pure disdain. “You are if Mommy finds out.”
“Then let’s keep it our little secret.”
She made a crisscross over her heart, then undid the belt on her car seat—she was better at it than he was. He set her on the sidewalk, then grabbed her glittery pink backpack, which weighed twenty pounds because she’d crammed half her toy chest into it before they left. You never knew when you might need a plastic pony or a comb the size of a toenail.
He pushed open the glass door of the place. No one stood at the reception desk and he spotted the restroom sign, so he headed that way, Emma clacking in the wooden shoes her mother had reluctantly let her wear.
The place was bright—painted yellow and purple with jungle flowers. One side of the hallway was a photo studio behind a glass wall. Eyes of a Child was lettered in gold on the door. He glanced inside. Huge framed prints of babies, toddlers and young children were everywhere. The photos were strikingly good.
The photographer, her back to him, was snapping a close-in shot of a little boy sitting on a giant ABC block in front of a bright blue backdrop. The woman rose and turned his way. He did a double take.
It was Mel Ramirez. Mel? He’d expected she’d be in Uganda by now, taking world-stopping photos for a wire service, but here she was snapping kiddie candids. How odd.
She looked startled to see him—her eyes wide, her lips parted.
They stood, staring at each other through the glass, neither moving for long seconds. Mel. Melodía. The fired-up angel he’d spent that last weekend with. He’d pictured her a million times, dreamed her twice that. He wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming her now. “Uncle Noooo-aaaah, I want to gooooo.” Emma leaned back hard, struggling to escape his grip. He released her, his gaze still glued to Mel. He had to go in and talk to her. What the hell would he say?
CHAPTER FOUR
NOAH PUSHED THROUGH the door into the photo studio. “Mel.”
“Noah.” She smiled an uncertain smile.
He picked up her scent, that sweet peppery perfume, and was swamped by the memory of her from so long ago. They breathed at each other for a few seconds. “I didn’t realize you were in Phoenix,” she said finally.
“Just got here a week ago.”
“How are you?” She glanced at his leg, so he knew she’d noticed his limp.
“Good.” He straightened his shoulder. He tended to hunch to protect the weakened arm. “You?”
“I was sorry about what happened…what you went through over there.” She tilted her head, ready to offer sympathy, which was the last thing he wanted or needed.
He shrugged it away. “Old news.”
She blinked, as if unsure how to take that. “So…what brings you to Bright Blossoms?” She nodded at the backpack he still held.
“This? Oh, it’s not mine.” He laughed. “Neither is the little girl.”
“Of course not.” She went bright red, as if that embarrassed her.
“Emma is Paul Stockton’s daughter,” he said. “I’m staying in their guesthouse and this place was on my way to work.”
“I didn’t realize we had Paul’s daughter with us. I don’t know all the kids. Bright Blossoms is my mother’s business. So where do you work?” She glanced over at the little boy, who had left the block and was crawling across the room.
“ASU. I write for the alumni magazine right now. It’s a paycheck while I’m getting my grandmother into assisted living and clearing out her house. What about you? Did you go part-time with Arizona News Day?”
“I had to quit. Life got in the way.” She seemed to think that choice would make sense to him. Hardly. News photography had been her life. She turned to the kid, who had pushed himself upright and now teetered toward her like someone new to stilts.
She crouched down and held out her arms. “That’s the way… You can make it.” The kid made an excited sound and sped up, leaning perilously forward. Right before he took a header, Mel caught him. “Good boy!” she said, taking him into her arms, then standing to face Noah, almost as if showing him off.
“You’re still taking pictures at least,” he said, nodding at the wall shots.
“Mom had the space. I help her out here, too.”
“Oh. Sure.” She’d quit the paper to help her mother. What a shame, with her talent and ambition.
“This is Daniel,” she said, very pink in the face all of a sudden.
“Cute kid,” he said. He had curly brown hair and a big smile that showed a couple of tiny teeth, but his face was streaked with green paint, as were his clothes and hands. “You’d think his mother would clean him up for a portrait.”
She looked startled. Then something seemed to dawn on her and she took a deep breath before speaking. “That would be me. I’m his mother.”
“Oh. God. I didn’t realize. Congratulations,” he said, recovering from his shock. So that was what had gone wrong. She’d gotten pregnant, had a kid and quit her job. Her left hand, which braced the boy on her hip, had a bare ring finger, so she hadn’t married the guy.
As these thoughts raced through his head, Mel studied him, looking nervous and embarrassed. Why? It was hardly his place to judge her.
Finally she spoke. “When I got your text, I assumed you’d gotten mine.”
“Your text?” He flashed on the moment when, jumble-headed, barely past a panic attack, he’d deleted everything on his phone. “I wasn’t up to much at the hospital.”
“I should have verified, I guess….” She cleared her throat, looked away, then back. “See, the thing is—” She blew out a breath. “Okay, I’ll just say it. I got pregnant that weekend.”
“You what?” His brain glitched, shorting out his thoughts like so many bad fuses. “You got…? But you told me—”
“That I had birth control handled, yeah. I thought I did. It’s a long story. I was between methods, but I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant in the first place. I’m not a careless person and I felt really stupid about it, so…” She paused. “Forget all that. The point is…Daniel is your son.”
“My…son?” He felt as though someone had shoved him hard. He took a step back to stay upright. He looked at the kid in Mel’s arms with the same round curls he had, its color halfway between Mel’s black and his brown. The kid even had his dimple, he realized with a jolt.
As if on cue, the little boy reached out his arms, straining for Noah.
“You can hold him,” Mel said, as if to reassure him.
Noah accepted the kid—small, but dense, a solid weight on his good arm. The little boy patted Noah’s cheeks. “Da-da,” he said. “Da-da.”
Noah’s
