Page 36 of Cluelessly Yours

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. You’re going to be seeing Dr. Howard today,” Noah updates, and I tilt my head to the side in confusion.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s Dr. Williams. That’s who Dr. McCormick said was available to see him.”

“I know,” Noah explains. “But I called in a few favors.”

“What are you talking about?”

His smile is a little guilty. “I know I might be overstepping here, but I wanted to make sure Grant was seen by the best. And nothing against Dr. Williams,he’s great, but Dr. Howard is head of pediatric ortho. He’s one of the best in the country. Technically, the world.”

I don’t even know what to say.

“I hope you’re not mad,” Noah adds swiftly. “But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to make sure Grant was in the best of hands.”

“Wow…I… Noah, thank you.” My throat feels thick with unshed tears of gratitude.

The independent part of a woman is something special. It’s strong and fearless and determined. It gets things done because it has to.

But even the strongest of people need a system of support, and Noah Philips has made a point in the last couple of weeks to be a part of mine. From helping with Seth to Grant’s surgery to texting this last week to check in—and now, this.

Truth be told, lately, Noah has done more for my boys than their own father has done in years. And if that isn’t the most wondrous and sad thing at the same time, I don’t know what is.

“Dr. Howard is on the fourth floor in Room 406, and lucky for you, Grant’s appointment is at10:20instead of 10:00. So, you’re right on schedule,” he continues. “I actually tried to call you earlier, but it went straight to voice mail, so I figured I’d stop over here before my next surgery and make sure you guys were all set.”

“This is so appreciated, but you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble, Noah,” I say while my tiny human bobs and weaves under my grip on his shoulders, knocking me in the shin with his heels more than once. I do my best to ignore the feeling of blood pooling into new bruises under my skin.

“It’s not trouble when you want to do it,” he responds with a genuine, downright breathtaking smile as he sets his brown leather bag down on the floor to unzip it. “And I also have something very important to give to Grant.”

“You have somethin’ for me?” Grant asks excitedly, his busy legs actually quieting for a second or two.

“I sure do.” Noah reaches into his bag to pull out a stuffed animal. “This, righthere, is Sal the Sloth. He also broke his arm and had to get surgery, and I was hoping you’d take care of him for me.”

Noah holds out the stuffed animal toward Grant, and it’s then that I notice this stuffed animal is special. On the sloth’s same exact arm, and in the same color red, is a matching cast just like Grant’s.

“We’re twins!” Grant grabs Sal, hugging him tightly to his chest. “I’m gonna take the best care of him, Noah! I promise!”

The expression on my son’s little face is filled with so much joy that it threatens to bring tears to my eyes. I don’t know what it is about being a mom, but it’s like your greatest happiness comes from your child’s happiness. And it always manages to make your heart feel like it swells to a size your chest can hardly accommodate.

Thank you, I mouth toward Noah, certain if I try to speak right now, the emotion that’s clogging my throat will unleash into some kind of weird sob in the middle of the lobby of this medical office building.

God, no wonder all of New York is chasing after Dr. Noah Philips.

That thought has the power to paralyze me in place, but I’m saved by the bell—or Noah’s ringing cell—before I can put on scuba gear and take a deep dive into things I really don’t want to be thinking about right now. Or ever.

“Sorry.” Noah grimaces and holds up one finger as he pulls his cell out of his scrub pocket. “Dr. Philips… Yeah… You can give her 0.25 milligrams of Ativan… Okay…” He glances at his watch. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.” He ends the call with a swift tap of his index finger on the screen and meets my eyes again.

“Looks like duty calls, huh?” I ask and he nods.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“You gotta go, Noah?” Grant asks, and Noah squats down to meet him at eye level.

“Yep. I have to get back to work,” he tells him with a soft smile. “But I’m really happy that you’re going to be taking care of Sal. I don’t think he wanted to spend the next three hours in surgery with me.”

“Don’t worry,” Grant replies with a determined nod of his little head, his arms squeezing the stuffed sloth even tighter. “Sal can hang out with me and Mom. I’m gonna take good care of him.”

“See? This is why I knew Sal belonged with you,” Noah comments and tugs at the foot of the stuffed sloth. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

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