You hadn’t planned to stay in Greece, but that’s how it always happened — one day turned into a week, a week turned into a month. Rent was cheap if you didn’t mind the cockroaches, and tourists tipped better when you smiled and lied convincingly about ancient history.

That’s how you ended up working for the same company as Rydal.

You still remember your first day shadowing him.

He showed up fifteen minutes late, sunglasses already on, coffee in hand, and smirked like he owned the city. You tried to play it cool, ignoring the flip in your stomach when he glanced at you, up and down, then said:

“They’re making you lead a tour?” He paused, raised a brow. “You sure you’re not one of the lost Americans?”

You deadpanned. “Only if you’re the cautionary tale.”

It became a game, after that.

Banter. One-upmanship. Shared eyerolls behind the backs of clueless tourists. You’d pass each other between tours, sometimes tag-team groups on busier days. He’d steal your microphone, flirt with your guests, and add completely made-up facts.

“This is where Aphrodite supposedly kissed her lovers goodbye,” he once said in front of a crowd, then glanced at you with a devilish grin. “Romantic, huh?”

You shoved him. He winked. The tourists ate it up.

Some days, he’d bring you coffee. Other days, he’d steal yours.

He never called it flirting. Neither did you.

But there were late nights spent reviewing routes and drinking cheap wine in your shared office. Long walks back to your separate flats, talking about everything and nothing. Close calls when your fingers brushed, when you laughed too long, when the silence felt too heavy.

One evening, while locking up after a particularly rowdy sunset tour, you asked, “Why are you even here, Rydal? You could be doing anything.”

He leaned against the doorframe, watching the sun bleed over the marble buildings. Then he looked at you.

“Because if I wasn’t here,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t be here with you.”

You blinked. That was the first time he’d said something real.

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just gave a small smile and walked off into the twilight.

You stayed behind a little longer, wondering when exactly this had stopped being a game.

And if it ever was.