🛳️ Foreign Affairs Vol. 0: Cruise Control - Episode 1

The Santorini Soft: Launch A Greek man, a bold compliment, and the beer glass I somehow still own.

I wasn’t expecting him to be handsome.
Or to flirt.
Or to say something so forward I almost forgot what I’d just asked for.

I just wanted a gyro.

We had docked in Santorini that morning — the first stop on my very first cruise, my very first trip to Europe, and my 29th birthday celebration. A golden year girl with a passport, a fresh spray tan, and absolutely no idea what was coming.

I’d booked a day tour through Oia that ended with a boat ride around the caldera. Very “main character in a Mediterranean montage.” I took pictures. I walked the whitewashed streets. I was minding my business.

Until I wasn’t.

After the tour, I asked our guide where I could get a good meal, and she pointed me toward a cute taverna steps away from our meetup point.

“Ask for the gyros,” she said. “They’re the best.”

So I did.

I walked in expecting to grab something quick, maybe eat alone at a little table and scroll my camera roll while I inhaled tzatziki.
Instead… I locked eyes with a man who didn’t say a single word.

At first I assumed he didn’t speak English.
Or maybe he hadn’t heard me.
He just looked at me.
Quiet.
Serious.
Curious.

Then he finally spoke.

“Hello. How can I help you?”

I asked if they had a table.

And he smiled — slow, like he had been waiting to say this next part.

“Yes,” he said. “I have the perfect one. Right here, so I can still see you. You’re beautiful.”

Sir???

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He led me through the back of the restaurant, down a narrow stone path into a tucked-away courtyard that opened like a secret. It was quiet. Cool. Somehow still in view of the counter where he stood.

“So I can still see you,” he repeated with a smirk.

I sat down, still reeling from the compliment. I didn’t even fully process the menu. I ordered whatever he suggested. The food came out fast — fresh, hot, perfect. And then, without asking, he brought me a beer.

Just walked over and set it down in front of me like it was part of the meal.

“This one’s for you,” he said. “It’s from me.”

I don’t even like beer like that.
But I drank every drop. Obviously.

He stopped by my table a few times to chat in between working. Asked where I was from, why I was alone, if it was really my birthday. When I told him yes, he smiled and said,

“Then this is my gift.”

He pointed to the beer glass.

“You keep it. Take it with you. So you don’t forget me.”

I laughed — not because it was funny, but because I could feel myself getting caught up.

This man had barely spoken more than ten sentences to me. And here I was, in a Santorini courtyard, sipping beer from a free glass and trying not to develop a crush on the man who gave it to me.

We exchanged numbers before I left. Of course we did.
And for a few weeks after, we actually stayed in touch.
He messaged me sweet things. Told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me. Sat on video calls a few times. Said if I came back, he’d show me the island properly. That he felt something.

Then one day…

“I think I love you.”

And that’s when I knew I had to go.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. He was lovely — handsome, generous, kind.
But this man was ready to risk it all… for a woman he served a gyro and a beer to. We didn’t even know each other. I hadn’t even posted the cute Santorini selfie yet.

It wasn’t love.
It was projection.
And I’ve played that game before — where someone builds a fantasy version of you in their head and tries to call it connection.
Not again.

So I let it fade.
Kindly, but firmly.
And yes — I still have the beer glass.

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This wasn’t a full-blown romance.
This was the soft launch.
Of Mediterranean men. Of the chaos to come. Of the version of me who says yes to solo lunches and walks away when it stops feeling real.

Next week, it gets worse… or better…. y’all will have to let me know.

If you’re new here and want the full emotional roadmap, check the Chaos Map 🔗