27 M is for Mykonia, N is for Noa
5:15 pm, Stefanou Street corner, Mykonos, Greece
Harry checked and rechecked his watch. Where was she? He looked to his left and to his right, staring down street corners, as throngs of tourists wearing virtually the same pale clothing milled about. It was impossible to wear dark clothing in this summer-like heat; one would easily faint from heat stroke. Just then, he shielded his face from the sun and could barely make out the elusive figure of Macy, this time sporting a white flowy blouse, pale pink leggings, and equally stylish sandals.
"You certainly blend in, Macy," Harry remarked, not-so-subtly looking her up and down.
"So do you—per the saying, when in Rome," said Macy, now observing his khaki pants and cropped Guayabera shirt, that made him resemble a quartermaster on a pirate ship. It certainly awakened some images of Harry as a sexy, shirtless pirate, taking her hostage on his mammoth ship...
"Macy!" Harry interrupted her momentary fantasy.
"Sorry, what?" asked Macy.
"I was just thinking—let's go somewhere to eat."
"Where did you have in mind?" Macy inquired.
"Let me show you," Harry said. "But first, change into the other nice outfit you bought, and meet me here in 15 minutes. I'll do the same." And so they did.
5:30 pm, Stefanou Street corner, Mykonos, Greece
Harry sat at a nearby bench, tapping his foot on the ground, waiting for Macy to don her evening dress. In all of his years as Whitelighter, he never once recalled venturing to tropical isles as being one of his day-to-day duties. But, he supposed, there was always a first time for everything. He felt a tap on his right shoulder; he turned around. Macy.
She wore a form-fitting olive green gown that was intricately pleated, with a uniquely tapered hem; her rose quartz chandelier earrings shimmered in the humid sunlight, catching the flickering reflection of storefronts and the clear, dazzling water nearby. She looked like a woodland nymph—no—a queen. And an absolutely breathtaking one at that.
Harry looked at her a bit open-mouthed as she reached over and kissed him on the cheek. "You look…shocked," Macy ventured.
"You look…good," Harry said, wrapping his arm around her waist, this time pulling her close and kissing her on the lips.
"So do you," said Macy, now observing his slacks and fancy dark green dress shirt.
"Shall we?" Harry offered his arm once more, and they walked elegantly into the heat of the lingering late afternoon.
6 pm, Noa Restaurant, Mykonos, Greece
Macy was glad the fabric she wore was breathable and light; Harry seemed none the worse. The Greeks certainly knew how to design clothes for the weather here, she thought to herself. Harry and Macy had been walking for what seemed to be the greater part of an hour, taking side streets and winding passages up and down cubic architecture-laden ocean hillsides, through cobblestone paths, passing quaint little staircases leading to azure doors, until they finally reached what appeared to be an urban oasis—the type one often only saw in feature films.
"Where are we?" asked Macy curiously, spotting what appeared to be a decorative mosaic-lined resort pool and an adjoining cabana-chic oyster bar.
"Noa Restaurant, five stars, which is attached to this particular resort that goes by the name of Mykonian Kyma. I figured since we were in the Grecian Isles, we might as well enjoy the local cuisine and…" Harry's voice trailed off uncertainly.
"…and?" prompted Macy, still holding Harry's arm, while surveying the scenery of largesse. "And…?"
Harry grinned. "And…consider this a proper date—if, of course, that's ok with you."
Macy squeezed his hand, as if to say yes.
6:15 pm, Noa Restaurant, Mykonos, Greece
They had been led to their table across the almond-colored tile flooring that seemed practically endemic here; the white ceiling was filled with thin, cylindrical spiky modern lighting fixtures that resembled an abstract art interpretation of tree roots. The seats facing across from each other: one was a large lime-green rectangular-cushioned booth seat, and the other was a solid hazel-brown chair. Ever the gentleman, Harry gave Macy the booth seat, while he sat in the wood chair across from her. A bushel of miniature (live, not artificial, observed Macy) green fern branches lay in a small powder blue ceramic vase on the table, along with polished silverware and two long-stemmed glasses plus two short glasses, one of each per patron. This restaurant balanced the casual Mykonian beachfront personality with an eclectic minimalist style that Macy could not help but admire.
Out of the corner of her eye, to Macy's left was the restaurant's grey stone walls, which opened out to a positively breathtaking panoramic view of the island, which included the upwards-sloping hillside overlooking the adjoining island town of Ano Mera, and more closely, the houses of Chora with their white-painted flat houses and distinctive smooth, and alternately angular and rounded, cobblestone paths.
Macy gasped. "Harry—" she was momentarily lost for words—"this is incredible."