Foreign Affairs Vol. 1 (Part I): Vespa Guy and the Night I Got Exactly What I Asked For.
Not all answered prayers come with halos. Some show up on a Vespa and a look that says, "I heard you."
I said it out loud. Half joking, half not.
“I just want a hot Greek guy to see me, take me to dinner, and sweep me off my feet. Is that too much to ask?”
George — my Athenian big brother — laughed. I laughed.
Then he told me to get dressed and take myself to dinner and see what Athens brings me.
And goodness… did my new home deliver.
We’d had this conversation as I was walking home from one of the most awkward, unenjoyable dates I’ve ever been on.
Think: ultimate catfish plus a kiss I definitely did not ask for.
Ugh. ANYWAYS.
I went back to my place, changed into something cute, grabbed my latest Abby Jiminez book, and made my way over to Koukaki — a neighborhood in Athens known for great tavernas, cobblestones, and a very attractive population.
As I’m walking across Leoforos Andrea Siggrou — one of the busier streets near the Acropolis — I felt it.
That feeling like someone’s watching you.
You know the one.
Where the back of your neck starts buzzing, and your heart rate kicks up just a little — even if you don’t know why yet.
I glanced around, and that’s when I saw him.
Tall. Curly-haired. Greek god energy.
Straddling a Vespa like he was carved there.
And staring straight at me.
Surely not.
I know this man isn’t looking at me.
“Hey.”
I swear. I glitched.
I did the full turn around look around for who he’s talking to move.
He smiled.
“Hi. Yeah, you. Where are you from?”
Y’all.
I… might not have even formed a sentence. Jury’s still out.
And then:
“Not to be too forward, but I feel unexplainably drawn to you. Do you mind if I take you to dinner?”
He handed me his helmet, and even though every “stranger danger” conversation I’d ever had was resurfacing in my head…
I got on.
He didn’t tell me where we were going.
We just rode — weaving through the streets of Athens, past cafés spilling over with late-night locals, past people smoking and laughing under glowing signs, past couples tangled in corners and tourists still trying to find their way back to their hotels.
The breeze hit my face, and I couldn’t stop smiling.
It felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s movie. (The Lizzie McGuire Movie, to be exact).
Or maybe…
I was finally living in my own.
After a few minutes, he pulled up to a taverna in Koukaki. Nothing flashy. Just tables tucked under a canopy of string lights and the kind of menu you don’t need to read to know it’s gonna hit.
He ordered souvlaki. I got ντάκος — tomatoes, soaked barley rusk, olive oil, feta. My comfort meal. My go-to.
He told me he works in tourism — mostly helping with summer travel bookings and guided tours around some of Greece’s hot spots.
He told me about his family. How his mom still calls him every day and his dad used to tell him, “love the people who love Greece.”
He was just a year older than me — thirty — but he had a young spirit with such a grown outlook on life.
His English was good.
We didn’t strain to understand each other, which was nice.
Conversation flowed easily — like we were both leaning into the same rhythm.
And yeah…he was nice.
Really nice.
Nice to talk to.
Nice to listen to.
Nice to look at, too.
We sat there for a while, lingering between bites and stories.
The souvlaki was good. The company was better.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to be interesting or impressive or on.
I just got to be.
There was something about the simplicity of it all — the flicker of the table candle, the scrape of the forks against ceramic, the sound of Greek conversation flowing from the table behind us and the music humming through the street — that felt sacred in its own quiet way.
He wasn’t trying to perform.
And neither was I.
And that, I think, is what surprised me the most.
Not the Vespa. Not the suddenness of it.
But the softness. The ease.
The way it felt like life had opened a little door — just for me — and said,
“Look. This is what it can feel like.”
I didn’t know what would come next.
I wasn’t thinking about the morning or the meaning of what it might turn into.
I was truly just living in the now.
I was just a girl in a sundress, sitting across from a beautiful man in a city that finally felt like mine.
And when he leaned in, lowered his voice, and said,
“Come. I want to show you something.”
I followed.
To be continued…
In Part Two:
The after hours Vespa ride through Athens.
The views.
The moment I almost fell — and not just off the bike.
Foreign Affairs continues next week — subscribe to get the rest of the story.
Girl, you have your own “Gilda”!