Several weeks ago, as I stared out my bedroom window, my eyes landed on the rustic wooden frame perched on the sill. Looking back at me was my first dog, Russell, a sable-colored standard Pomeranian who resembled a miniature lion with a face that always asked, “What’s next?”

Russell was always ready for adventure. He was my best bud, my swimming companion, and hiking partner. He’d wait in the car while I sat through college classes, content just to be near me. His loyalty stretched across his long sixteen-and-a-half years, and through my twenties and thirties, his love lasted longer than any of my girlfriends. I suppose, back then, I half-expected women to love me with the same eager, unconditional devotion as my little lion-hearted Pomeranian.

Today, my wife and I are soaking in a hot tub overlooking the caldera, an active volcano surrounded by the bluest waters of the Mediterranean, just off the coast of Santorini, Greece. The island is impossibly beautiful, like we’ve stepped inside a postcard, white-washed yposkafa cave houses carved into cliffs, domed roofs the color of sapphire, like something straight out of Mamma Mia.

“You’ve broken the cast,” I say to Kim, finishing my last sip of espresso. “Before you, none of my relationships outlasted Russell.”

“And here we are, celebrating twenty years,” she says, leaning in for a kiss and holding on just a second longer. This trip is our gift to each other—a reset, a deep breath far enough from everyday life that stress can’t seem to find us. Here, our love feels like it did in the beginning, and we’re bringing that feeling home.

Later, wandering through Santorini’s winding streets and marketplace stalls, I stop—and I mean stop, because vendors here are professionals at whisking you into their stores before you realize what happened. One enthusiastic man insists he has the best extra-virgin olive oil in all of Greece. Curious—and channeling Russell’s enthusiasm for following wherever life led—I allow myself to be lured to the back of his shop. Moments later, he’s trying to convince me to ship an entire case of olive oil to the US.

Tempting, but excessive, I politely decline and make for the exit. Before I cross the threshold, he shouts, “Wait!” and thrusts a sleek box into my hands.

“For your curly hair—serum made of olive oil and. . . Something. . . your woman. . . she will go crazy.” His accent swallows the ingredient list, but I catch the important part.

And look, I’m a sucker for curly hair products under the best circumstances. Add in Santorini wind, Greek humidity, and the promise that my wife will go wild? Sold. Who needs a case of olive oil when you’ve got a bottle of that?

Later, without telling Kim, I slathered my neck, shoulders, and breasts with the so-called aphrodisiac serum and scrunched it through my wind-tossed ringlets. I sashay into the bedroom and. . .

Let’s just say it worked.

We’ve been having mind-blowing sex in Greece. Maybe it’s the olive oil. Maybe it’s the aphrodisiac hair serum. Maybe it’s being so close to the Isle of Lesbos, or the ancient Greek statues displaying their marble-carved enthusiasm for passion. Whatever it is, I’ll take a few more rounds.

Cheers to twenty years—and to love that grows richer, bolder, and yes, sometimes a bit wilder, with time.

Kara Zajac is a freelance writer, chiropractor, mother, wife, entrepreneur, and musician. Her debut, The Significance of Curly Hair: A Loving Memoir of Life and Loss, won the 2025 IPPY Silver Medal for Inspirational Nonfiction and was chosen for the Best Books We Read in 2024! by the Independent Book Review. Its follow-up, The Special Recipe for Making Babies, was a finalist in 2022’s Charlotte Lit/ Lit South Awards for Nonfiction. Kara’s work has been published in Bay Area Reporter, Lesbian.com, Voraka Magazine, Story Circle Anthology, Imperfect Life Magazine, Ripped Jeans and Bifocals, and Just BE Parenting. Kara keeps people laughing with her blog www.karaZajac.com and is happy to speak at book clubs and grief support groups. She resides in North Georgia with her wife, Kim, and daughter, Senia Mae.