Kenya laced her fingers over her abdomen. “What’s extra hilarious is the fact that, after that coffee we had a few months ago that some would call a date, I never saw you again. In a small town like Hope Springs. How funny is that?”
Yikes, she had chosen to be extra feisty when she woke up this morning. He could match her mood or work methodically, like he was formulating an intentional plan of care for the most optimal result.
“How was your first session?”
“Felt like death.” She sighed.
Solomon grinned. “In all my years in therapy school and residency, I don’t think we ever studied that as a metric for pain.” He chuckled and settled in the faux leather seat next to her. He glanced at his watch. Thankfully, his last client of the day had canceled, so he had time to talk with Kenya. It was a welcome distraction from what he should be doing, which was forcing himself back to his apartment to study. He ignored the ticking of the countdown to October’s test and turned his body toward hers.
He glanced down at the toes peeking through her orthopedic boot. It wasn’t the first manicured foot he’d encountered with therapy clients, but he hadn’t expected someone like her to wear what he considered to be the brightest shade of yellow he’d ever seen. Especially since her longer fingernails were coated in a muted hue, except for her left thumb, which held a single glued-on mini-jewel.
“You seem more like an earth-tone-and-gold girl to me.”
She turned to him, her expression a mix of surprise and amusement. “What does that have to do with death or my foot?”
Solomon looked pointedly at her feet.
“Are you judging my choice of toe polish, Dr. Solomon Anruchi?”
Solomon rolled his eyes. “Are you going to call me that every time I see you?”
Kenya shifted her right foot and grimaced, bracing her hands on the handles of her chair. “Don’t deflect. I’m trying not to getoffended.” She winked at him, but that didn’t dislodge the pained expression on her face.
“Here, let me help.” He stood up and scooted the chair across from Kenya closer to her. “Hey, Cindy.” The receptionist looked up as he approached. “Can you grab a wedge pillow for me?”
“Sure thing.” She disappeared into a back room and returned with a sealed foam pillow in her hands. “Perfect. Go ahead and bill this to my account, please.” She gave him a thumbs-up.
He strolled back to Kenya, her eyes on him as he tore the plastic off the brand-new pillow.
“For me?” She pressed a hand to her chest, lashes fluttering.
“Yes, all for you.” He lifted her injured foot gently and placed the wedge under it. “This is a great combination with a RICE protocol—rest, ice, compression, and”—he tapped the wedge—“elevation.”
Satisfied, he sat back down. Kenya’s full lips were turned up at the corners. Her sliver of delight tightened his stomach. He flicked his eyes back to her feet and away from her penetrating gaze. “And, in regard to your polish, my sister changes her nail color frequently, and I have never seen that shade on her or on anyone else.”
“Well, I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met, Dr. Solomon Anruchi.”
“You really don’t have to keep adding the ‘Doctor’ part to that. All my friends call me Solomon.”
He glanced up. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“I like the way it all rolls off my tongue.”
He leaned forward to adjust the wedge again. “If you like the sound of that, you should try this, then.”
Kenya raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”
Solomon laced his fingers together, stretching them out. “Ready?”
She lifted her hands, shook them out, and copied his movements. “Always.”
He laughed at Kenya’s squared shoulders. The expression ofdetermination on her face may have been the cutest thing he’d seen in a while.
“See how Dr. Solomon Peter Chimenem Ephraim Anruchi rolls off your tongue.” He laughed, already expecting her to give up. Instead, she peered at him in concentration.
“Say it again.”
“What part?”
