I hurried up next to him. “You aren’t filming our reunion.” It wasn’t a crowd exactly, but the knot of people standing behind Theo was starting to make me feel woozy. “What are you, my paparazzi?”
“Paparazzo,” he corrected. “Olive, this is an important moment. You said it yourself. You haven’t seen him since you were eight.”
“Liv,” I reminded him. My voice was beginning to sound panicked.
“It’s important for the story,” he said.
So far, he hadn’t said the name Liv once. “This isn’t a story. This is me seeing my dad.”
“Everything’s a story. And you’re going to want this, believe me.” He readjusted the camera on his shoulder. “Okay, you go knock.”
“What? I’m not staging this—” But before I could fully panic, there was fumbling at the door, and then there was no time. My breath came in hot and quick, a rushing filled my ears, and then the door flew open and…
Not my dad.
Not unless he’d aged a solid seventy years since I’d seen him last.
The man was bright-eyed and well dressed, with wrinkled cheeks, thinning hair combed carefully to the side, and this sort of overall dapperness that made me think of the Frank Sinatra vinyl record covers James had displayed on the wall in his home office. The man had the same thick eyebrows and large eyes that Theo had, and he was holding a small cake covered in white frosting petals.
“Kalispéra!” the man said. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Was my dad ever going to show up?
“Kalispéra,” I said back. I’d said that word all the time as a child, but today it felt thick and too heavy on my tongue. Good evening.
The man let off a string of Greek, losing me instantly, and Theo answered, gesticulating toward me. The only thing I understood was Olive.
“Olive, this is my grandfather, but you can call him Bapou.” He said it from behind his camera, which was still firmly aimed at me.
“Bapou? Like…”
“The Greek word for ‘grandpa’ is Papou, but I said it wrong when I was little and it stuck. He also wants me to tell you that he speaks really great English, and I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that that is not true. Proceed with caution.”
Bapou beamed at me, and I felt the full awkwardness of the situation. “It’s nice to meet you, Bapou,” I said uncertainly.
“Beautiful! Welcome to Santorini!” Bapou said, jabbing one of his fingers at me enthusiastically.
He was massively likable. “Thank you,” I said, trying to return a smile that was half as friendly as his. “That’s a beautiful cake.”
Bapou scrunched up his face, and Theo translated, which earned me a dazzling Bapou smile. Like grandfather, like grandson. Bapou raised the cake toward me in a toast.
“Theo? Theo, is it you?” Suddenly the entrance was rushed by another person, and then there were two of them crowding the door.
Also not my father.
Most definitely not my father.
The woman was short and curvy, with golden-brown skin and dark hair pulled up into a topknot with thick bangs fringing her dark eyes. She wore a vintage pair of dad-style Levi’s that had been cuffed at the ankle, a faded Rolling Stones T-shirt, no shoes, and a red lipstick the exact shade of firehouses and Red Hots candies. I was immediately obsessed with her.
“Olive!” she shouted, spreading her arms wide. “Welcome to Atlantis! I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally meet you.” Her voice was deep and throaty, and her accent was so similar to my father’s that my homesickness snowballed into something much bigger and more hollow feeling. Longing? Pain?
“Call me Liv,” I croaked.
She hurried up the stairs and gave my outfit a quick once-over. “Iconic,” she breathed. “You have perfected the art of French makeup, my little Greek trickster! And I should know. I spent ten years in Paris.”
Gulp. It was like she could see straight through me.
“Olive, this is my mother, Ana,” Theo said from behind his camera.
“Your mother?” I managed. Ana looked too young to be anyone’s mother, much less Theo’s. But now that he’d said it, I suddenly saw their matching big eyes and lips. “It’s nice to meet you. Is my dad… ?” Here? Ever going to show up? I wasn’t sure what to say. Luckily, Ana jumped in.
“Of course. Your father stepped away, but he will be back soon.” Ana caught sight of Theo’s camera, and her expression turned sour. “Theo! Respect! I told you not to—” She finished her sentence in Greek, her tone sharp.
Theo half-heartedly lowered the camera, but it was up again the second she turned around. Whatever she said didn’t have any impact on Theo, because the camera stayed firmly in my personal-space bubble, and Ana must have been fully aware of his stubbornness, because she didn’t push it.
“Olive, we must get you to the roof for your surprise. Hurry, please. And I will meet you there.” She rattled off something to Theo and he nodded; then she hurried back down the steps to the bookstore.
Finally, Theo dropped the camera to his side. His eyes were bright with excitement, exactly like his mom’s, and without any consent on my part, my stomach twisted with excitement too. I knew my dad’s surprises. Whatever this was, it would be a big deal.
“They want you to close your eyes. I’m going to guide you up.” Theo’s voice was authoritative, this time not giving me a choice. I put my hand tentatively in his and he grinned, flipping my hand over to inspect my cuticles. “You bite your fingernails, like your dad does.”
“I don’t,” I said, pulling my hand back. Olive had been a consummate nail biter. Liv was not. But when I inspected my nails, he was right. I’d chewed my blue-gray polish to bits. When? On the plane?
“Is my dad up there?” I asked.
“No. Your hand, please, Olive,” Theo said.
“Liv,” I said, but it was entirely without hope. I put my hand in his, and once Theo was convinced that my eyes were closed, he led me stumbling up the terrace steps (Was this really necessary?), walked me a few paces, and then turned me until I felt the breeze from the ocean wafting up the cliffs. Footsteps started up behind me, and my heart quickened until I heard Ana’s voice. “Where is Nico? We can’t wait any longer.”
“Let’s begin,” Theo said to her. Then his voice was near my ear, sending a tickle down my spine. “Ready for your surprise? Open your eyes.”
I opened my eyes, with no idea what to expect, and what I saw—
Well, it delivered.
The top level of the bookstore was a rooftop patio about the size of our dining room, with a short ledge separating it from the cliff and the sprawling vastness of the caldera. Bookshelves lined the patio’s perimeter, and strings of light bulbs snaked around and between them. Jewel-tone cushions lay scattered under a small wooden pergola, and flowers and plants blossomed from repurposed tomato cans all along the ledge. But all of that shied in comparison to what was happening over the ocean.
While I’d been taking in the bookstore and Theo’s family, the sun had dropped toward the horizon and in the process transformed into something entirely different. Instead of a bright splash of yellow, it had condensed into a dense orange ball, its edges hot and defined. Sunlight splashed against the white cliffside buildings, reflecting in a spectrum of blazing oranges.