When he pressed his lips to hers, his mouth was warm, soft, confident . . . and her physical form turned to flame.
She tasted him. Smelled his spicy scent. Felt his hands sliding into her hair. Confound it. Kissing him was like standing, exhilarated, at the edge of Niagara Falls. Hearing the roar. Letting the emotions shake through you.
Opulent minutes spun, one into the next.
No wonder women behaved foolishly over men! This was splendid and humbling. She’d been so smug about her good, safe decisions when it came to the opposite sex. But that was before she’d experienced for herself the mighty temptation a man could present.
“Will you,” he said when they pulled slightly apart, “meet me for another non-date?” His voice sounded gravelly.
Her lips tingled. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to kiss him more. And not so that she could enlarge her data set of interactions with men. Because of how he made her feel.
He kissed the inside of her wrist, then drew it up and behind his neck. “Please?”
“You’re a hard man to say no to.”
“So I’ve been told.”
A sound of amusement escaped her. “Fine. I’ll meet you for another non-date.”
His lips met hers again. Demanding and raw. Intimate and tender.
Kissing Sebastian consumed her consciousness and forced her to live so fully in the present that every one of her concerns dropped away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A tentative knock sounded on Leah’s classroom door the next morning.
Leah straightened from the stack of quizzes she’d been grading. “Come in.”
Claire Dobney shuffled forward for their scheduled tutoring session wearing a voluminous sweater, this one in shades of beige. Black leggings and Converse that had seen better days completed the outfit.
Shortly after Leah learned about the stress the teenager was under at home, she’d suggested Claire meet her for math tutoring twice a week during Leah’s planning period, which was also Claire’s advisory period.
Leah waved her to the chair nearest her desk. “How are you?”
“Okay.”
Leah had learned from Claire that she was the oldest of four. Her sister Becca was in middle school. Her brother Mason was in fourth grade. Her sister Annie was in first.
Leah’s role as Dylan’s older sister had sculpted her character. She’d never forget how protective she’d felt toward her brother when her parents were fighting, so she knew what it was to harbor anxiety not just for your own well-being but, much harder to bear, for the well-being of a sibling.
“Have things improved at home?” Leah asked.
“No.”
Claire’s answer supported Leah’s own suspicions. She’d been keeping an eye on the girl, who seemed even jumpier and wearier lately. “Is your dad physically abusive toward your mom?”
Claire looked down at her knees, where she clasped her math binder and textbook with both hands.
“Please know,” Leah said, “that you can tell me the truth. My shoulders are strong enough to carry it.”
“No, he hasn’t been physically abusive, but I’m worried he’ll get that way soon.”
“Because?”
“Well . . . he’s always had a temper, but it’s gotten worse the last few months. He’s mad a lot, so then Mom gets mad, too. He’s been throwing things, breaking things.”
“Any idea what caused this change?”
“I think things have been bad for him at work.”
“I’m really sorry, Claire.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.”
“I know you’ve continued to meet with Ms. Williams.” Leah had been in communication with the school counselor about Claire. “Has that been helpful?”
Claire shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Do you have reservations about talking with her?”
“She’s nice . . . for sure. I just don’t know her well, so it feels really weird to tell her stuff.”
Worry circled within Leah because her intuition was telling her that Claire needed to be confiding in trustworthy adults. “How about you add my number to your contacts? If you ever need to call me—to come and get you or for any other reason—please do.” Though she was sixteen, Claire didn’t yet have her driver’s license.
“Thank you, Ms. Montgomery.”
Later that day, en route to her car after work, Leah checked her phone and saw that an unfamiliar number had left a voice mail for her. She retrieved it and listened as she walked to a loud and husky female voice say, “This is Joyce Caffarella calling. I just now saw that you sent me a message a while back on LinkedIn saying that you were born at Magnolia Avenue Hospital during the years when I worked there.”
Leah’s forward movement came to a swift stop.
“Here’s hoping you weren’t one of the babies that I dropped on their heads.” Scratchy laughter burst from Joyce. “Just kidding. I didn’t drop any on their heads. Well, not many anyway.” She chuckled. “You left your phone number and invited me to call so I’m doing just that. Sorry I missed you. Feel free to call me back at this number.”
One of the nurses who’d cared for her as a newborn had called her!
The other two nurses, Bonnie and Tracy, had remained elusive. Leah’s continued attempts to locate Bonnie online had failed. Tracy hadn’t responded to her Facebook message.
Joyce Caffarella. Joyce was the one with the solid frame and the spiky platinum hair. Had she been fresh out of nursing school the year she’d started the first job she’d listed on LinkedIn, her age would now be hovering just above sixty.
Leah slung the messenger bag filled with work that needed grading into her Honda, then headed home. Dylan was still at practice, which meant she could place a return call in private.
Once she’d dumped her things on the kitchen counter, she took a few moments to gather herself and whisper a prayer. Gazing out the sliding doors that led to her back patio, she connected a call to Joyce.
Joyce answered almost instantly. Leah introduced herself and spent a few moments exchanging pleasantries with the outgoing older woman. There was no easy way to segue from thanks for taking the time to return my call to I was switched at birth on your watch, but Leah managed to convey the basics of her story.
“What?” Joyce squawked. “No kidding?”
“No kidding.”
“I’ve heard switched-at-birth stories, of course, but that type of a mistake is actually really, really uncommon. It’s blowing my mind to think that this happened to you during one of my shifts.”
“It’s true that cases like mine are extremely rare, but maybe not quite as rare as we thought a few years ago. Then, no one could easily test their DNA, so an unknown number of cases likely went undiscovered. Now we can inexpensively submit our DNA to a lab. I’ve watched interviews of two other people who discovered they were switched at birth the same way that I did.”
“Jiminy Cricket!” Joyce made a whoeee sound. “You said you were born twenty-eight years ago?”
“Yes, I turned twenty-eight this past February. By chance, do you remember anything about me? Or my parents, Erica and Todd Montgomery? Or my biological mother and father, Trina and Jonathan Brookside?”