Free The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) by Sara Alexi

years can bring, and there is a just a fleck or two of grey in her hair. ‘Will this do?’ she asks, pulling out a chair from the table nearest the tree trunk. ‘The usual, Babis? Yanni, we don’t serve much, but what we serve is good.’
    ‘You need no more than you offer, Stella. The chicken is always perfect, the sausages are just spicy enough, and everything comes with chips, oh and Stella’s lemon sauce, which is to die for,’ Babis informs Yanni.
    ‘I can do you a salad if you prefer?’ Stella asks Yanni, a small frown on her forehead, a hand on his arm as he eases himself into the proffered chair.
    ‘Are we not going inside then?’ Babis looks from Yanni to the glow of the interior and back again.
    ‘Here’s good, Babis,’ Stella states, patting Yanni’s shoulder gently as she does so. ‘So what’ll it be?’
    ‘Right then, chicken and chips twice I say, with a couple of sausages and beer, right, Yanni?’
    ‘Water.’ Yanni’s head jerks up, he blinks to clear the swirling feeling. ‘Please,’ he adds, looking up at Stella.
    Babis scrapes his chair out and sits down. Yannis takes his time to try to orient himself. The house they have just come from is on the right side of the square, alongside the taverna where they now sit. A kiosk occupies the middle of the paved area, next to a majestic palm tree with a low circular wall around which a number of Eastern-looking men in shabby clothes sit slumped. Tables and chairs have been set up facing the kafeneio beyond, and a huge television sits on a spindly legged table in its open doorway. Farmers, slightly better dressed than the men under the palm tree, relax here with their ouzo glasses, taking little interest in the Western film that is splashing light onto the road. Mopeds putter by and greetings are shouted.
    In the top left-hand corner of the square is a shop which looks more packed with wares for sale than even the kiosk. Next to this is a pharmacy and a bakery.
    Next to the bakery, level with him on the other side of the road, is an open door, with a stool outside beside an open window. Balanced on the windowsill, a tray of sandwiches wrapped in cling film hovers half inside and half out. There is a movement at the back of the shop and a tinkling sound, suggesting someone inside is arranging bottles.
    A man with one sleeve tucked into his trouser tops brings bread in a cane basket, which he places on the table.
    ‘Hello, Mitsos. How are you? I would like to introduce you to my second cousin, Yanni from Orino Island. Yanni, this is Mitsos, Stella’s husband.’ Babis grabs at the bread, tearing a piece off and putting the oversized hunk into his mouth.
    Yanni moves his chair back, not sure if he should stand to shake the man’s hand or not. Mitsos puts down the bread, freeing his hand, which swings to clasp Yanni’s shoulder. ‘Well, hello Yanni. Stella says I am to ask if you want lemon sauce on your chicken.’ His smile is easy and reaches his eyes. Yanni feels Mitsos and Stella could be people who would be happy living on the ridge like him: no hurry, easy-going, and if this is the only eatery in the village, then presumably hard working. There is something of a farmer about Mitsos.
    ‘Yanni’s got the biggest goat herd on the island,’ Babis boasts.
    ‘Have a herd myself, although these days I don’t get to go out with them much, but still, I get involved when they are pregnant and so on. I spend more time here these days …’ He makes eye contact with Yanni, a wistful look as though he is searching for high, silent pastures to be reflected back at him. Yanni unlocks his hands from in front of him and reaches for his tobacco pouch.
    The chicken is delicious, not at all tough like the ones his mama cooks, but then they only eat their hens when they are old and they have stopped laying. The lemon sauce is amazing, and he wonders if his mama could learn to make it. The sausages prove too salty but Babis is hungry and takes them from