By all accounts, he was a bad idea:
√ Chick magnet
√ Functioning alcoholic
These dubious qualities are exactly what provided Kiera with the impetus for her pursuit.
They always had.
His velvet brown eyes sparkled silver when he smiled and listened intently to whatever nonsense his customers spewed. Every so often he’d glance her way & flash her that wink, melting her heart every time.
Every. damn. time.
And those dimples! Who could resist? Those dimples of his were as out of place on his imperfectly swarthy features as a pinstriped suit on Moses.
His name was Stavros (polý romantikí̱, naí?). A second generation Greek (god?) who’d tended bar at Greek to Me for years. “It’s in my blood,” he’d explain with a shrug, in his sandpapered, Ouzo-rippled voice.
After several winks and drinks, Stavros asked her out on a date. Nothing fancy: dinner, drinks, sex and sleep.
One date led to another, and so it went.
He liked her, but she liked him more. If it had been any other way, Kiera would have ditched him out of sheer boredom.
Where’s the sport in playing a game you’ve already won?
Rather than the thrill of victory, Kiera was seduced by the agony of defeat. Sure, her therapists had a field day with that one, but I digress.
Stavros began concocting new drinks for her to try. Some were good; some not so much. One in particular he’d made especially for her. The Rozh Kyría, or, Pink Lady. Since her name was Kiera, and to Stavros, pink was a “lady’s color” it followed that he should create such a cocktail for her.
Kiera of course, was enamoured.
It looked like Pepto-Bismol but felt like ambrosia on her lips and like Heaven-Love on her tongue.
He wouldn’t tell her what was in it, but at the time, it really didn’t matter.
Eventually and predictably, Stavros moved on. Kiera nursed her broken heart but it didn’t mend the way it had in the past.
She tried to recreate the Rozh Kyría in hopes of re-living her time with Stavros, but it was no good.
Her attempts continued to fail, as did every man who came into Kiera’s life, after Stavros.
Every. damn. time.