Chapter 3

Despite my resolve, despite the best of intentions, it seemed as if Weather was waging a war on my commitment. Over the next two weeks she seemed to invade my world. I became hyper-aware of her wherever she was. I noticed how she always walked around in bare feet and how she'd painted her toenails light pink, not her fingernails, though. Why? She seemed to exit the bathroom whenever I was headed towards it, too often wrapped in a towel and giving me a heart-stopping smile, "All yours." I noticed her short hair, damp and dark, picked up the scent of floral shampoo as she passed in the narrow hall and, turning, how long, slender, and youthfully firm her bare legs were. I couldn't stop myself from wondering what it might be like to see that towel unravel and fall. What would a naked fourteen-year-old butt look like?

I became fascinated by her right foot. She'd curl it up under her when sitting at the dining table or on the balcony chair and, as she ate, her toes would wiggle, just on her right foot, though. Why? It seemed the more she liked a particular dish, the more her toes would move.

I watched how her mouth and lips moved as she talked or ate. I loved how her lips curled slightly as if on the cusp of bursting into a radiant smile or a sparkling laugh, a promise to brighten my heart.

I was acutely aware of Weather as she moved, like a cat, smoothly, and how her T-shirts seemed to drape over her small boobs and, once or twice, I was quite convinced from the way they jiggled under soft sky-blue cotton when she laughed that she was bra-less. I couldn't stop the erection that formed.

And then she'd wear those little terry shorts that emphasized the sweet swell of her compact bottom and the delectable shape of her small buttocks, and I'd feel my pants get tight in appreciation.

She'd look at me, watchful, beautiful steel-gray eyes twinkling at me as if she knew what I was thinking and found it amusing.

I admonished myself. I fought. I swore. And, one fateful night as I lay in bed, almost six weeks after she entered my life, I held my erection and let my mind take flight. I let images of Weather flood in; wet shirt, lacy bra, petite breasts. I remembered a skimpy bikini, laces tied at the side, acres of bare skin and small triangles of cloth not hiding her modesty at all. I let images flood in as I stroked my aching erection and imagined what her hidden charms might look like, what a naked fourteen-year-old body would look like. Thinking of holding her delicate breast and feeling the inside of her slender thigh, I let my guard down and masturbated to a strong, strong orgasm. Guilt rushed in to erase the sweet pleasure. I condemned my weakness and renewed my commitment to behave. I also slept badly.

WEATHER'S EYES POPPED OPEN, morning light brightening her room. It was if her mind had been working through the night. She saw the intricately carved old ebony-dark chest of drawers, the chair with her clothes from yesterday draped over the back of it. From below she heard the crash of a pot or pan falling to the floor followed by a string of curses. She smiled at Aidan's swearing. With some people they'd say the most innocuous swear word and somehow it would sound dirty and make your skin crawl. With others, like Aidan, they could swear up a storm and it was nothing but funny.

For almost six weeks now she'd lived with Aidan, the first male she'd ever lived with. She'd never known her father, long gone before she was born. Mom had never married, telling her she was happy with Weather and didn't need more. She'd refused to talk about her father, no matter how Weather probed. Mom had no boyfriends either, at least none that she'd ever seen, even though Mom was still young.

But, living with her uncle was so different. Maybe it was because of the closeness dictated by his cute house, or the immediate comfort she'd felt with him, or because he was so gently sexy and considerate and kind. Maybe it was because of the almost constant attention he'd paid to her, or those sexy expressive eyes that seemed to be hard-wired to her heart. Maybe it was because she'd felt an immediate pull; from the first time she'd set eyes on him it seemed as if she knew him. From the first time her eyes had settled on him in the airport, his hands shoved into his back jean-pockets, lanky, tall, and completely at ease, she'd felt her heart ache, her chest heavy.

Whatever it was, when she woke up she knew, beyond doubt, she loved him. More than that, he made her feel special, attractive, beautiful, and made her tingle with pleasure. He filled her with warmth and security and love. He wrapped his irresistible personality around her, making her feel special and wanted and even desirable. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted Aidan to hug her, touch her, caress her, and sweep her off her feet.

Springing from bed, Weather dressed and hit the bathroom, blushing at some of the sexy thoughts passing through her mind.

Descending the stairs, she stood at the archway to the kitchen watching Aidan as he cooked. He looked good in the navy blue T-shirt and khaki shorts, legs bare, feet bare. His T-shirt hung on him as if it was made of the softest cotton, draping off his shoulders, hanging loose at his trim waist. Idly she wondered if she could steal it for herself. Maybe she'd offer to do the laundry and grab it. With a smile, she decided she'd just raid his bedroom dresser and find one that smelled of him.

Then Aidan swore up a storm, a carton of eggs hitting the terra cotta floor with a noisy splat. Broken white shells, yellow yolk and thick egg whites splattered over the kitchen floor.

Twisting to stare at the disaster on the floor, an attractive frown on his face as if affronted by the eggs, like they'd deliberately fallen to annoy him, the frying pan in his hand swept across the counter. An orange juice carton went flying, the plastic cap bursting off as it hit the tiled floor, orange juice spurting out to join the eggs.

"Fudge, bugger, damn!"

Weather burst into laughter.

Gorgeous soft eyes turned to her. "What exactly are you laughing at, young lady?"

"You! Has anyone ever told you you're a klutz?" she asked with another snort of laughter.

"I am not! I can't help it if the egg carton was slippery."

Weather grinned at his indignation. "So, what about the orange juice carton, or all those bruises?"

"What bruises?"

"Those." She nodded at his legs. "On your shins."

"Wow. How did I get those?"

Weather laughed. He was such a kid at times. "Aidan, you hit anything within twenty feet of you."

"No I don't!"

"Okay." She smiled. Within the hour she bet he'd be swearing at having run into some piece of furniture with his knee, toe, or shin. He was worse than a blind man. She'd never have guessed this was his home the way he seemed so unfamiliar with it. "Let me help clean up."

With a final bite of perfectly fried eggs, a last bite of freshly baked baguette sopped in egg yolk, and a sip of naturally sweet orange juice, all freshly bought, Weather sighed and leaned back from the small dining table. Aidan, despite being a goofy klutz, was a spectacular cook, far better than Mom. "Good breakfast," she nodded. She liked how he smiled with pride. Very nice.

IT PLEASED ME HOW she seemed to enjoy my cooking. I'd thought young girls were either picky eaters or had the appetites of anorexic chickadees. Not Weather. I wasn't quite sure where all the nutrition was going, given how slender she was. Maybe it was her personality burning all the calories. Nevertheless, I liked the gusto she showed when eating. "I've gotta work this morning, Weather," I said, "What are you going to do?"

"I thought I'd wander around town. Maybe try my Greek," she replied.

"Good. Just remember not to swear accidently. E-nun-ci-a-tion," I advised with a smile. She'd shocked several locals when accidently mispronouncing one word and denigrated their mothers. "How about I meet you for lunch?"

"Great! Can we try Ouzeri?"

"Sure." I felt her smile in my chest, a tightening feeling. She was truly a beautiful girl. She was also gradually working her way through every restaurant in town.

WEATHER WANDERED AIMLESSLY THROUGH Oia, enjoying the hustle and bustle, the noise, and busy shops. She liked the way the town smelled, in parts salty from the sea, in parts fishy from the docks, and then suddenly strong aromas of cooking lamb, or spicy scents of Greek dishes assaulting her, mouth-wateringly appetizing. She liked how the people seemed so friendly, smiling at her, nodding greetings, grinning at her Greek. She liked how they didn't seem to care if their clothes weren't the latest fashion, work pants and white shirts for the men, calf-length dark-coloured dresses for the women, some with scarves covering their hair. These Greeks were loud and vociferous and full of life. They made her smile.

To her, Oia was unpretentious, so unlike home. She liked the winding lanes that followed no perceivable pattern, so different from the boring ruler straight, rectilinear grid pattern of streets back home. Despite the intense brightness of a burning sun reflecting off whitewashed houses she liked how cute they were, so much smaller than what she was used to. In fact, everything was smaller in Oia. Remembering Aidan's comment at the airport, "Small is almost always better..." she smiled. He was right. Oia was picture-card perfect, a white dazzling jewel hanging on the edge of a cliff over sapphirine water.