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“That’s what girlfriends are for.”
“I wish I could reciprocate.”
Oliver massaged her toes. “Wishing is as close as you’ll get because I have ticklish feet. They don’t smell so nice either. Besides, your mission today is to rest. You’ve had quite the ordeal.”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you on Monday,” said Georgie.
“Do you think jet lag triggered this one? Or the red wine from Sunday night?”
“Both, maybe? It’s never one thing, and triggers are everywhere. Strobing lights, certain foods, strong scents. The perfume counter in The Bay is a total no-go for me.” Georgie scratched Waffles behind the ear and swore that he smiled. “With this one, being on holiday probably contributed. If I’m stressed to the gills at work then have a day off—BAM, migraine attack.” Worrying about the moving discussion probably didn’t help either. She paused for a beat. “Sorry I knocked over Rafferty’s flowers when we came in.”
“Ah, it’s all right. I’m not a fan of roses anyway.” He kneaded the arch of her foot. “Must be scary as hell when you can’t see. What do you do when an attack happens at hockey?”
“I stay seated, put in ear plugs, and close my eyes until the blindness dissipates.”
“I imagine leaving in a rush would be precarious,” said Oliver, pressing his thumbs firmly into the sole of her heel.
She let out a blissful whimper as Waffles nuzzled in, resting his chin on her hip. “Yeah, one misstep and I could tumble down the stairs or get snagged in the escalator’s teeth. Best to play it safe.
“It’s one of the reasons why I don’t travel, fear of having an attack when I’m alone and far from home. I wasn’t going to let it stop me with Vimy, though. That trip’s significance for my students was much larger than my silly fear.”
“It’s not silly, Georgie.”
“Feels like it is sometimes.”
Bending over, Oliver met the top of her foot with the soft perfection of his lips. She closed her eyes, revelling in his unconditional affection, and ran a hand through her messy hair, which was greasy and tangled. A groan escaped her grimace. “I feel gross.”
“Your stomach?”
Georgie blinked and opened her eyes. “No, my hair. I last washed it four days ago, the day we flew.”
“I could wash it for you.”
She shot him a droll look. “I know I said I’d love to shower with you, but I’m in no state for all the sexy favours I’d like to do for you.”
Oliver laughed. “I’m definitely looking forward to that, but how ’bout you just let me help? No ulterior motives, I promise, just clean hair.”
She dissolved into a grateful smile. “Okay.”
* * *
The walk to the bathroom left Georgie lightheaded and holding her throbbing temple, so she sat on the closed toilet seat while Oliver got everything ready. He collected fresh towels and a plastic shower chair—a holdover from his broken ankle—rolled up the sleeves of his light grey Henley, and ran the faucet, testing the water with his hand until it reached a comfortable temperature.
“Ready?” he asked, as Waffles nudged the bathroom door open with his long nose.
With a languid nod, Georgie raised her arms, and Oliver lifted his baggy INXS concert t-shirt over her head, her exposed skin pebbling with goosebumps. She rose gingerly to her feet and eased her underwear down her thighs, the purple cotton pooling on her feet.
Oliver offered his hand for support. “Take your time.”
She wrapped her fingers around his and stepped one foot then the other over the side of the tub. The water, warm and soothing, licked her ankles as she sat on the sturdy plastic chair.
Oliver kissed the top of her head. “Temperature okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Georgie scrunched her toes in the water, relishing how good it felt. As he organized bottles of shampoo and body wash, her gaze meandered to the recessed wall niche above the sink where a lush spider plant thrived, thanks to Oliver living half a world away. She smiled to herself.
“How about shower first, then hair?” he asked. “That way you won’t be sat with wet hair the entire time, getting a chill.”
“Sure.” Georgie gestured toward the sink. “My scrunchie’s over there.”
