Noah was constantly trying to woo Gia with other options, but so far, she was not interested. Mer had found some slippers that looked like Oscar’s siblings, and Gia liked those too—Oscar didn’t—which wasn’t much better. So with a pair of stretchy cotton pants splashed with puppies, a matching sweater featuring the mama dog, the pink snow boots, and a fur-lined cloak that looked fit for the opera, Noah and Gia paid a visit to Montlake.
At reception, Noah greeted Char, who cooed and complimented Gia on her fancy clothes, but he bypassed everyone and everything else but the lab on the first floor. His visit was personal, and he knew that Ronnie Claridge, who ran the lab, would realize in an instant what he was up to, but there was no way around it.
Gia didn’t like Ronnie’s scrubs or the gloves on his hands. She’d just had her shots and she wasn’t excited about the prospect of more. She immediately went into flight mode, and Noah got right to the point before things escalated.
“Ronnie, I took Gia for her two-year checkup a couple of weeks ago.”
“Okay,” Ronnie nodded. He and Noah had been friendly from the first day, and he clearly wasn’t uncomfortable doing him a favor.
“When her pediatrician was reading through her file with me, she mentioned Gia’s Rh incompatibility with my late wife. My wife’s blood type was 0 negative.”
Ronnie continued to nod. “So they kept an eye on her?”
“Yeah. No problems during pregnancy,” Noah said. His stomach was churning.
“She hadn’t been sensitized,” Ronnie supplied.
“From what I understand. But they still tested Gia’s blood type when she was born.”
“Standard when mother is negative, and father is positive,” Ronnie agreed.
“Right. Apparently, Gia is A Positive.”
“Okay.”
“I just need to verify if that’s true,” Noah finished quietly.
Ronnie stared at him, puzzled.
“We can test her blood type here, can’t we, Ronnie?” Noah asked.
“Sure . . . I can do that.”
“Will you test me too, just so Gia isn’t scared?”
“I don’t understand, Noah.”
“My wife was O Negative, Ronnie.”
“Okay . . .”
“I’m O Positive.”
Ronnie eyed him for a moment, realization dawning. “Okay, Doc.”
For all the trouble it was to get Gia to wear shoes, she wasn’t excited about parting with her boots so Ronnie could prick her heel. But Ronnie was skilled, and he had what he needed before Gia registered that she was “injured.” Plus, she couldn’t see the welling drop on the bottom of her foot. Noah slapped a Band-Aid on her heel and pulled her boot back into place, keeping up a steady conversation about ice cream and a trip to Hogle Zoo to see the monkeys when they were through. He hated the zoo, but Gia loved it, so they went often. Season passes and a good stroller made it bearable. The fact that it was five minutes from his house helped too.
Noah offered up his own finger, and Ronnie worked quickly and quietly, his eyes on the droplets.
It took less than five minutes to confirm that Gia was not Noah’s biological daughter.
Ronnie was stunned. Embarrassed. Compassionate. But Noah was calm. Acceptance was like that.
“You’re sure your wife was O Negative?” Ronnie murmured.
“That’s what Gia’s file said. That’s what a test in health class, freshman year, confirmed. I saw the results with my own eyes.”
“What are you going to do?” Ronnie whispered, his empathy and friendship stripping away all pretense.
“Go zoo!” Gia cheered. Noah laughed. The sound was a little choked, but he laughed, and Ronnie smiled too.
“That’s what we’re going to do, Ronnie. We’re going to the zoo,” Noah said.
“Doc?” Ronnie ventured.
“Yeah?” Noah responded.
“I was adopted. Blood’s important. But to a kid, blood means nothing.”
“I know, Ronnie. That’s what I keep telling myself,” Noah whispered.
Gia and Noah spent the rest of the day—a day that ended up holding more sunshine than showers—visiting the giraffes and the elephants, the kangaroos and the koalas. They stood outside the monkey enclosure, calling and whooping and doing the monkey dance. They strolled slowly past the snakes and the lizards so Gia could growl and hiss at them, half-terrified, half-entranced. They ate corn dogs and stayed too long, but for once Noah didn’t mind. The animals had no quarrels or cares. They didn’t worry about who they were, where they came from, or what tomorrow would bring, and Noah pledged to do the same.
When all the hurt and the betrayal was stripped away, nothing had changed. His love for Gia was unaltered, her dependence on him was just as great, and in the end, just like Ronnie said, love mattered a whole lot more than blood.
* * *
Mercedes was always moving. You would think someone like that would be hard to be around. But Mer wasn’t. She wasn’t jittery, and she didn’t pace or pick at things. She was just always doing. She didn’t walk fast—she sauntered—but she never sat down. Noah watched her walk through the salon, sky-high heels, hair slicked back from her beautiful face into that long, sleek, ponytail that very few women could pull off. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but he took note of her dewy lips, her perfect skin, her dark eyes, and her long lashes. She said they were fake, but they’d been just as long when she was ten years old.
Wherever he looked, the salon reflected her influence. Maven didn’t have that new-agey, goth feel like a stereotypical salon. It reminded Noah of lemons in a brown, wicker basket. It was bright, with dark wood floors, buttery walls, and white trim. It even smelled like fruit, like a veranda on a pineapple plantation, complete with icy beverages and soft, ocean breezes. Everywhere you looked it was pristine and bright, no loud, pulsing music or even Zen mandolins. The music wasn’t actually music at all. It was white noise—waves and seagulls and the occasional distant laughter, like kids on a beach. It was nice.
Noah knew if he asked her to, Mercedes would cut his hair at his kitchen table like she’d done the first few months after Cora died. But for some reason, today he needed the salon around him. He needed the safety of eyes and ears. He hadn’t seen her since the weekend. Since she’d forced him into the shower. Since he’d kissed her mouth and removed her clothes and had sex with her against the tile wall.
He’d thought about going somewhere else, to the barbershop with the old-fashioned pole just across the street from Montlake. It would have been easier, just this once. But that would wound her. Avoiding her would break her heart. And Noah had no wish to hurt Mercedes. The thought of causing her pain made his heart twist and his arms tighten around Gia, who was asleep against his chest. He could feel a little wet spot where she’d drooled on his shirt.
Mer wasn’t easily intimidated, but he saw her shoulders stiffen and the slight double-take when she saw him standing just inside the front door, Gia in his arms. She wore nude heels that made her slim legs look longer, even though the only thing that was “long” on Mer was her hair. Her snug, khaki skirt matched her shoes, and a fitted, white, button-down shirt was tucked into the high waistband. Gold hoops and a slim, gold necklace with a cross, framed by her creamy skin, completed the outfit. The bottom of her shoes, her nails, and her lips were red, and he was guessing her toenails were too. They’d been red on Sunday.
“Today’s been crazy. I lost track of time, and I totally forgot today was our day. Go back to the sinks and pick a chair. I’ll be with you in five,” she said softly, meeting his gaze head-on. “If Gia wakes up, I’ll have one of the girls take her and give her a snack.”
He nodded and obeyed, walking to the row of inclining chairs and easing himself into one. Gia didn’t move at all. Noah caught the lingering gazes of several stylists, including that obnoxious Keegan—Gia had that effect wherever she went—and waited for Mer to arrive. He closed his eyes for half a second, and was surprised when he felt her hands in his hair and liquid heat on his scalp. He kept his eyes closed, letting her take care of him, the way she always had.
She smelled good. Always. Morning, noon, and night. After work, before work, the middle of the night. Sweet and warm with a hint of spice that was uniquely hers. And it made Noah uncomfortable. Even before Sunday, it had made him uncomfortable.
In the last few months, he’d begun to notice things he already knew. He’d known Mercedes for most of his life, and he’d watched her become the adult version of his childhood friend. In that respect, there wasn’t much about her that was new. But suddenly he was seeing things that he’d once studiously ignored.
Mercedes’s skin had always been her best feature. Clear and unblemished and smoky, like a spoonful of coffee in half a cup of cream. When he was with her, he ached to touch it. He wanted to run a finger over her cheeks and across her hands, down her slim neck and behind her ear. He wanted to rub his thumb along the high arch of her small foot and continue up her calf to the smooth skin at the back of her knees. That made him uncomfortable too.
Mercedes didn’t need to wear make-up, but she always did. There were times growing up when she’d worn too much, though with Mer it never seemed like she was attempting to wear a disguise. She was practicing. Experimenting. Learning. He’d let her cut his hair once at sixteen, and resolved to never let her do it again. When she came back two months later, asking for another try, he’d succumbed, and she’d succeeded.
She’d been cutting his hair—minus his stints in boot camp, Kuwait, and Afghanistan—ever since. It was the time they caught up with each other. Their worlds could be running in opposite directions, but they always made time for a haircut. Then they would talk nonstop, trying to catch up in the thirty minutes, once a month, they spent together. Mercedes had spent more time with Cora after they married. They went to lunch and hit the gym together. He joined them sometimes, though he would rather run around the University of Utah campus than do yoga.
Mer said yoga was relaxing as long as you shut your eyes; otherwise, yoga class was just asses in your face, which was not especially calming. When Noah had fallen in love with Cora, he’d made a mental note not to consciously appreciate other women’s asses. It wasn’t especially hard. He saw a nice ass, he looked away and thought about his wife. Mer had an exceptionally nice ass—another thing he’d noticed—and it hurt to think about his wife, so what was he supposed to do now? He opened his eyes, needing to change his train of thought, and found Mer’s face above his.
“I thought you were asleep,” she murmured.
“I was. For a minute.”
“I can’t imagine why. Today is Friday . . . which means you haven’t slept since when, Wednesday night?” She smirked and quirked one perfectly-groomed eyebrow.