“I’m Fran,” I say to Paul—did he ask for my name? I can’t remember, but my voice brings Paul’s gaze back around to me.
“What happened?” says a woman whose phone is still directed at us. Whew, my jeans are still on my body, but I’m not exactly feeling fresh.
“Could you maybe not?” I say, nodding to her phone.
“Fran here had a pretty detrimental accident,” Paul says. And that’s when I spot the truck, skid marks blackening the asphalt behind it, stopped at an odd angle in the middle of the street.
Wow. That almost accident seemed way less awful inThe Wedding Planner.
“She’s okay,” Paul says—he is a smiley one. “I got to her in time.”
The word “hero” is simpering in and out of my ears from the people around us.
“Do you need to see a doctor?” Paul asks.
“Um.” I shake my head that does not hurt. “I think I’m okay. Just sore and scraped.”
“Right. Your bottom.”
My cheeks warm—that’s right, I said that out loud. “Yes, well, it was a rough tumble.”
“Sorry about that. I had no other choice.”
Our friendly neighborhood phone recorder is still watching with a slew of others, her cell relentlessly out. If Rosalie were here, she would slap that woman’s phone right out of her hand.
“I need to get to class. I have a meeting with my professor.”
“Let me walk you,” Paul says. “I can carry your things.”
“Sure. Okay.” I walk past our friendly, self-appointed news reporter and head toward the classroom building.
“Are you sure you don’t want to at least clean up your knees?” Paul says.
I smile, but it’s forced. I try to remind myself of this moment—thisWedding Plannerromcom moment. But Jennifer Lopez was lucky; she woke up in a hospital after a short rest. I’m heading in to see Professor Ellington. “I could use some Advil. Do you happen to have any?”
“I don’t. But the union building is just up ahead. I’ll grab you some.”
Wow. Paul really does fit that hero bill. Will there be dancing in the park later too? Except that, strange enough, I’m not feeling much from Paul’s full head of hair and ruggish beard. It’s probably the ache in my butt. It’s all I can feel.
Still, I can’t deny this living, breathing moment thrust upon me. The classroom building is just before the union. Lucky me. “Do you mind if I wait here?” I motion to a bench near the building, already sitting—though this seat could really use some cushioning.
Paul sets my things next to me and I lift my laptop, thankful to see some light.
“Not at all. Stay here,” helpful Paul says. “I’ll be right back.”
And he is. He is back in less than six minutes. Which is good, because my meeting starts in two. He’s brought me a spring water and a one hundred tablet bottle of Advil. The real stuff—not generic.Thanks, Paul.
See—nice. Sure, my butt feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it, and my knee is stinging, and I was almost crushed like a bug ten minutes ago. But what am I waiting for? He’s nice. He’s smiley. And he did just save my life.
I lick my lips and muster up some courage. Ellington is waiting. I don’t have time for any more conversation. “Would you like to go to a Red Tails soccer game with me tomorrow night? As a thank-you.”
Paul tilts his head, then holds out a business card that readsSilver State Rides: Paul Fender, Salesman. “Text me. I’d like that.”
Thirteen
Looking me up,then down, Professor Ellington gestures a hand toward the one other chair in her office.
My butt throbs with the look of that hard wooden seat. “Um, I think I’ll stand.”
