Her Kind of Hero - Cindy Kirk Page 0,53
into his pockets. “Talk.”
“The people who will be attending this event likely are most comfortable speaking Spanish. I know some think if they’re in the United States they should speak English but—”
He touched her lips with the pad of one finger. “As far as I’m concerned, this is their party. They can speak Portuguese if they want. And, as long as there’s cake, I’m happy.”
“Trust me. There’ll be cake.” Still, she was glad she’d warned him because they were greeted in Spanish at the door.
Mitzi responded easily in her native tongue. Until she’d gone to kindergarten, Spanish was all she’d known. There had been a time as a young teen that she’d been embarrassed by her Mexican heritage. Now she was grateful. Being bilingual came in handy for patients with limited English.
Hector and Consuela spoke rapidly, expressing pleasure at her presence at their daughter’s special day. Conscious of Keenan standing patiently at her side, Mitzi began the introductions.
Keenan extended his hand to Mr. Herrera and introduced himself in Spanish.
One more surprise from a man who seemed to constantly surprise her.
Consuela shot Mitzi an approving glance. “He will be your husband. He is why you needed a bigger home.”
Mitzi saw the amusement in Keenan’s eyes. She patted his arm. “He’s my good friend.”
“He will make a handsome husband.” Consuela spoke as if they were alone, as if Keenan wasn’t standing right there beside them with those laughing eyes understanding every word.
As soon as she could slip away, Mitzi tugged Keenan through a pink-and-white balloon arch into a hall sporting congratulatory banners and even more colored balloons.
“Looks like we got here just in time.” Mitzi looped her arm through Keenan and pointed.
His gaze fixed on the group of young teenagers, currently positioning themselves in the center of the hardwood.
“The dance they’ll perform is considered part of the celebration,” Mitzi informed him. “It’s usually well practiced and quite impressive.”
“Can’t be as impressive as that cake.” Keenan let out a low whistle, gesturing with his head to a long table with a mound of presents at one end and a multitiered cake at the other.
“Angela’s gift.” Mitzi snapped open her purse, pulled out the box with shiny silver-and-white paper. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving him where he stood, Mitzi hurried to the table and placed the gift where it wouldn’t be lost or knocked aside. She returned to Keenan’s side.
“I never asked the purpose of all this,” he said as the choreographed dance of Angela and her “court” began.
“The quinceañera marks a girl’s transition from childhood to maturity.” Mitzi’s heart swelled at the youthful innocence on the faces of the girls. “It celebrates the virtues of family, religion and social responsibilities.”
The dance ended to bows and cheers, and Mitzi and Keenan joined in the applause.
They stayed at the party until after the toast and the presentation of the gifts. Before they left, Mitzi signed the guest book then took a moment to extend her congratulations and best wishes to Angela and her parents.
As they were walking out the door, Mitzi realized Keenan hadn’t once pressed to leave. He’d laughed and talked with Consuela’s family and friends. Over the course of the evening, he’d impressed them. And her.
Once they reached the car, Mitzi wound her arms around his neck. She pressed her mouth to his. “Thanks. I owe you.”
Puzzlement filled his eyes. “For what?”
“For being a good sport.”
He didn’t say anything until they were in the car and heading down the road. “I’m not sure why you think you owe me. I enjoyed the evening.”
Mitzi raised a skeptical brow.
“I enjoyed dancing with you.” A rarely seen dimple in his right cheek flashed. “And the cake was excellent.”
“Ah, yes, can’t forget the cake.”
“Most of all—” he reached over and took her hand “—I loved spending the evening with you.”
When Keenan arrived on his sister’s back doorstep the next day to drop off the clothes, he found Nate playing trucks on the kitchen floor, Ryan at the stove and Betsy nowhere to be seen.
Betsy, Ryan informed him, was out having lunch and shopping with friends. He was in charge of providing a nutritious meal for their son.
Though Keenan had doubts about Ryan’s cooking abilities, he accepted his friend’s invitation to stay for a “nutritious” lunch.
The orange slices Ryan tossed on each of their plates were hard to screw up, but the grilled cheese sandwich had gone beyond well-done to burnt. Keenan decided to start the meal with a good stiff shot of no-name cola.
Ryan lifted a glass of