Sebastian did indeed follow through.
He’d texted Leah to ask if the day and time of the appointment he’d scheduled with the hospital administrator would work for her. When she’d said that it would, he’d suggested they meet immediately beforehand at Magnolia Perk, the hospital’s first-floor coffee shop.
Leah had concurred.
Her phone had predicted that it would take her one hour and thirty-eight minutes to drive from her house to Magnolia Avenue Hospital. Doused in mistrust in response to that estimate, she’d left herself a huge cushion of time and arrived twenty-seven minutes ahead of their eleven o’clock meeting. The sun had wrestled with grumbling gray clouds during her drive, but as she gazed out through the hospital’s foyer windows, she noted that it was now, strangely, both bright and drizzly.
She sat at one of the coffee shop’s square two-seater tables, absently drinking the chai tea latte she’d ordered. End of semester finals had concluded the day before last. Yesterday had been a teacher workday. And today was the momentous first day of her summer break. However, vacation ease had yet to arrive because she’d been too busy girding herself mentally for today’s potentially confrontational interaction with the hospital.
Sebastian Grant strode into view, walking purposefully from the parking lot toward the entrance doors, looking for all the world like a man unfettered by anyone else’s opinion of him.
She checked her watch. He was twenty minutes early.
He wore his dark hair cut short and stylishly. His white dress shirt was tucked into an exquisite pair of charcoal suit pants. Black wingtips and a simple black belt completed the look.
Based on his attire, he’d obviously made time in his workday to meet her here. Hopefully no babies with congenital heart defects were having to wait on him while he assisted her with this non-life-threatening pursuit.
He entered, his chin swinging in the direction of Magnolia Perk. She lifted a hand in greeting. He closed the distance, his charisma imposing.
She’d made the right choice when she’d opted to dress up for their appointment in a collared white blouse marked with rows of tiny purple and blue dots, a pencil skirt, and her best pair of heels.
He took the seat opposite hers, instantly dwarfing the table. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
His gaze was intent but not cold. In fact, it warmed her because it communicated resolution. Sturdiness.
“Would you like something from the coffee shop?” she asked. “My treat.”
“Thank you, but no. I’m fine.” He continued to study her. “How are you?”
“I’m well. I’ll be better and better over the coming days, now that the school year’s ended. That takes a lot off my plate.”
“Ben tells me you’re a math genius.”
She laughed at the unexpectedness of his statement.
“I was mediocre at math,” he said.
“I strongly doubt that you were mediocre at anything. Ben tells me that you’re a medical genius.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Harvard Medical School,” she said. “A fellowship at Duke University. Another fellowship at Boston Children’s Hospital. Then a job at Beckett Memorial here in Atlanta.”
“You’ve studied me?” he asked.
“I didn’t become a math genius by shirking homework.”
He chuckled. “So you admit that you’re a math genius.”
“That’s debatable.”
“You graduated from the Program for the Exceptionally Gifted at Clemmons. Received a PhD offer to Princeton. Achieved a master’s degree.”
“I assume you know that I declined the offer to Princeton?”
“I do, but I’m not sure I understand why. Didn’t they offer you a stipend?”
Her lips curved with amusement. “Some people might find that question to be nosy.”
“Do you find it to be nosy?”
“As it happens, no. The elaborate dance of social niceties is confusing to me. Not to mention, a waste of time. I appreciate it when people speak to me very directly.”
“So do I.”
“To answer your question, I was offered a stipend. But even if I could have supported my brother and myself on that amount and figured out a way to squeeze my studies around the priority of raising Dylan, I couldn’t have ripped him away from his home, his therapist, his school, and his friends in order to drag him halfway across the country. He was traumatized enough as it was after my mom left.”
“Do you still plan to get your PhD?”
“Yes. I’ve dreamed of becoming a university professor since I was seven years old.”
“Have you started coursework?”
“Not yet. Years ago, I decided to postpone additional graduate work until after Dylan goes to college.” She inclined her head toward Sebastian. “You certainly didn’t postpone any of your graduate work. You became a full-fledged surgeon a year ago at the age of thirty-one.”
“Yes.”
“Even though most doctors don’t become pediatric heart surgeons until thirty-five or thirty-six.”
“How many surgeries have you performed in the past year?”
“Three hundred and thirteen. I don’t receive as many referrals as the others, but I’m on call more than they are. I take all the patients that come in during my on-call hours.”
“How many of those three hundred and thirteen survived?”
“All but five.”
She couldn’t fathom carrying five deceased children around on her conscience. Yet he’d saved three hundred and eight. “That equals a mortality rate of approximately one and a half percent.” She made a mental note to research the topic further, but she guessed that a one and a half percent mortality rate for a first-year congenital heart surgeon who operated on very sick, very young patients was excellent. “How many of those didn’t make it because of a physiological problem beyond your control?”
“Three. The other two had postoperative issues, potentially related to how long they were on the pump. Still, I take responsibility for those two because there may have been a technical issue with my work.”
Somehow, she doubted it. She sipped her chai tea and tasted cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg. “The homework you did on me makes me sound very dull. I feel compelled to mention that I’m more interesting and well-rounded than I sound on paper.”
“Oh?” Humor flavored the sound. “How so?”
“I love hiking and planning road trips on a shoestring budget. I occasionally compete in chess tournaments for fun. I’m rebellious because my teachers used to warn me that I needed to learn to do math in my head because I wouldn’t be able to carry a calculator around with me once I became an adult.” She reached into her purse and lifted her graphing calculator just high enough for him to see before dropping it back into the confines and straightening. “Joke’s on them. Now you go.”
“I watch soccer and movies. I’m a fan of anything related to aviation. I spend a lot of my free time with the Coleman family. I’m excellent at killing houseplants. I like to mow my lawn, and I listen to Sinatra because, obviously, he produced the best music ever.”
The entire conversation was taking place at a very fast pace, akin to a ball being walloped back and forth across a tennis court. “Interesting assertion,” she said. “I contend that the 1980s produced the best music ever.”
“Wrong.”
“Musical preferences are a matter of taste, Sebastian. One genre’s superiority over another cannot be proved.”
He shifted in his chair, setting a forearm on the table. His surgeon’s hands were large with short, clean nails and blunt fingertips. Even though relaxed, his fingers communicated proficiency.
After a long moment, he spoke. “You asked me over the phone if I’d keep your information confidential. I told you I would. Now I’m wondering if you’ll keep what I’m about to say confidential.”
“Of course.”
“Because this will get me in trouble with Ben if he finds out.”
She angled her head. “Oh?”
“He’d like to go out with you.”
Her eyebrows steepled.
“I want to put in a good word for him,” he continued. “He’s like a brother to me . . . one of the best people I know.”
She held herself still even though she was flailing around like a drowning swimmer on the inside. “Ben wants to go out with me?”
“Yes.”
“Ben is romantically interested in me?”
“Yes. You didn’t know?”
“No. I . . . don’t always pick up on undercurrents that other people understand intuitively.”
“Ah.”
“I happen to agree with your assessment of Ben. He’s an outstanding person. Stellar.”
“He really is. Will you consider giving him a chance?”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “No.”
“No?”
“Nothing against Ben, but I have no interest in dating anyone. I don’t do romance.”
“You don’t do romance?” he repeated.
“No. I’ve never aspired to a dating relationship and certainly not to marriage.”
“Can we back this train up?” He pondered her the way he might ponder a complex X-ray. “Why don’t you do romance?”
“In order to explain, I’ll have to back this train way up. All the way to my childhood.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re really interested in this?”
“I promise you that I am. You told me you prefer for people to speak directly. You can trust me to do just that.”
“Well . . .” She sniffed, then rested her hands in her lap. “When all the other little girls were drawing pictures of families, with mothers and fathers and children, I was drawing pictures of myself surrounded by math equations. I know that most people envision romantic relationships as part of their future, but I never did.”
“Why is that?”
“Several reasons. The first was environmental.”
“Explain.”
“My parents’ marriage was . . . deplorable. It in no way sweetened me toward the institution.”
“Understandable.”
On top of that, during her middle school years, no boy had displayed a shred of romantic interest in her. Back then, not only had she been socially awkward, she’d also worn glasses and possessed a nose that was too large for her face. “I attended an all-girls school, which was glorious because, for the first time, I was surrounded by friends with whom I had much in common. There were no boys present, however, so I certainly wasn’t tempted to try dating during my teenage years.”
The peaceful environment at Clemmons had poured Miracle-Gro on her confidence. There, her roommate had invited Leah to church and Leah had, for the first time, met God. She’d placed her faith in Him. In response, the unconditional love she’d spent her life craving had poured through her. God’s grace had revolutionized her soul.
“And after you graduated from Clemmons?” he asked.
“Almost all the men I met were coworkers, and I was too young for them.” It had come as a great surprise to her when a few of her colleagues had asked her out. By then, she’d traded her glasses for contacts. Her other features had grown so that her nose had come into proportion. She’d entrusted herself to a skilled hair stylist and learned how to shop for clothing that complemented her. While it had been pleasant to discover that she no longer repelled men, that revelation had not converted to real-world application. “Besides, Dylan consumed my time. Whatever was left went to my master’s program.” She shrugged. “I seem to be missing the attraction gene.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the women I know swoon with attraction over men. I do not.”
Except . . . just as the words I do not left her mouth, she did experience a bout of physical attraction. A very real, warm tug of longing in response to Sebastian Grant.
Chills of delight—or maybe horror—slid along her arms.
Confound it!
What in the world was happening?
This felt like a pleasurable menstrual cramp even though the relationship between cramp and pleasurable was a non sequitur.
“I see,” he said.
A blush glided up her cheeks. She neutralized it by drawing in air and common sense. Romance and marriage were not for her. The sentimentality of it all! The bad choices, the weakness, the flawed thinking that women in love displayed!
She had God, and years ago she’d resolved that He was quite enough, thank you very much. Ever since, she’d worn her countercultural disinterest in a spouse like a badge of honor. “Number theory thrills me, but romance does not. I’ve found contentment in my long-standing relationship with Han Solo.”
“You’re a Han Solo fan?”
“Very much so.” She woke her phone to show him the Han Solo photo she’d set as her background image.
“Your name is Leah, so how could you not like him?”
“Naturally. Princess Leia and I don’t spell or pronounce our name the same way, but we both have a weakness for scoundrels.” She angled the phone back toward herself and saw that just five minutes remained before their meeting. “Shall we?” She gestured toward the bank of elevators.
He nodded.
She tossed her cup in the trash as they crossed the lobby.
Once inside the elevator with an old man and young woman in scrubs, Sebastian punched eight and up they went.
“Han Solo is clearly the best character in the Star Wars galaxy,” Sebastian commented.
“Clearly.”
“Luke was too wholesome.”
“Too wholesome,” she agreed.
They exited on their floor and entered a suite of offices. The receptionist invited them to sit and informed them that Donna McKelvey, hospital administrator, would be with them shortly.
They sat.
Despite the high stakes of the coming meeting, Leah found it difficult to focus her thoughts on anything other than Sebastian’s nearness. Muscle laced his frame. She caught an intriguing whiff of cedar and citrus-scented soap. “Will you communicate my position on romance to Ben?” she asked, her voice pitched low.
“I don’t know how I can without revealing that I’ve talked to you about your dating life.”
“An excellent point. However, I would hate for him to put his dating life on hold on my account, seeing as how I’m not a viable option.”
“I think you should explain your position to him.”
“Without provocation? He’s never asked me out. It would read as presumptuous, would it not, if I suddenly announced my dating policy to him, absent of cause?”
“Have you considered the possibility, Leah, that you simply haven’t dated the right man yet?”
“Ms. Montgomery and Dr. Grant?” the receptionist said.
They rose, and the woman led them to Donna McKelvey’s corner office, which was no doubt the envy of her co-workers. The sky backlit her tall leather desk chair like a sunrise behind a throne.
Donna greeted them with firm handshakes. She wore a suit jacket, a red silk top, and a scarf patterned with red, white, yellow, and orange. Likely in her mid- to late-fifties, Donna had a stocky build, a pleasantly angular face, and a dark blond power bob. Had she been auditioning for the role of First Lady, Leah would have cast her at once.
They started with small talk, during which Donna interacted with Sebastian in a way that indicated that she’d like, very much, to poach him from Beckett Memorial.
Sebastian cut to the heart of the matter once they took their seats. “We scheduled this meeting today,” he told Donna, “because Leah was born here.”
The older woman turned an expectant look on Leah.
“I recently submitted my DNA for testing in order to gain insight into my genealogy,” Leah explained. “I learned that I’m not the biological daughter of either of my parents. I think that I was switched at birth here twenty-eight years ago.”
Donna’s smile slipped.
“Here’s the data I collected.” Leah removed a large envelope from her purse. Inside, she’d placed copies of all the relevant documents and DNA tests. She set the envelope on Donna’s desk.
“Occasionally, adoptive parents don’t inform their children that they’re adopted,” Donna said.
“That may be, but that’s not what happened in my situation,” Leah replied. “I called my mother after receiving the DNA test results. She’s always believed me to be her biological daughter. She was so certain the test was faulty that she encouraged me to take it again. Which I did. And now I’m here.”
Donna probably hadn’t been affiliated with this hospital at the time of Leah’s birth, so the fact that Leah had been given to the Montgomery family couldn’t reflect poorly on Donna personally. Yet it could reflect very poorly on the hospital as a whole—of which Donna was now the head.
“As you’ll see, my birth certificate shows that I was born to Erica and Todd Montgomery, the two people who raised me.” She relayed the events surrounding her mom’s labor and delivery.
Donna extracted the documents from the envelope and examined them. “Nowadays we take extreme precautions to make sure that this doesn’t happen.”
Donna’s statement implied that at the time of Leah’s birth, precautions may not have been quite so extreme.
Sebastian remained silent, intensity flowing from him.
As soon as Donna set down the papers, Leah spoke. “I’d like access to the hospital records concerning my birth. Are those records still in existence?”
“They are.”
Relief relaxed Leah’s spine.
“We keep old records off-site with a data management company,” Donna said. “We’ll simply need for you to fill out a records request form and for your mother to sign a waiver. A few days later we can have them here for you. You’re welcome to look at the original documents. Or we can provide print copies or copies in an electronic format.”
“I’d also like to examine the records of the other baby girls born on my birthday so that I can figure out who my biological parents are.”
Donna mounded her hands on top of her desk—a relaxed posture. However, white rimmed the edges of her fingertips, which informed Leah that her hands were exerting pressure. “That, I cannot do. You’ll understand that our patients’ records are kept in strictest privacy.”
“Of course,” Sebastian replied smoothly. “And you’ll understand that in sending two children home with the wrong parents, a negligent act was committed. If we return with a court order granting us access to the records, will you allow us to view them?”
“Should you return with a court order, I’ll be more than glad to cooperate with you as fully as the law permits.” Her attention settled on Leah. “However, it’s extremely unlikely that a judge will release the records of every baby girl born on your birthday. HIPAA laws are stringent. Almost certainly, you’ll have to show the judge why you believe yourself to be the biological daughter of, for example, John and Jane Doe. If you make a compelling case, the judge may release to you the records of only Baby Girl Doe, born here on your birth date.”
“I see.” Leah possessed a single clue regarding the identity of her birth parents: the list of DNA matches YourHeritage had provided. If she did some detective work on the site using the family trees her biological relations had made public, adding logic and a process of elimination . . . she might be able to deduce her parents’ surname.
“I’m very sorry that this happened to you,” Donna said. “I can only imagine how upsetting this has been.”
“Thank you.” She pegged Donna as smart, principled, decent. Whether those qualities would prove true remained to be seen.
What didn’t remain to be seen? Sebastian’s status as a powerful ally. He was more than a match for Donna, or, she’d guess, just about anyone. His hands were laced together in his lap. But no telltale white pressure marks marred his fingertips.
It was dark by the time Sebastian returned home that night. Starving, he stuck the premade dinner his meal service had left for him into the microwave, then stared at the light behind the appliance’s see-through door.
Like a tugboat, his mind pulled him to Leah.
He’d been starstruck, sitting across the table from her this morning. He wasn’t someone who got starstruck. But he couldn’t think of a better word to describe the effect she had on him.
He suspected that she was the smartest person he’d ever met in his life, and he wasn’t exactly an academic slouch. Nor were his medical school classmates and teachers.
He’d found himself wishing he could get a glimpse of what was going on inside her head. In The Matrix, the characters had been able to download knowledge directly into their brains. That’s what he’d like to do with Leah . . . hook a cable from her head to his so he could import even a portion of what she knew.
He sensed she had more intelligence, more integrity, more optimism, and more compassion than he did. However, she was also crazier than he was if she believed that dating and romance weren’t for her.
He’d bet a million dollars that, with the right person, she could experience physical attraction as powerfully as any other woman. Maybe with him, she could—
That is, with Ben. Maybe with Ben she could.
The microwave dinged, and he opened the door to find that it contained nothing. No dinner.
What had he done with his food? It wasn’t sitting on any of the counters. He opened the refrigerator. Not there. Not in the freezer, either. He pulled back the pantry door and spotted it.
Instead of warming his meal as he’d intended, he’d been so distracted by Leah that he’d put it in the pantry.
Great, Sebastian. Really sharp. He sighed irritably and placed it in the microwave.
He’d guess Leah’s nerdiness had been obvious when she was younger. These days, only a shadow of it remained. He’d seen it in the candid, old-fashioned way she spoke. The way she tipped her chin up, just a little, when thinking. The way she moved her hands.
She might be a professor at heart, but she resembled a pin-up girl on the outside.
He’d been frozen in place by her striking eyes. Her hair looked like she’d ridden in a convertible with the top down, then combed her fingers through it—a style so casual that it contrasted with her very tidy clothing. There hadn’t been a single wrinkle in her shirt or skirt, and both had been modest . . . so much so they were almost fussy. Yet, strangely, he found her clothes just as sexy as her hair.
After they’d left Donna McKelvey’s office, they’d stopped at a different area of the hospital so that Leah could fill out record request forms and receive a waiver to forward to her mother.
When she’d informed him that she planned to contact an attorney in Misty River about pursuing a court order, his body had bristled. No way could he stand to the side and watch an attorney gouge Leah’s bank account. Especially because he didn’t feel he’d repaid his debt to her in full.
He’d said that his attorney friend Jenna owed him a favor. The technically true part of that was that he had an attorney named Jenna. He’d told Leah that Jenna would reach out to her soon and asked Leah to include him when she returned to the hospital. As good as Jenna was, he was the only one of the three of them who had experience with hospital administrators.
The microwave finished, and he peeled back the container’s packaging. Italian meatballs and marinara sauce over zucchini noodles. He carried the steaming food to his living room and filled his big screen with a replay of the Manchester United versus Liverpool soccer match from last season. Leaning back, he crossed his feet on the coffee table.
His apartment looked and felt like the sort of place that would go for top dollar on Airbnb. He’d hired a friend of a friend of a friend to design it for him, and she’d done a good job. The modern pieces of furniture worked fine. The building was new. He had a sixth-floor view of downtown and could walk to the hospital from here.
Even so, he didn’t like the apartment much. Nothing about it was personal.
He only felt at home in two places. Ben’s family’s house and his own house in Misty River.
Ben.
He frowned while chewing, the light of the TV screen glowing on his face. He’d texted Ben days ago to let him know he was helping Leah with issues of hospital bureaucracy. He’d texted Ben again today to say that the hospital meeting had gone well and that at least one follow-up meeting would be needed to secure the information she wanted.
Ben had answered with a brief thanks both times. Since the farmers market, Sebastian had seen Ben once, when they’d gone to a Braves game. There’d been a slight unspoken strain between them. Ben, who usually talked about Leah a lot, hadn’t mentioned her that day. Neither had Sebastian. They’d both had to work a little too hard to make things between them seem normal.
Sebastian would travel to Misty River a week from today for Ben’s parents’ fortieth anniversary dinner. He’d get their friendship back on track then. If he wasn’t going to date Leah, and he wasn’t, then the trade-off had to be a good relationship with Ben.
Watch soccer, idiot.
Sebastian liked things done a certain way. He didn’t get embarrassed, and he wasn’t afraid to anger people when necessary. He was persistent. Stubborn.
Ben liked to ask him dryly if there was anything on earth Sebastian didn’t have an opinion about. The answer was no. He had strong feelings toward everything.
Ice cream flavor? Cookies and cream.
Sport? Soccer.
Indoor temperature? Seventy-two in the summer, sixty-eight in the winter.
Practicing medicine? Nothing but excellence would do.
Problem was, he could feel all his persistence and stubbornness and strong feelings funneling in one direction.
Toward Leah Montgomery.
His ability to focus, usually an asset, was becoming a flaw.
His phone’s pager system went off. Squinting, he checked his secure messages.
A baby with blockage in all four pulmonary veins had just been delivered, and he was needed immediately.