Page 26 of Blood and Buttercups

“I couldn’t find the wrench,” he says solemnly. “But I don’t think it was actually in there.”

I laugh, glad for the distraction from the mess that is my life. “I’m supposed to go up to the second floor for a blood draw. Do you mind sticking around a little longer, or should I call my brother?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “How are you feeling? Elevator or stairs?”

“Stairs,” I immediately answer, my palms already sweating. I’ll do anything to avoid the needle for as long as possible.

Noah stands next to me when we reach the counter.

“Dr. Granger sent me up,” I tell the receptionist.

She looks at her paperwork. “Piper?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re ready for you.” She stands, coming around to open the door. “Right this way.”

“Do you want me to come in, or should I wait out here?” Noah asks.

“I…well…”

I’m terrified of needles. Anything pokey, really. Don’t get me started with mosquitoes—nasty little bloodsuckers.

Instead of answering, I grasp Noah’s arm and yank him with me. I can feel his morbid curiosity, but he’ll have to satiate it after this is over.

“Take a seat here,” the woman says. “We’ll be with you in a minute.”

The padded chair is electric blue, and the room is small, lit with bright fluorescent bulbs. I try hard not to look too closely at the counters or the equipment on them.

Once we’re alone, Noah crosses his arms, studying me. “Scared of needles?”

“Terrified.”

Before he can answer, the tech walks into the room. “Hi, Piper,” he says. “How are you today?”

“Fine,” I squeak.

The man smiles. He’s likely in his late fifties. His short beard and mustache are peppered with gray, reminding me of a friendly schnauzer. “You a little nervous?”

“Nope.”

For some reason, he looks skeptical. Maybe because my hands are clenched so tightly on the arms of the chair, my knuckles are white.

“You can hold her left hand if you want,” the tech says to Noah, assuming he would like to offer comfort since he’s here with me. “I can’t promise it will be painless, but I will make it quick. Sound okay?”

I nod, pretending I’m far braver than I am.

Noah steps forward, offering his hand—though he doesn’t look keen to do so. I should politely decline and take the blood draw like a big girl. The poor man keeps stumbling into my drama, feeling oddly obligated to play knight in shining armor, even though he does so with the stoic expression of a man going into battle.

You think I’d let him off the hook and tell him he can leave. But do I do that? Of course not. I grasp hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers too hard.

“Don’t watch,” the tech instructs. “Just breathe in and out, nice and slow.”

It takes a bit for the man to find my vein, likely because I’m dehydrated. He prods and taps, gentle as can be, and every passing second feels longer than a minute. Eventually, he says in a calm, soothing voice, “Just a little poke.”

I jump when I feel the prick of the needle, but I focus on Noah’s hand. His skin is kind of rough, and his fingers are long.

“All done,” the tech says. “You did great.”

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