Chapter 3
THE CAR CAME to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance. Her mom pushed open her door, while Solomon jumped out after placing the car in park. It felt like too much fuss for an ankle. Kenya tried to dislodge her leg from in between the seats.
Foolish choice. She pressed her lips together, the pain shooting up her calf muscle. Her mother entered through the front passenger door. “Young man, if you’ll brace Kenya, I will lift her ankle so we can get her out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was smooth and deeper than she remembered.
It held comfort but also a note of sympathy that she despised.
Why did he have to be the one not only to witness her fall but to volunteer to bring her to the hospital?
There were so many capable men at the wedding, including her father.
But somehow she had convinced them all to stay and enjoy the party, all the while waving her stiletto around like a glass of champagne, giddy from adrenaline and embarrassment.
So now, instead of having her daddy’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, she had to lean into the embrace of the man she’d gone on one date with but who didn’t want to see her again, if his lack of follow-up was any indication.
Heat surged into her cheeks as he held and backed her up while her mother lifted her leg by the calf.
“Wait right there, let me go get a wheelchair for her.”
“Oh, Mama, that isn’t necessary.” Her mother ignored her plea and hurried inside.
“I really don’t need all that,” Kenya said, more to herself.
“Would you rather I carried you in?” His voice hummed against her ear. He was so close that his breath shifted a few strands of her straightened hair.
“I would die first.”
“That is a dramatic statement.” His chuckle rumbled through his chest and against her shoulder.
“Drama runs in my blood, apparently.” She huffed, willing her mother to hurry back with the wheelchair so she could dislodge herself from his awkward grip.
“That fall of yours was definitely something to see.”
If her cheeks heated any more, the makeup would drip off her face. She was too dazed with pain to come up with a snarky remark. Every other thought besides the shape of his arms and the throb of her ankle puffed away like wisps of steam. Her head was too thick with fog to clear at the moment.
“Your chariot has arrived.” He gripped her a little tighter, cupping her forearms and giving her no choice but to lean back against his chest as he backed toward the wheelchair her mother pushed to a stop next to him.
Her mother scurried around to the other side of them and placed her hands under Kenya’s injured leg.
He settled her carefully in the seat of the chair.
Kenya felt the absence of his body almost immediately.
The cold seat of the wheelchair shocked her back into the reality of her predicament.
“Well, thank you, Dr.—”
“Solomon, remember? You can just call me Solomon.”
“Okay, Dr. Solomon.” She managed to give him a sly grin. “Thank you for your help. You can get back to the party and your date.”
“You are welcome.” He’d caught her dismissive tone—she saw the realization in his eyes. But instead of moving back to his car, he took the wheelchair handles and began to push. “I will at least see you all the way through the door.”
Her mother gathered their purses into her arms, following them into the hospital. Kenya glanced down at her dress, all shimmery gauze, the rip on the side showing off the right ankle that was swelling by the minute.
What an intriguing shade of purple. She smirked as the people in the waiting room did double takes at her appearance.
A little too dressed up for this party, wasn’t she?
She always did know how to make an entrance.
They were usually less painful and cringe-inducing than her dance-floor debacle.
She’d be even more embarrassed if she wasn’t in so much pain.
Her mother rushed to the front desk, while Dr. Solomon settled her into a corner by a potted plant and two other chairs.
“Well . . .”
“Well.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. Kenya admired the socks that peeked out of his shoes as his slacks lifted. How cute. That hue matched the color of her bruise quite well. She must have stared down at them too long because he leaned a little lower to meet her eyes.
“You’re not going to throw up on my feet, are you?”
She looked up. “Of course not. I was just noticing the color of your socks. And your shoes.” She gave them another glance. “Stacy Adams?”
He straightened. “Good eye.”
“I’m known to have one.”
Dr. Solomon chuckled. “I think I remember that.”
She looked up with a narrow gaze. Did he? Had their conversation been impactful enough for him to remember? But it hadn’t mattered enough to want to have another. “Don’t you have a car to move?”
He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “Yes, I almost forgot.” He stepped away from the wall. “Are you good?”
“Never better.” The words slid through her gritted teeth. She averted her eyes to her mother at the check-in desk and away from the sound of the retreating Stacy Adamses.
Kenya’s stomach tightened as memories of the day flitted across her thoughts.
It was a beautiful wedding, if she did say so herself.
The Hope Springs Community Church had been decorated to perfection, floral greens and gold-and-cream accents throughout.
Although outdoors would have been ideal, she dared not risk the weather stealing the show, so plans had been made to hold the reception at the Davidson Center of the U.S.
Space & Rocket Center. The centerpieces were simple yet elegant, just like the couple they were designed for.
Kenya could still see Adanne’s ivory dress under the glow of the pendant lights and John not being able to take his eyes off her.
Maybe the pain was talking louder than her memories because she swore she saw a flash of that creamy white through the waiting-room windows.
Adanne Stewart—now Pomponio—burst through the entrance of the emergency room, yanking her dress before it caught in the sliding doors.
Even the worry on her face couldn’t hinder her regal beauty.
She kept her makeup simple, and her braids were styled in an elegant updo. She spotted Kenya and hurried over.
“Kenya, are you okay?”
“Adanne, why . . . are you here?” Kenya clenched her teeth, shifting to get a better look at her cousin but reversing course as the pain pounded through her ankle and up her calf.
Before Adanne could answer, in strode Mr. Cousin-In-Law himself, charging the atmosphere with his presence.
Hope Springs hadn’t gotten used to a well-known actor consistently in their midst, even if he was now married to one of their locals.
Adanne never planned to fall in love when she was hired on as a makeup artist for a movie filming in town, but here she stood, taking John’s real last name, Pomponio, as her own.
His stage name, Pope, would remain for the fans.
Kenya had to admit that, celebrity or not, John cut quite the figure in his wedding suit, his hair combed back in slight waves past his ear and his signature smile on display.
His grin widened on his approach. “It could be worse.”
Kenya rolled her eyes, the pain making her head swim.
“What could be worse than possibly breaking my foot”—exhale—“at your wedding?”
The couple glanced at each other, more passing between them than she wanted to assess. Adanne’s cheeks rose with a blush and smile, her dimples on display.
“Not getting married would probably be up there.”
Adanne grinned as John leaned over to kiss her cheek, lingering longer than seemed appropriate in the ER.
Kenya loved seeing that glow on her older cousin but would have really loved to not be in the hospital right now.
About that, Lord, can you orchestrate a real-quick ankle healing for me? You know, since I have a really important meeting that I need to make up?
Adanne pulled her attention back to Kenya, her worried gaze mingling with obvious love for her new husband. John took his wife’s hand in his, holding it silently to his chest.
“I see more have joined the party.”
Kenya sucked in a breath at the rich tone of his voice. So Dr. Solomon hadn’t left yet. She blinked rapidly against the pain, wishing the fog would cloud up the memories of their disaster of a date.
She wished he would just go home instead of seeing her quivering in this wheelchair from her throbbing foot, her dress ripped from the fall and her makeup probably smudged across her face.
She’d looked much different earlier in the evening.
Perhaps he’d noticed, but she wondered if that was enough for the doctor, who had walked in like a prince.
Adanne tipped her head, recognition filling her gaze immediately.
“The plot thickens,” she whispered into Kenya’s ear. She might have said more, but Mama stepped up at the same moment, clutching her purse and control in a vise grip.
“Adanne? John? What are you two doing here? You should still be on the dance floor!”
“The party ended with a bang.” John shot a sheepish grin her way. “Too soon?”
Kenya groaned.
Adanne yanked her hand from John’s to punch him lightly in the arm.
Kenya grimaced in return. Her mother opened her arms in a combination of welcome and goodbye. Adanne stepped into her aunt’s embrace. “Everything needed to wind down anyway. We wanted to make sure Kenya was okay before we left.”
Adanne gave her aunt a squeeze and turned back to Kenya, gratitude and love in her eyes.
“Speaking of that . . . maybe it’s time to go. Looks like you’re in multiple good hands, Kenya.” John’s smirk said way more than his words.
He reached out to reclaim his wife’s arm, grinning wide, even as Adanne cleared her throat, her eyes sparkling. “I love you both.” She leaned down, pressing her cheek and an air kiss to Kenya’s. “Thank you for everything. And . . . behave.”