The sun shone down on them as they walked up and down the rows of the flea market. Eva had changed her mind and decided the antique flea market would be a fine way to spend the afternoon. Occasionally, she would stop to inspect an item, but never purchased anything. Adam asked probing questions, hoping she would give something away that would let him know she indeed remembered him, but she said nothing out of the ordinary.
"Was this the first time you'd been to Greece?"
Shaking her head she said, "No, I go every year. There's just something about Greece I love."
"It's a beautiful country," he said.
"Have you been there?" She saw him nod and asked, "When was the last time you were there?" Eva stopped at a table and fingered the delicate lace.
"A couple years ago." I was a horseman in Greece, he wanted to say.
"Athens, Crete?"
"No, Santorini," he said softly, remembering Alexa.
"A beautiful island," she said. "Very peaceful and that clear blue water so inviting. I could die there." Eva noticed how he rammed his hands in his jeans and nodded. "She must have been very special."
Methos nodded. "She was terminally ill. You'd think I would have known better."
Placing her hand on his arm she said, "Our brains don't choose who we fall in love with. Our hearts do that for us."
They continued walking, stopping at a few tables. The vendors weren't as knowledgeable as they appeared to be and Eva and Adam had fun exhibiting their own expertise on the 19th century furniture, housewares and the like, amazing the merchants as well as the buyers. When they happened upon a book stand, they each reached for the same book, an old leather bound book.
"Ladies first," Eva said. With tenderness, she opened the book and turned the yellowed pages. "Lord Byron's poems."
"Let me see." Adam accepted the book from her hand and recognized his friend's handwriting.
In it he saw the poem, ‘She Walks in Beauty'. "How much for the book?" he asked the old woman.
"One hundred," she said smiling, sure that the handsome man with the big nose would buy it for his lady.
"Deal," he said and reached for his wallet. Handing her five twenty-dollar bills, he handed the book to Eva. "A gift."
"Adam, that wasn't necessary . . . "
"I wanted to," he said leading her away from the table and back to the parking lot. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, "It's worth much more than that. The handwriting in that book really IS Byron's."
Eva looked at Adam. "You KNEW Byron?"
"We were close friends," he said, opening the door for her. "He was Immortal."
Eva handed the book back to him. "Then you should keep it."
Adam shook his head. "No. Byron would have wanted this book in the hands of a beautiful woman."
"Beautiful? Me?" Eva shook her head. "I could never live up to that name."
Aha! Gotcha ya! "What do you mean?"
Glancing around the parking lot to make sure no one was near, she said, "My real name is Callista. It means beautiful. When I came to the States back in the 19th century, I decided it was time for a change.
"Callista," he repeated. "It's a Greek name . . . " Methos revved the engine of his rental and proceeded to drive.
Eva nodded. "I suffered some kind of amnesia after my first death. Nicklaus found me, named me Callista and taught me all I needed to know."
"How old are you?"
"Didn't anyone tell you it's not polite to ask a woman's age?" Smiling at him she added, "I guess it doesn't matter if I tell you. You'll just say I don't look my age."
"That's right," he said, keeping his eyes on the road.
"A little over 1,900. And you?"
"We're around the same age."
"Really? Well, we should compare notes sometimes."
"That would be interesting. Who knows, maybe we even know some of the same people."
"You never know." Glancing at her watch, she asked, "How much longer to Joe's?"
"Couple more minutes," he replied.
"Great," she said. Her eyes went to his face, studying it. Knowing she couldn't just stare she made conversation. "Tell me Adam, how long have you known Duncan." When he smiled at her, it was like a dagger in her heart, plunging deep within it, releasing emotions she couldn't understand. There was something about him that was familiar, something she could almost see, but then it fluttered away.
"I've known him about four years."
"Not long then."
"No. Seems like forever though. He's a good man," he said, then added, "A Regular boy scout."
When he parked the car, he turned to her and smiled. "Looks like MacLeod's already here," he said pointing to the T-bird. Going around to the other side of his car, he opened the door and offered his hand. "Shall we?"
Eva put her hand in his and looked into the hazel eyes. "Yes, thank you." She felt her mouth going dry and couldn't comprehend why she felt nervous. It wasn't as if they were on a date. There was something else at work in her mind. Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn't warning her against staying away from Adam Pierson.
The music played softly as the few customers finished their lunch. The blue lights from under the bar glowed softly. Duncan's eyes darted to the door when he felt the presence of two Immortals. He knew it must be Eva and Adam, but still it paid to be cautious.
Turning his attention back to Joe he said, "Remember Joe, I want this to be a surprise." Hiding the box in his pocket, he took a sip of the scotch.
The gray-haired watcher grinned, "Not a word." When Adam and Eva entered, he welcomed them. "Pierson, long time no see." To Eva he said, "You must be Eva Matthews. Joe Dawson."
Shaking his hand Eva sat between Duncan and Adam. Putting her purse on the counter she said, "I can't believe one town can have so many handsome men. I think I might move here permanently."
"You do that," Joe said, "We could use another pretty lady in town."
"Thank you," Eva said. "How about a beer Joe?"
"Sure thing. Two beers coming up."
"How was the exhibit?" asked Duncan.
"Never made it," Eva said.
Raising an eyebrow, he looked at Adam, "Oh? Where did you go?"
"We went to the antique flea market," Adam said, taking the beer as Joe placed it before him.
Eva listened as Adam told Duncan of their little escapade with the vendors and how they found a book of Byron's poems in his handwriting. His voice was tinged with a bit of an accent, nothing she could quite place. A mixture of many countries. It was comforting and disturbing at the same time. Staring into her glass she tried focusing on his words, tried to figure out why she felt on edge. Maybe it was jet leg. The flight from Greece had been smooth, but long. She should have stayed awake last night when she arrived at the hotel. That was it. Jet lag. She heard Joe say something and the other two men laughed. Reaching for her purse, she felt someone bump into her, sending the contents spilling to the floor.
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