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

asked.
    His baba looked to his mama and then splayed his own fingers on the smooth, warm surface with a faint aroma of spice. He always smelt of spices; they were ground into his palms, etched into the creases, forever present under his fingernails no matter how much he scrubbed.
    ‘Son, I am sorry, but there may not be a business for you to come to after you finish with your studies.’
    The news felt like a strange reprieve. It wasn’t so serious. He had never dreamed he would slave alongside his baba. Looking at the cracked and worn skin of his baba’s broad thumbs, he noticed the ridges of his nails lay in parallel to the grain of the wood, and around his capable and providing hands, there was a slight smudging of the table’s daily wax, a smear on its sheen. A bubble of panic formed just below his rib cage, a liquid knot that shook his foundations. It was then that he realised, despite his initial arrogance to the contrary, he had, at some level, been relying on the business as his security anchor, his fall-back. Now, his baba was saying it was going—or even gone!
    They sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, listening as the chestnut seller reached the end of the street and turned out of earshot. As Loukas stared, the walls showed their dirt, the shutters clearly in need of repair, the grand table suddenly out of place.
    ‘Well, I just wanted to let you know,’ his baba said when at last he stood, his wife by his side, and the two of them retreated downstairs, to the airless, boarded-up, windowless cellar where they ground the spices using the time-worn machine. His mama grabbed her stiff, dust-impregnated apron from the kitchen chair and put it on as she walked. She bagged what his baba ground, using her kitchen scales and a spoon. The edges of her nostrils were always tinted brown.
    Loukas sat at the table for a long time. Until that point, thoughts of what he would do when he left university had not really entered his mind. He just presumed there would be a natural progression somehow, but a progression to what, he had never really considered.
    He had arranged to meet up with Natasha to go over some coursework later that same evening. But his heart was heavy and the kiss was designed to take him far from his worries, to help him escape. In fact, it left him cold. Her keen reciprocation, however, boosted his ego and it was from this inauspicious start that their relationship was born. The whole relationship was unfair on Natasha and ultimately, it isn’t fair on him. But perhaps he deserves that.
    ‘Shall we sit outside?’ Stella asks, bringing him back to the present. Loukas returns his chair to the eatery before following her.
    ‘So,’ Stella starts as if introducing a fresh topic as they sit. ‘What’s with the late deliveries? Are you not sleeping?’ She wears a small frown, her eyebrows arching to the middle, her concern always genuine. His sigh is heavy and his chest raises and then falls concave; his spine curves into the wooden chair. It is impossible to explain everything.
    ‘You know what you need? A really good night out with your friends, so you laugh and dance and drink and then you will fall exhausted into bed.’ Stella stretches out her legs and pulls her sleeveless floral dress smooth over her stomach, which is remarkably flat for a village woman of her age. But then, she never did have children. Mitsos comes out to join them.
    ‘Remind me to order more charcoal,’ he says as he puts down his coffee and pulls up a chair.
    The sun through the leaves of the tree dapples his face. He moves his chair nearer to Stella and her hand slips over to his knee.
    ‘You know that is impossible,’ Loukas says.
    ‘What is?’ Mitsos asks.
    ‘I suggested to Loukas that he have a night on the town to cure his sleeplessness,’ Stella replies.
    ‘How can he when he has to be up before the dawn?’ Mitsos sucks at his iced coffee through a straw.
    ‘I know, but maybe once in a while. He