Page 51 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

He busies himself with putting the monitor away. “But just because you can stay calm doesn’t mean you don’t experiencestress. So, the same goes for you—rest and relaxation today, please. Have some lunch, take a nap, watch some TV.”

“But we can dive tomorrow?” Zoe asks.

“I don’t see any reason why not, physically. But be kind to yourself, that’s all.” He has a few sips of tea, then gets to his feet. “I’m going to head off as I’m supposed to be meeting my kids for lunch.”

“Thank you,” Zoe says, shaking his hand.

“No worries at all. You take care of yourself.”

I stand as well and walk with him out of the room and through the living room to the front door. “Thank you so much for coming,” I say to him, shaking his hand. “I really appreciate it. Send me the bill, okay?”

He waves a hand. “I came to visit a friend.”

“She’s really okay?”

“Physically, yes. She’s pretty shaken up though.” He studies me, his eyes twinkling. “She said you saved her life.”

“I only did what any other dive buddy would have done.”

“She doesn’t see it that way,” he says softly.

I don’t know what to say to that.

His lips curve up. “Cat got your tongue, Joel?”

“I don’t want her to feel beholden to me.”

He snorts. “I’d make the most of it.”

That makes me laugh. “Have a good afternoon,” I say as I open the door.

He grins. “You too.” He gives a wave, then goes out and disappears around the corner.

I close the door and walk slowly back through the living room and into her room. “Hey,” I say, sitting back on the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed.” She rubs her nose. “He was nice, though.”

“Yeah, he’s cool.” I watch her tremble and gesture at her head. “Your hair is still wet.”

She touches it. “I forgot.”

I rise and go into her bathroom, collect the hairdryer and pick up her brush, and come back into the room. I plug the hairdryer in beside the bed and perch on the edge where Brock was just sitting. “Turn around.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Stop arguing and do as you’re told.”

Her lips twitch, but to my surprise she shifts on the bed and presents her back to me. She’s wearing a tee and yoga pants, and she looks all comfortable and soft. I have to fight not to run my hands over her.

Instead, I start to brush her hair.

I know you’re not supposed to brush hair when it’s wet as it’s prone to breaking, so I do it slowly and carefully, drawing the brush from her scalp to the ends in long strokes, stopping if I find a tangle, and teasing it out.

We don’t speak while I do it. She sits with her head tipped back a little, and at one point, when I glance at her, I can see her eyes are closed. Smiling, I take my time, smoothing my hand over the strands as I brush them.

“Why did you touch my hair when we were at the safety stop?” she asks halfway through.

I pause in the midst of brushing, then carry on. “It was floating around your head like an anemone.”

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