YOU HAD ME AT GYROS

I stared up at the job advertisements on the supermarket noticeboard, my stomach in knots. I was either under-qualified, overqualified or not qualified at all.

- A short story by Andrea Christodoulou

I sighed, wondering with increasingly sweaty armpits how I'd ended up here. It was only recently I'd been in Greece, devouring succulent gyros and downing cold bottles of Keo beer, my only dilemma — pool or beach? Now here I was, made redundant from my job and forced to check supermarket noticeboards after failed online searches.

"Sorry. Can I just?" I jolted at the sound of a rich, deep voice. A man holding a piece of card signalled to the noticeboard.

"Oh, yes of course! Sorry." I shuffled backwards and he pinned the advert up, which was for waitressing at a new "vibrant" Greek restaurant. I recognised it from Instagram, remembering how divine it looked, with textured whitewashed walls and floral decorations adorning the ceiling.

I found myself admiring his toned olive-tanned arms and rugged hands, heat rising to my cheeks.

You're looking for a job, Jane, not a fella.

"I hear they make the best gyros," said the man with a smile that lit up his hazel eyes. "And that staff get free meals."

I laughed. "Now that is tempting. But I haven't got any waitressing experience."

"I don't think it's a strict requirement, and I'm sure you'd be a quick learner." He gave a cheeky grin.

I cleared my throat. "I usually eat in restaurants and write about them... I'm a food blogger for a local newspaper, or at least I was."

"Sounds great, getting to eat for a living."

"Yeah, it was, but I really upset a chef with one of my blogs by saying no self-respecting Greek restaurant would serve cold, processed dolmades and he lost customers. Now, here I am."

He stiffened and his brows furrowed like he was trying to solve the countdown conundrum. "Maybe the chef had a good excuse?"