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

dried grass, pausing motionless on a stone to her left, before scuttering away. She continues when it has gone.
    Going down the hill is so much faster than it was on the way up. She notices letters sticking out of the drawer-front letter box, and another lizard, smaller, brown, sits on the brass handle on top, basking in the sun. Down in the square, the bakery door is closed. The pharmacy, too, is lifeless. The kafeneio is shut. Her shoulders are burning hot now, and it seems best to go back for a late lunch and to see if she can buy some sun cream. They are bound to have a shop in the hotel.
    Heading out of the bright village and walking along the lane towards the beach path, she is surprised to see Sarah sitting under an olive tree surrounded by goats. The surprise isn’t that Sarah is there, but rather that she, Ellie, is here to witness such a sight. She would never have thought in a million years that she would have found a way to make this, her being here, happen. The brown, white, and black patches on the goats merge one into the other and it is hard to tell how many there are. Horns bob into vision, curling and gnarled, as the animals lift their heads to see who approaches. One look and the horns dip back to the ground, white stubby tails lifted, showing undersides of white, as they continue to graze. The dapple of their coats blends into the mottled shade under the tree. Some of them strain their necks up to reach the silver-blue leaves on the shorter olive trees. One has its front hooves halfway up a trunk, stretching to nibble on the lower branches.
    ‘Hi,’ Sarah calls to her.
    ‘Hi, these yours?’ Ellie asks. What a dumb thing to say. She grimaces.
    ‘Yes, well no. Well yes,’ Sarah says cryptically. It makes them both smile and relieves Ellie of her self-criticism. Sarah’s streak of red lipstick is at odds somehow with her job, her cream dress, the caramel of the burnt earth and the soft, dark cyans of the olive leaves.
    ‘Well I’m glad I asked.’ She is relaxed with Sarah, as if she has known her for years. She must be even older than Marcus. But she is not like a mum, not mousey and quiet. She is just, well, dignified, cool.
    ‘Ah, it’s a bit of a long story,’ Sarah says. ‘They belong to someone else. He left to rejoin his wife. But …’
    Ellie does not want to intrude, but Sarah looks so comfortable sitting on her olive root in the shade that she steps closer, under the tree. Besides, Ellie is sure she can recognise a hint of a scandal in the words Sarah has spoken. Since her and Marcus’ affair, she feels drawn to disparagements, with the need to compare maybe, to diminish her own. She sits.
    ‘So they belong to someone else then.’ Her invitation to talk sounds awkward to her own ears, but it is the best way she can think to say it.
    ‘I suppose strictly they do. But as things are working out, maybe they won’t.’
    Ellie waits, not sure how to encourage her to say more. After watching the goats and wondering if she should go, she asks, ‘Have you been here, in this country, long?’
    ‘Long enough to fall in love.’ Sarah laughs gently. ‘He is the man whose sheep and goats these are. But he had a wife in Australia.’
    ‘Oh, difficult.’ Ellie likes that. At least Marcus didn’t have a wife. That would have made an even worse scandal. Sarah picks up a small pebble and throws it at the feet of the nearest goat, which jumps sideways and moves away, the rest of the herd following.
    ‘He went back to try and patch things up.’ Sarah sighs. ‘But, it seems, that is not working out, so he is coming back.’ With this, she looks straight in Ellie’s face with an open smile, her eyes alive.
    ‘Oh, how wonderful for you.’ There is a little prick of envy at the love she can see reflected in Sarah’s eyes. She thought she had that with Marcus in the first few days, but it dwindled so fast that it left her wondering if it was only she who was besotted, or even if she had just