Free The Reluctant Baker (The Greek Village Collection Book 10) by Sara Alexi

I.’
    ‘She was in your arms and on our doorstep!’ The old lady’s voice loses neither its pitch nor its volume amongst her tears. The whole village will have her views of things if she carries on.
    ‘She fell, I caught her by the shoulders. She was not in my arms.’ Loukas is partially annoyed by her intimations but mostly horrified that denying the embrace, the embrace that never even happened, feels as if he is denying his right to breathe.
    ‘Who was it?’ the old man asks calmly but his jaw muscles are tense.
    ‘No one.’ The words dig under his ribs, feeling like a lie. ‘Someone staying at the new hotel, a friend of Stella’s.’
    ‘Might have known that gypsy tramp had a part in this,’ the old woman spits.
    ‘Steady on.’ The old man leans away to look at his wife’s face.
    ‘Why are you speaking badly of Stella?’ Loukas’ eyes widen.
    ‘Ach. You do not know her like we do. We were at school with her. Her mama was the same. Married a good man for what she could get.’ The old lady has gained momentum now and makes no attempt to quieten this new defamation.
    ‘I think you are going too far,’ Loukas defends, but this is all coming out of the blue. He is not sure he understands. He looks to the old man.
    ‘It was different then, Loukas, you have to understand. Gypsy stayed with gypsy. It was unusual, shall we say, that Stella’s mama married a Greek man.’
    But Loukas cannot hide his disgust at this new direction the conversation is taking. ‘What on earth has what Stella’s mama did got to do with Stella, and why are you attacking Stella when it was Ellie who I bumped into?’
    ‘Ellie is it? Not even a Greek girl,’ the old woman hurls.
    ‘This is unbelievable.’ Words fail Loukas. The old man breaks from holding his wife and steps toward Loukas.
    ‘Stheno, my love,’ he addresses his wife. ‘I will take Loukas for a coffee. We will eat when I get back.’ His wife nods in approval, as if her will is being done.
    ‘I don’t want coffee,’ Loukas protests.
    ‘Come, we drink coffee, we talk like men. Come.’ Taking Loukas’ elbow, he steers him through the shop to the street.
    They cross the square in silence. No signs of age have returned to the old man’s legs. What is it then that keeps the man in bed in the morning? Is it his aching limbs or plain laziness, and why are these things coming to the surface now? Or is it that he is only just noticing now? Loukas enters the café first, under the curling curtain of cigarette smoke that hovers above the coffee and ouzo drinkers’ greying heads.
    A dozen conversations drone in a continuous hum, speckled with bursts of laughter, occasional coughs. The high-pitched clack of wood on wood as pieces are lazily slammed on battered backgammon boards by two men who battle out their game.
    The large room is sparse with no adornment, nothing of which care needs to be taken. The floor is painted a light grey and the walls, once a stark white, are yellowed with age. The paint on the stretchers and top rails of the chairs has worn through to the wood by hand and foot. The circular metal tables on curved tripod legs have paint-chipped edges, but their construction remains solid, practical.
    The number of men has reduced since mid-morning. They all have their routines, their wives to which to return. The old man points at a table in the corner, away from the cluster of remaining men. The café owner, behind the counter, finishes swilling a glass and, with a light step, attends them at their table. He has frizzy, salt-and-pepper-coloured hair that sits like a halo and bounces as he walks, and continues to move even when he has come to a standstill.
    ‘Two coffees please, Theo.’
    ‘One,’ Loukas growls at Theo but realises he is growling at the wrong man and makes an effort to soften his tone. ‘Just one please, Theo.’
    Once Theo is bouncing back across the room, Loukas turns to the old man.
    ‘So? What on earth has Stella and