Chapter Fourteen
Zoe
We watch another movie, cuddled up on the sofa, kissing occasionally, which, I have to say, is pretty much like my ideal date.
I manage to make it until ten, but after that I can’t keep my eyes open. When Joel spots me dozing off, he says firmly, “Bedtime.”
“Which bed?” I ask hopefully.
He ignores the question, turns off the TV, takes my hand, and leads me to the bedroom doors. “Go on,” he says, gesturing to my room. “Try to get a good night’s sleep.”
I pout. “You’re not coming in for a cuddle.?”
“No. That’ll never end well.”
“I think it’ll end spectacularly.”
“You need to sleep,” he scolds. Then he pulls me into his arms and gives me a hug.
I nuzzle his neck, my arms drawn up between us, feeling safe and secure in his embrace. Was it really only this morning that we were under the ocean? I think of that moment when I realized my air was running out, and when I couldn’t breathe. I’ve only been terrified twice in my life, and that was the second. I close my eyes and force myself to remember how he took his own regulator out of his mouth and gave it to me. How he saved my life.
“Breathe, Zoe,” he murmurs in my ear, and I realize I’m holding my breath and let it out in a whoosh. He moves back a little, takes my face in his hands, and looks into my eyes, searching them as if he’s looking for fish in the waving fronds of seaweed. “Are you going to be okay?”
As much as I’d like him to come to bed with me, I know he’s right. I’m dead tired, and I need to rest. “I’ll be fine.”
A frown flickers on his brow, but he just says, “Okay,” and dips his head to kiss me. He presses his lips to mine a few times, then moves back. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight.” I go into my room and close the door behind me.
I stand there for a moment, not moving. I hear him go into his room, and the door close.
I wrap my arms around myself. It’s so quiet here. It reminds me of being under the ocean, surrounded by icy, quiet water.
No, I’m not going down that road. I walk through to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed. I climb under the covers, turn out the bedside light, roll onto my side, and hug the pillow. It still smells faintly of Joel’s cologne. The scent of the ocean, vast, mysterious, and enigmatic.
My eyelids droop. Part of me doesn’t want to go to sleep because the idea of descending into oblivion also makes me think about the sea. But I’m too tired to stay awake, and it only takes minutes before the calm, quiet darkness engulfs me.
*
“Zoe!”
I jerk awake, disoriented, my heart racing. I forgot to close the curtains last night and it’s still dark outside, but light from the hallway streams through my bedroom door, which is open. Joel is on the bed, sitting next to me.
“It’s me, Zo,” he says, putting a hand on my arm. “It’s all right, I’ve got you, you’re okay.”
I’m trembling, and for a moment I have trouble separating my dream from reality. “I was having a dream.”
“Yeah, I guessed that. Was it about the dive?”
I shake my head, shivering. I left the aircon on last night because I didn’t want it to get stuffy in the room. It’s now coolish, and I’m only wearing a thin pajama top and shorts. As I continue to tremble, Joel slides his legs under the covers, then leans back against the pillows and pulls me into his arms. I curl up next to him. He’s only wearing a pair of boxer-briefs, but his body is beautifully warm, and I sigh as he wraps his arms around me.
“What time is it?” I whisper.
“About one a.m. What were you dreaming about?”
I rest my hand on his chest, comforted by the warmth of his skin. “I was in my parents’ house, in the kitchen. It was nighttime, and black outside, with no moonlight. Mum and Dad were arguing. Olivia and Rory were there, too. Mum and Dad were each holding one of Rory’s arms, and they were both trying to pull him toward them. Olivia was trying to intercede, but they were ignoring her. Rory was crying as he stumbled from side to side. There was a pot of milk on the stove, and it started bubbling furiously. The pot burned through, and smoke started billowing out of it, engulfing us all. It was thick and black, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see any of them, and I was all alone.” My eyes fill with tears.
“Yeah,” he says, “you weren’t dreaming about the dive at all.”
I press my fingers to my mouth. “I suppose it was connected.”
“It was everything you’ve been feeling over the past few days rising to the surface, that’s all.”
I sigh. “All your analogies are about the sea; did you know that?”
He gives a short laugh. “I guess.”
I play with the hairs on his chest. “Do you ever get nervous or frightened when you dive?”
“No. But then I’ve done an awful lot of training. And I’m neurotic about triple checking everything.”
“I didn’t check the mouthpiece for moisture this morning,” I admit.
He sighs. “It was an unfortunate confluence of events. The rain caused the temperature to drop. It was just one of those things. The important thing is that we’re still alive.”
“I panicked, though.”
“Of course you did. Everyone would in that situation. Actually, from the outside you looked remarkably calm. You didn’t wrench my regulator out of my mouth. That’s very common, and the person panicking can knock off their buddy’s mask or cause them all sorts of problems. You got my attention, you made the correct hand signals, and you waited for me to sort it. It was textbook in that sense. You should be proud of yourself.”
I accidentally on purpose tug one of his hairs.
“Ow,” he says.
“Sorry.”
He sighs and kisses my hair.
“How did you know I was having a bad dream?” I ask.
“I was awake reading. I heard you cry out.”
“You were awake?”
“I don’t usually get to sleep much before one or two. I only need four- or five-hours’ sleep.”
“Freak.”
He chuckles and kisses my hair again. “Do you want anything? I could make you a cup of tea or hot chocolate? Or a snack?”
“No, thanks.”
“I should go back to bed, then.”
“Joel…” I hesitate.
He rubs my back. “What?”
“Would you stay? Not to do anything untoward, unless you particularly want to…”
His lips curve up.
“But just to hold me?” Unbidden, my eyes fill with tears. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He studies my face for a moment, frowning as if he’s trying to work out if I’m serious or it’s a ploy. He looks at my eyes, and he must see the tears, because his expression softens.
“All right,” he says. “Let me turn off the lights and get my phone.”
He goes through to his room and turns off the light when he comes back. I watch him walk in, admiring his long legs, his toned muscles, even his sticky-up hair, which is so familiar to me now. He moves with a grace that not many men have, maybe a testament to the amount of time he spends in the water. I find it oddly attractive.
He closes the door, then crosses the room and gets back into bed, putting his phone on the bedside table. I wait for him to get comfortable as he slides down the pillows and turns onto his side. “Come here,” he says, circling his finger to indicate that I should roll away from him. He tucks the duvet between us, then when I’m facing away, he puts an arm around me and pulls me tightly against him, so we’re like two spoons nestled together.
I wiggle my butt, then sigh. “I can’t feel you.”
“That was the point.”
“Spoilsport.”
He kisses my hair. Then my ear. Then my neck.
We both sigh, then laugh. “Go to sleep,” he scolds.
I curl up, my arms to my chest. He rests his arm on mine, and when I splay my fingers, he interlaces his with them.
We go to sleep like that, holding hands.
I rouse a couple of times in the night, but when I discover his arm is still around me, and his body is warm against mine, his breath hot on my neck, I close my eyes again. My dreams remain blurry and indistinct, forgotten like early morning mist.
When I wake properly and discover it’s daylight, I’m alone. I put a hand on the bed beside me and find it cool, so he’s been up for a while. I look at my phone—it’s seven thirty.
I rise and wander out into the kitchen to discover him sitting up the breakfast bar, drinking a coffee and munching on some toast as he scrolls through Insta on his phone. He must have had a shower because his hair is damp around the temples, and for once he’s shaved. He looks up from his coffee cup, his gaze falling on my hair, and his lips curve up.
“I’ve just woken up,” I say defensively, smoothing down my hair and wishing I’d thought to check my reflection. “And anyway, you can talk, Mr. Never-Owned-a-Comb-in-my-Life.”
He snorts. “Want some toast? I’ve ordered a picnic lunch that should turn up soon, so I thought we’d have a light breakfast.”
“Toast would be great.”
He gets up and pops a couple of slices into the toaster, then starts making me a coffee. I’m not used to this. Acts of service was last on the list of Charles’s love languages. I don’t think he ever made me a drink or a meal, or did anything else for me, in fact, in all the time we were together. I never complained because my father is like that with my mother, so I didn’t even think about it. I have seen the way both Fraser and Joel are with Elora—they open doors for her, despite me rolling my eyes, and they’ll make her a hot water bottle if they think she needs it or bring her a cardigan or get her a drink from the fridge without having to be asked, but I just assumed it was because of what happened to her. It didn’t cross my mind that they might be like that generally.
I put some music on my phone, and then I listen to him humming along while he makes my coffee and butters my toast. This guy… he mocks me mercilessly, and loves to tease me, especially in front of people. But when we’re alone… he just melts me.
He brings over my coffee and toast, looks up, and says, “What?”
“Nothing.” I take a bite of toast, smiling.
He gives me a wry look and sits back down. “You still want to go out today, just the two of us?”
“Yeah, that sounds fun.”
“Cool. You don’t feel as if you’re coming down with the group’s cold?”
“No. You?”
“No. And how are you feeling after yesterday?”
“I feel fine, Joel, honest.”
“All right. Well, one more day’s rest before you dive again won’t hurt.”
There’s a knock at the door then, and Joel goes over and answers it. A member of the hotel staff is carrying a large hamper, and he brings it in and puts it just inside the door before wishing us a great day.
Joel closes the door, then opens the hamper and says, “Oh yeah. Now you’re talking.”
Intrigued, I go over and look at the contents. The hamper is a cutely concealed chilly bin that’s keeping the contents cool. “How long are we going for?”
“I know. I said it was just for two.”
There’s a variety of cold meats and cheeses, olives, hummus, crackers, dried fruit and nuts, bread that’s obviously been freshly baked, judging by the warm smell, a selection of pies and frittatas, strawberries and grapes, a box containing some gorgeous mini desserts like tiny cheesecakes and pavlovas, sparkling and still water, one bottle of white wine, and one bottle of red.
“We’ll have to stay out there for a week to get through all this,” I say, plucking a grape and eating it.
“I can think of worse things to do.” He smiles at me as we both straighten. Then he reaches out a hand, cups my face, and brushes a thumb under my eye, making me wonder if there are dark shadows there. “Are you okay, after last night?”
He means the dream. He said, It was everything you’ve been feeling over the past few days rising to the surface, that’s all , and he was right. It was, of course, mainly the dive that triggered it, but it was also the news about Mum and Dad breaking up, and her moving to Australia and taking Olivia and Rory with her.
I turn my head and kiss his hand. “I’m okay.”
He lowers it, and we walk back to the kitchen.
“I had a message from Olivia last night,” I admit. “She says Rory had been upset all day. I don’t think that helped.”
“It’s really shaken you up, hasn’t it?”
I sit back at the breakfast bar and continue eating my toast. “Yeah.”
“There were no signs of it happening? You said they’d been arguing a lot lately.”
“Yeah… they always have done, though, and they’ve been together twenty-five years. I just assumed they always would be. Mum’s fifty-one this year. Dad’s fifty-four. It must be so hard to start all over again at that age. Is it really easier to get divorced?”
“There’s no point in staying with someone if you’re not happy.”
“I get that.” I pick at my toast morosely. “When Dad was out of the room, I said to Mum, ‘You’ve invested all that time in each other, isn’t it a waste to end it now?’ And she said, ‘I don’t love him anymore, Zo.’ I said that after twenty-five years you can’t expect to feel the same way about someone that you felt in the beginning. And she said, ‘I don’t want to live the rest of my life without being loved.’”
“That’s fair enough,” he says gently.
“So if it’s all going to go downhill anyway, why even start a relationship?” I’m conscious that I sound bitter, but I can’t help myself. “Isn’t it easier to save yourself all that heartache?”
“It doesn’t have to end like that. My parents are still in love, even after thirty years of marriage. Anyway, fear of failure isn’t enough of a reason not to do something.”
I poke my tongue out at him. He gives a short laugh.
“I’m going to have a shower,” I say, and finish off my coffee.
“All right. I’ll start loading the car.”
By the time I come out, washed and changed, he’s packed the car with the picnic hamper, towels, and a bag containing a flask of coffee, sun lotion, and other bits and pieces we might need during the day.
I bring my backpack with a change of clothing and throw it into the back, and then we lock up the villa and set out for the marina.
“Beautiful day for it,” I say. The rising sun is a bright lemon-yellow, already carrying quite a bit of heat in it.
“There might be a storm this evening,” he replies, taking the turning for the cruising club and heading down the steep hill. “But we should be all right for most of the day.”
“Well, we have enough food to last us if we get shipwrecked for a fortnight,” I joke, and he grins.
He parks in the car park by the marina, and together we carry the items from the car to The Codfather.
“Who came up with the name?” I ask.
“I think it was Clive. I suggested the Marlin Monroe, but I got voted down.”
I snort, and he chuckles and starts doing his safety checks.
I make sure everything’s stowed safely, and before long he declares he’s happy and ready to go. We cast off, and soon we’re heading up the Kerikeri Inlet toward the open sea.
“Where are we going today?” I ask him, joining him at the helm.
“I thought we’d head out to Waewaetorea Island. It’s got a white sandy beach and it’s fantastic for swimming and snorkeling.”
“It sounds great.”
He holds up his arm. I move closer to him and slide my arms around his waist, and he lowers his arm and gives me a hug. “We’ll have a fun day,” he says, “and blow away all the cobwebs from last night, okay?”
“Yeah.” I feel a surge of happiness. It’s a shame not to be diving today, but he’s right—one more day of rest will be good for me. I’m sure that when we dive tomorrow, I’ll be feeling much better.