Chapter Twelve
Zoe
When I next open my eyes, I’m alone.
I’m curled up in bed, fully dressed, hugging a pillow. The one next to me still bears the indentation of Joel’s body. I pull it toward me and bury my nose in it, not expecting it to smell of his scent as he’s been in the ocean this morning, but to my surprise it does, a little. He must have had a quick spray when he got changed, or maybe it lingered on his clothes. I close my eyes and inhale, remembering how—when I asked him to—he put his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.
He brushed my hair, too, reverently, with long slow strokes. He slipped his fingers through the strands as he dried it with the hairdryer, the same way he did under the water when I removed my dive cap at the safety stop.
My pulse begins to race at the memory, and my heart bangs on my ribs. I sit up, swallowing hard. I don’t want to think about that now.
I check my phone—I’ve been sleeping for over an hour, and it’s nearly one p.m. Where has he gone? It’s still raining, although not quite so hard now, and the sky is lighter outside. Right then, I hear a knock on the door. I wrap my arms around my knees, listening, and hear him open the door, then speak to the person outside. “Thank you,” he says, “that looks amazing.” The person says something unintelligible, and Joel says, “Yes, please, over there.”
Food, maybe? My stomach rumbles in response. I’d better get up.
I’m surprised to find myself a little shaky when I get to my feet. Frowning, I go to the bathroom, and I’m startled when I look in the mirror and see how pale my face is. I pinch my cheeks a little, but I don’t have the energy to put on makeup. I feel tired, even though I’ve just had a snooze. This isn’t like me at all.
I head to the kitchen, wrapping my arms around myself in Joel’s thick hoodie, and discover him in the process of taking bowls and plates from a tray and setting up two place settings at the breakfast bar.
“Hey,” he says as he sees me. He frowns and comes over, stops before me, and bends to catch my eye. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I hesitate. “I feel a bit shaky, and very tired still.”
“You’re white as a ghost. I think you need to get some food down you, and then it’s straight back to bed.”
I sniff. “What did you order?”
“Ham hock and split pea soup, with ham and cheese toasties.”
“Oh my God, it looks amazing.”
“Come on. Sit down before you fall down.” He guides me to a stool and waits for me to sit, then slides one of the bowls with the soup and toasted sandwich over.
The soup is thick and full of chunks of vegetables, and the toasties that are tucked into the side of the bowl ooze melted cheese. I extract a piece of ham from one of them and eat it; oh my God, it’s magnificent. Picking up my spoon, I tuck into the soup, sighing as it slides down inside me.
Joel gets me a bottle of water and opens it before handing it over. Then he takes two shot glasses from the cabinet and opens one of the cupboards. It contains a minibar like no other I’ve ever seen in a hotel—there are bottles of every kind of spirit you could want, along with cans of different tonics and spritzers, and various bottles of wines. He finds a bottle of brandy, says, “Hmm, nice,” opens it, and pours a generous amount into the two shot glasses. Then he brings them over.
“Brandy?” I ask doubtfully.
“You’ve had a shock, and I don’t want you to faint on me. Eat a bit, then drink it.”
“Yes, Dad.”
He gives me a wry look, sits on the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar, and picks up his glass. He downs the shot in one, then starts eating his soup.
Not to be outdone, I down my brandy, then immediately subside into a fit of coughing.
He watches me with amusement. “Don’t cough up a lung,” he says, taking a big bite of his sandwich.
“Jesus,” I squeak. “That was strong.”
“It’s brandy; it’s supposed to be.”
I have a few mouthfuls of water, cough again, then go back to my soup. “Wow. I’ll be asleep all afternoon at this rate.”
“It’ll do you good. “
“I don’t know why I’m so tired.”
He shrugs. “Diving is hard work anyway, without all the trauma. Even getting in and out of the scuba gear and the wetsuit takes energy. You’ll be fine tomorrow, don’t worry. Today, you just need rest.”
We eat in silence for a while. The rain continues to patter on the flagstones and the windows. It’s strangely calming.
“It’s a terrific villa,” I say, looking around. “I could live somewhere like this.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I like the throws over the sofa and chairs, and the paintings of the sea and the landscapes, and the green and blue decor, and this big kitchen…”
He looks around. “It’d be a nice place to bring up a family.”
I trail my spoon through my soup for a moment, then have a bite of the sandwich. “Do you want kids?”
“Eventually,” he says. “Do you?”
I chew, not looking at him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because people always assume you should think the way they do, and they try to change your mind.”
“So you don’t want kids?”
I pick a piece of ham from the sandwich and eat it. I shouldn’t have brought the subject up, but it occurs to me then that this would be the best way to convince Joel that we’re not suited. If I want him off my back for good, this is probably the best way.
I feel a flicker of doubt. Is that what I want? To lose his affection and his attention? You can’t have it both ways, Zoe. I don’t want to be a prick tease and lead him on, only to let him down at the last moment. It would be better to be upfront now.
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
He doesn’t look shocked or disappointed. He just eats his sandwich, meeting my gaze as I risk a look up at him.
“Why?” he asks eventually.
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t argue. He has a mouthful of water from his bottle, then stirs his soup with his spoon. “Is that why you won’t go on a date with me?”
“Partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
I sigh. “Joel…”
“Come on, spit it out. I’d much rather you be open about it.”
This guy saved my life. He gave me his regulator without a second thought, when he wasn’t even sure that his octopus was working. He put my life before his own. I owe him big time, and this is the least I can do.
I pick out another piece of ham with its stringy cheese and pop it in my mouth. Then I meet his gaze again. His blue eyes are gentle and curious. He leans on the breakfast bar, as if realizing I’m going to reveal something at last.
“I like you,” I say.
His gaze drops to my mouth for a moment, then returns to my eyes. “Okay…”
“A lot,” I continue softly. “Enough so that I know a fling with you is out of the question, because I have a feeling it would turn into something more serious, and there’s no point. I’m not saying that when you date someone you need to assume it’ll lead to forever, but I don’t want marriage or children, and I don’t want to start something with you that I know won’t go anywhere, because I don’t want to hurt you.”
“So you’re doing me a favor by not dating me?”
I glare at him. “Don’t mock me.”
His lips curve up. He has another bite of his sandwich and crunches it, still watching me. I look down at my soup. It’s really tasty, but I’ve eaten enough and don’t want to make myself sick. I put the spoon down and push the bowl away.
“Why don’t you want marriage and kids?” he asks.
“It’s my choice, that’s all. Not every woman wants to settle down and have the whole husband and two-point-four children thing. Some of us love our careers and want to dedicate our lives to them.”
He gestures at the uneaten piece of my sandwich. I nod, and he picks it up and starts eating it. “There’s no reason you can’t have both. A career and a family. Lots of women do.”
“I know. But that’s not what I want, and I don’t want to be talked into it, Joel.”
He looks away then, out of the window, across the courtyard. He’s towel dried his hair, and it’s all ruffled and tangled on top, and he’s sporting a couple of days’ beard growth. He’s wearing a faded navy tee with a pair of old swim shorts, and his feet are bare. He’s so scruffy, but oh my God, he’s so gorgeous.
I know I’ve disappointed him. I feel a strange twist deep inside at the thought. I don’t want him to stop liking me and flirting with me and teasing me. But it’s just not fair on him to keep him hanging on.
“Do you wish you hadn’t bothered to save me now?” I joke.
He gives a short laugh and brings his gaze back to me. “I wish you’d talk to me,” he says. “I know you’re hiding something.”
“I’m really not.” But my face heats, because I am, and we both know it.
He spots the blush, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he finishes off his soup, then collects both the bowls, takes them over to the sink, and rinses them before putting them back on the tray.
“How are you feeling now?” he asks.
“Better, thank you.”
“Good. You look better. What would you like to do now? Do you want to go back to bed?”
“Not really,” I admit, although I am still tired.
“Want to watch a movie?”
I nod, pleased that he’s not going to push me, but that he still wants to spend time with me.
“Come on.” He gestures with his head, and so I grab my water bottle and follow him into the living room.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asks.
I curl up in the middle of the sofa and wrap the throw around me. “I honestly don’t mind, as long as it’s not depressing. And not Titanic .”
He chuckles and starts flicking through the channels. After a few minutes, we settle on the version of Pride and Prejudice with Matthew Macfadyen and Keira Knightley.
“Would you like a coffee?” he asks. When I nod, he disappears into the kitchen.
I nestle down into his hoodie, pulling the throw around me. I’m tired, and I’ll probably doze off at some point, but I’ve seen the movie several times, so it doesn’t really matter.
I think about what I’ve just told him and wonder whether it’s going to change our relationship going forward. Sadness sweeps over me like a wave in the ocean. I wish he hadn’t pushed me to explain. I wish we’d been able to stay the way we were, flirty and fun. But I’m an archaeologist so I know all about carbon dating and radioactive decay. My half-life might be a lot less than 5,730 years, but the principle is the same. Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. It’s the way of things.
A few minutes later, he reappears with two cups of coffee and hands me something he was carrying under his arm—a hot water bottle. It’s not cold in the room, but I take it gratefully and cuddle up with it.
I wait for him to sit in one of the armchairs, but instead he sits next to me at the end of the sofa. “Come here,” he says, and he holds up his arm.
I stare at him in surprise. “I thought…”
“You thought I’d give up on you?” He flicks his fingers at me, and when I lean against him, he lowers his arm around me. “You should know me better than that, Zo. I told you, I always get what I want.”
“You’re not going to change my mind.”
“Did it ever enter your head that I might want you regardless of your thoughts on the future?”
My mouth opens, but no words come out. His gaze slides to it, and his eyes turn sultry. He’s thinking about kissing me.
“Um…” I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue. His lips curve up, just a little.
“I don’t believe you,” I say eventually. “You’re just saying what you think I want to hear, and you’re assuming that if we start dating and I fall for you, you’ll be able to change my mind.”
He shrugs. “You can think what you like. Doesn’t make it the truth.”
Now I’m confused. “So what are you saying?”
“That even though I don’t understand why yet, I respect your wishes. You’ve said you don’t want marriage or a family, but you’re clearly open to some kind of relationship because of what you had with Charlemagne.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Whatever. Are you intending to stay single for the rest of your life? Never to have sex again?”
I purse my lips. “No.”
“So as long everyone’s clear what’s on offer, where’s the problem?”
I turn a little so I can look up at him. “Are you saying… I dunno, what are you saying? You want to be friends with benefits?”
“No.”
I frown. “Then…”
“Friends with benefits implies something temporary. If you’re only prepared to offer sex to start with, that’s fine. But I told you that I want to date you, then take you to bed, and continue taking you to bed for the rest of my days, and that hasn’t changed. I want to be with you.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out again. My heart is banging on my ribs.
He looks amused at my expression. “What’s the matter?”
“You can’t go into a relationship hoping to change someone, Joel. It doesn’t work like that. You’re only going to end up disappointed.”
“I don’t want to change you. You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t glare at me, I’m not mocking you. I mean it. If you never want marriage and kids, that’s your prerogative, and no man should try to change that. I’d like to know why, and one day I hope you’ll tell me. When you do, if you still feel the same way, that’s okay. It’s you I want, first and foremost.”
I feel suddenly tearful. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because most people either want kids or they don’t. And I know you do.”
“Not at the expense of having you.” He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
A tear rolls down my cheek. “Don’t be nice to me. I’m not used to it.”
“I’m always nice to you.”
“No, you’re not, you drive me mad, and you mock me, and you tease me, that’s what we do, and if you start being nice to me I’m going to have no defenses against you at all, and then what am I going to do?” More tears tumble down my cheeks, and my bottom lip trembles.
“You could kiss me,” he says softly.
I press my fingers to my lips then and start crying for real.
“Aw,” he says, and he pulls me into his arms and wraps them around me.
I cry for a while, big snotty sobs that soak his hoodie, but he just kisses my hair and rubs my back and says things like, “Don’t worry,” and, “It’ll be okay,” and, “Shhh, I’m here.”
After a while, the tears die down, and the tension finally leaves my body. He shifts on the sofa, making himself comfortable, sliding down the cushions and lifting his legs up so he’s stretched out. Now I’m tucked against the back, half lying on him, and I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder.
The movie is still playing, and we watch it for a while, not saying anything. He strokes my back and shoulders, running his fingers lightly over my clothes. I rest my coffee on his chest and sip it occasionally until it’s all gone, and then he puts our mugs on the table, shuffles down the sofa a little more, and turns on the sofa so he’s facing me.
“Joel…” I whisper.
He shakes his head. Then he tucks a finger under my chin, lifts it, and presses his lips to mine.
It’s not a passionate kiss. There are no tongues, no fireworks, and no volcanic heat. It’s a comforting kiss, from one friend to another, slow and leisurely, and when he eventually lifts his head, I’m not surprised to discover that the rain has stopped, and the sun has come out.
I rest my head on his shoulder and watch Mr. Darcy fighting his affection for Elizabeth Bennet for a while. And then eventually I close my eyes and fall asleep.
*
When I wake, the light is different; it’s still daylight, but the sun is lower in the sky, and the room is warm and has turned from the color of lemons to the inside of a cantaloupe. The movie has long finished, I suspect, and an old episode of The Grand Tour is playing quietly, the one where Clarkson, May, and Hammond travel across Mongolia in a homemade off-roader.
I turn my head and rest my chin on Joel’s chest. He’s dozed off. I suspect he hasn’t been asleep long. He has one arm tucked under his head and the other around me. He’s going to end up with a stiff neck.
His face is relaxed, and he’s breathing slowly and evenly. He looks younger like this, without frown lines. He frowns a lot. I think it’s not so much because he’s cross but because he’s trying to puzzle people and things out.
I want to date you, then take you to bed, and continue taking you to bed for the rest of my days, and that hasn’t changed. I want to be with you.
I give a small, shivery sigh. I don’t understand. I’m not all that. I’m a very flawed creature, and his declaration makes no sense to me. It’s clear to me from what he’s told me about his father that he’s desperate for affection, and he wants to be adored. Of course he does; who doesn’t? He deserves it. And he’d be much better off with a girl who was normal, and who would be able to provide him with the future and the family I’m still convinced he wants deep down.
You’re perfect the way you are , he said, but I’m nowhere near perfect, and it makes me sad to think there will come a point when he realizes that, and I fall off the pedestal he’s put me on. I don’t want that to happen, and it will, if we start dating.
But how do I fight these feelings I have for him? Because I do like him. A lot. I always have; I’ve just tried to ignore it. It’s getting almost impossible, though, now he’s pursuing me openly.
I look out of the window at the garden. The sun has dried up all the rain, and the flagstones are steaming in the late sun. The sub-tropical flowers in the bushes around the edge of the courtyard have all been washed and dried and are brilliant colors—bright pinks and vivid oranges and vibrant purples. A fantail—the bird that Māori called the Pīwakawaka—is jumping about on the table, presumably picking up a crumb or two left from our meal.
Would it be so terrible to give in to my desires? To kiss Joel, to date him, to go to bed with him? Why am I so hesitant, when he’s so keen?
But I realize then—it’s because I don’t want to lose his friendship. I value it highly, and I’m terrified that once he discovers the real me—once that fragile facade he’s invented dissipates like early morning mist—he’ll vanish with it, and I won’t see him again. And I know that would break my heart.
I look back at him, and my heart gives a little jump as I see him looking at me. We don’t say anything for a moment. His eyes look very blue in the shaft of sunlight that’s slanting through the living room. He has quite girlish lashes, long and dark and curved enough to make me jealous. He desperately needs a shave, although actually I think he’d look good with a proper beard. His lips look soft and dry, and I know how they’d feel against mine if I kissed him.
He doesn’t move. He looks into my eyes, and then his gaze slips down my face, caressing my nose, my cheeks, my mouth. He studies it, as if he’s imagining kissing me, and his lips curve up, just a little. His gaze comes back to mine, and the smile spreads. He looks warm, relaxed, and happy just to be lying there with me.
I push up, so I’m on one elbow, and shift up the sofa a bit so I’m level with him. I lift a hand to brush a thumb over his bottom lip.
Then I lean forward and kiss him.
His lips are warm and dry, as I knew they would be. He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t pull me toward him. He lets me kiss him, maybe making sure that I know this is my decision.
I tilt my head a little to the right, pressing my lips to his in soft, light kisses for a while. He doesn’t hold his breath, and it whispers across my lips, making me think of how we shared his air tank beneath the ocean. I pause, breathing in; I breathe out, and he inhales. Exchanging the sacred Hā—the breath of life.
I kiss him again, and this time I open my mouth and touch my tongue to his bottom lip.
His hand comes up, slipping into my hair to hold my head, and he opens his mouth and slides his tongue against mine. Ooh, yes, that’s turning up the heat… Our tongues probe and thrust, and my heart leaps up into my throat and makes me gasp. It comes out as a groan, and Joel responds by putting both arms around me, then twisting somehow so I’m half under him against the back of the sofa.
“Get out of that,” he teases, catching my hand and pinning it against the cushion.
“Don’t want to,” I reply.
He laughs and crushes his lips to mine, and when he releases my hand, I put my arms around his neck and give in to the kiss, happier than I’ve been for a long time.