Page 44 of Always a Bridesmaid
Violet clawed at her throat, desperate to relieve the itchiness. “I’m allergic to almonds.”
She plopped in the chair, unzipped her purse, and riffled through the contents. It’d been ages since she’d had an attack, but somewhere in this mess…
Vaguely she heard the ruckus around her intensifying, the volume and amount of people escalating. She couldn’t focus on that, though.
There it is.
It took two tries to remove the cap. Violet gripped the EpiPen tightly, jammed the needle into her thigh, and depressed the syringe.
Her heart was either not beating or beating too fast—her brain wasn’t functioning well enough to discern which one.
With the medicine delivered, she stared at the syringe in her leg, waiting for the relief.
Is that a siren?
Why would there be a siren? I must be losing it.
“Over here,” Dad yelled, and wow, a ton of people had gathered around her. How embarrassing.
The crowd parted, and a tall, dark, and handsome gentleman appeared.
Hallucination or reality?
“Couldn’t wait till Saturday to see me, huh?” Ford asked as he squatted in front of her. Dad was rattling off information about her allergy and the latte with almond milk. Words like “help” and “hurry” were in the mix as well.
Violet’s hand drifted up, oddly detached from her body, and she pressed it to the side of Ford’s face. Whiskers tickled her palm, and that—combined with the cocky statement—left her sure the man in front of her was 100 percent real.
“I’m fine,” she quickly said, another wave of embarrassment crashing over her.
Ford gave a pointed look at her leg.
“That’s nothing.”
A huffed laugh escaped as he gently removed the syringe.
“See? I’m finebecauseof that.” Violet studied Ford as he removed the stethoscope from his neck. Sonnets could be written about his corded arms. There’d unquestionably be a line in there about how his scruff highlighted his lips and that slight upward tick in the right corner.
And the shades of green in his irises—a picture of the Ireland countryside could hardly contain the variety.
Violet scrunched up her forehead. “You never said you were a paramedic.”
“How’s your breathing?” Ford asked. “Are you getting enough air?”
“Obviously, or I wouldn’t have been able to ask you about being a paramedic.”
“Technically it was more of a statement.” After situating the stethoscope in his ears, he placed the circular end on her chest. “Most firefighters have paramedic training. It’s also a necessity when it comes to the search and rescue job.”
“I seriously can’t keep up with all your jobs, dude.”
“Normally I don’t have to do so many of them so close together. But you, Miss Overachiever, are keeping me busy.” His gaze latched onto hers, steady and fierce, and her heart was definitely beating too fast now. “Ready for another shot?”
He withdrew a tiny vial from his bag and filled a syringe. “This is diphenhydramine hydrochloride—Benadryl. I’m going to get this into your veins, and then we’ll take you to the hospital.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
Ford hiked up her sleeve, pinched the skin on her shoulder, and jabbed in the needle.
With one eye squeezed closed, Violet focused on his dark head of hair instead of the prick of pain. “For reals. Between the EpiPen and the Benadryl, I’m good to go.”
