepping forward until your toes nearly hung over the low stone wall. “You can see the whole island from here. Feels very…Olympus.”

Joe came up beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. “Feels like we’re on top of the world. No wonder they built a temple here.”

The hill dropped sharply to reveal the entire eastern side of Aegina unfolding below: distant villages hugging the coast, olive groves and pine forests rolling down to turquoise water, the Saronic Gulf flowing all the way to the mainland. On a clear day like this, you could almost make out the distant shimmer of Athens itself. Breathtaking didn’t do the view justice and you found yourself looping your pinky around Joe’s as a way to ground yourself. His finger tightened around yours like he’d done this a thousand times.

Everything felt so huge and tiny at the same time. The sun was beginning to set on a day that began with so much promise and opened the door to experiences beyond your comprehension.

“Thanks for bringing us up here. When I said cool buildings, I didn’t think about all this. This is so much better than anything I could’ve found.”

“I’m really happy this mini hike was worth it,” you pulled out your phone to look at the time as the sun really started to go down. “We should probably go look for a boat ride back. Our flower vase needs to be picked up in a couple hours.”

“Yeah,” he starts down the path, pinkies still interlocked. He casually wraps his hand around yours moving down the steps and back towards the mainland to ensure you don’t fall. He doesn’t let go. Neither of you comment on it the entire ride back to the dock.

The ride back to Athens comes via boat with food options. You’ve cleared your plates, settled inside the small cabin space, free from the wind and any prying ears. “I can’t believe we spent the entire day together. And I didn’t have to be anyone else today, I got to be—Joe. I’ve had a lot of good days but this? This one might be up there.”

“Today’s been great for me too,” you sigh, glancing at him. “Not a bad first day out.” Your leg brushes against his. You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel the heat of his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips, like he was silently asking for permission. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you kissed him, this wouldn’t just be a good day anymore. It would be something you’d measure other days against. And that felt dangerous.

“We can’t” you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. “You’re gonna leave tomorrow and I’m gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can’t,” your voice remains steady. “This was supposed to be just today. One irresponsible, no plan, very good day. I don’t wanna ruin that, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t—don’t apologize. I get it.” He still hadn’t scooted back, biting his lip to keep his emotions at a safe distance. “You’re right. This stays here.”

The boat carried you the rest of the way in a quiet that felt more like longing than awkwardness or anger. His hand rests beside yours on the bench, close but not touching.

You stepped out before he could reach for you again, clearing your throat once you were close enough to the studio, the street now dark and empty. “You should probably go grab the vase.”

He studies you for a long moment. You think to yourself this is probably how he studied his opponents looking for any weakness. Joe could probably see how close you were to cracking and kissing him so he didn’t push. “Are you okay heading back to your hotel on your own?”

“Yeah, I think I could use the fresh air. It’s not far.”

“Guess this is it then.”

“Guess so.”

You hesitantly took two steps forward and wrapped him in a hug. You held on tighter than you meant to, silently begging him to stay for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body.

Everything in you wanted to say you were going to miss him, to miss this day.

“Bye Joe.” That was it. That was all you could manage.

He turned and went down the steps to the glass blowing place and you watched him walk away. He didn’t look back.

And when you walked away towards your hotel, you didn’t look back either.

After the jam packed day you had, sleep felt like a necessity. You were exhausted beyond belief, barely making it to your room and changing into clean clothes before laying on your back in the middle of the bed. You tried to get comfortable under the soft blankets and plush pillows that felt brand new but perfectly molded to your form like it had been crafted for you specifically.

None of that was enough to get you out of your head long enough to sleep. Your eyes were closed but your mind would wander back to the boat or the pool or the restaurant. The extra pair of glasses he kept in that seatbelt bag he refused to take off, the random jokes delivered in a dry tone that was so dry sometimes you couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. His comeback stories about his wrist, then his toe and all the times he saw his career flashing before his eyes. All the times he came back even better than he was before. And all the times it didn't matter because their team wasn’t good enough. You thought about what it felt like to be a professional, to be expected to be at your best and not always wanting to be the face, to be front and center and having to answer questions and make life altering decisions not only for yourself but for the entire future of the company.

You weren’t a franchise quarterback but you understood expectations. You understood pressure. And today had relieved you of all of it.

For the day you were a tourist, carefree, happy, weightless.

The morning came sooner than you were prepared for. You’d finally gotten to a state of deep sleep when the bright sunshine woke you up and you checked the time. Joe was supposed to leave in two hours. Against your better judgement, and the fact that you’d curved him the night before, you googled the resort he was staying at and called the front desk, providing them with the room number and the reservation name, hoping they’d put you through. Last night felt like a half-assed goodbye. Both of you deserved more.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, he checked out early this morning. I think he had a very early flight to catch.”

“Oh, no worries. Thank you so much.” You hung up with a sigh. That was that, the sign you needed to know you had made the right decision by walking away. Pursuing whatever yesterday was just didn't seem rational. Or realistic.

You had lunch at the MS Rooftop, a restaurant lined with floral arrangements and lanterns with shaded outdoor seating and a rooftop view. The city was so vibrant, bursting with hues of pinks and yellows and the water on the horizon. In hindsight this would be the solo trip of your dreams, calm energy, relaxing vibes, great food. But you ordered one drink at the bar and felt a pang in your chest. Yesterday, everything came in twos. Couples walked by hand in hand, laughing about inside jokes and you watched fondly, thinking about how much Joe would’ve liked this place because it had two essentials: flowers and fresh air. Then you thought about how exposed this place was compared to everywhere you went with him yesterday.

The glass blowing class was in a small studio—it was you, Joe and three couples. Everyone was too focused on their dates to really notice him. Aegina was also pretty isolated, private beach that happened to be empty because the place he chose had three others, the boat rides were just the two of you and the driver. The only place that really had a slip up was a random Uber driver and even then, he was super respectful. Here, out in the open in the middle of the day you realized how many people were around and thought about if someone recognized him or if there were any American football fans in the room that would try to sneak a picture. He’d probably be paranoid and looking over his shoulder, unable to really enjoy himself.

Then you thought about how ridiculous you were being. You’d spent one day with the guy and here you were fantasizing about security measures and hypothetical situations to make sure he’d be at ease if he were with you. Even though he left the country hours ago. This is why you hadn’t kissed him. If you had, you’d be doing more than thinking critically, you’d be full on fantasizing in the middle of the day on a stunning, well deserved vacation.

You finished your drink and headed to your next activity, a spa day had your name written all over it. Deep tissue massage on a beautiful wooden boardwalk overlooking a lazy river which you took part in after your trip to the sauna and steam room. It was two and a half hours of self care and every single minute was worth the time.

When you woke up from a nap, back in your room there was a notification on your phone.

An Instagram DM request that contained two words: Carpe Diem.

You looked at the message twice. Before you could fully put together what was happening, your thumb hovered over the power button.

Then you unlocked your phone to look at his profile.

Verified.

It was him.

You locked your phone again and put it face down on the bed. With a hand over your mouth, you exhaled out a small laugh, half shocked, mostly relieved that he did decide to reach out. The DM stayed in your requests for the time being. He hadn’t left whatever happened alone either.

Now you needed to figure out how the hell you were going to respond.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs