The Unexpected Affair. Monica Richardson

need a drink,” said Kenya. “Meet me at Duffy’s.”

      “Can’t. I have an appointment.”

      “Oh, Whit! Are you going to make me drink alone?” Kenya whined.

      “Why do you need a drink so badly?”

      “Will’s mother is in town. You know she gives me hives. I can’t do anything right with her!” said Kenya.

      “Oh, no! Not his mama.”

      “She’s already started. Now she’s trying to plan the wedding. I don’t mind her input, but damn, this is my wedding,” said Kenya. “She’s added like twenty extra people to the guest list.”

      “No!”

      “Twenty extra mouths to feed!”

      “What does Will say?”

      “That’s just my mom, babe.” Kenya’s voice was in a baritone as she mocked her fiancé. “You know how she is.”

      Whitney laughed. “Sorry.”

      “This is so not funny, Whit. I’m going crazy!” Kenya exhaled. “She wants to look for alternate choices for the rehearsal dinner, and now she’s asking why the bridesmaids’ dresses have to be so provocative.”

      “Did she specifically say bridesmaids’ dresses, or did she mention my maid-of-honor dress, too?” Whitney laughed.

      “Whit!”

      “You do need a drink,” said Whitney. “Meet me at the body shop and we can find somewhere to go from there.”

      “Thank you. Damn, girl.”

      “I’ll text you the address.”

      Whitney bid the custodian a good night with a nod. He gave her a wide grin, and had she not been on the phone, he’d have struck up a long conversation about his ailing mother. Once Whitney revealed to him that she was from the Bahamas islands, he always went on and on about his Caribbean roots. She walked out the door quickly and to her car.

      * * *

      She waited for Melvin to appear in the customer waiting area after the receptionist called for him. He was not at all what she’d expected, actually the opposite of the image she had in her head—he was clean shaven, tall and handsome. Not at all a body-shop type of guy. She shook his hand.

      “Good to meet you,” she said.

      “Pleasure’s mine.” His smile was handsome. “Let’s take a look at that dent.”

      He followed her outside to her car.

      “Here it is.” She pointed at her vehicle.

      “Ouch,” he said. “But it’s not so bad. Won’t take me long to knock that out.”

      “Good. I appreciate it.”

      “No problem. Lane is my best friend,” he told her. “And he insisted that I take good care of you.”

      “Did he, now?”

      “Yes, but he didn’t mention that you were so beautiful and had a sexy accent. Where are you from?”

      “Bahamas.”

      “Nice,” said Melvin. “Now, if you’ll just have a seat in the customer waiting area, I’ll get you squared away.”

      “Actually, my girlfriend just pulled up. We’re going to run out for a bit, and I’ll just come back in a little while.”

      Melvin squinted to get a better look at Kenya as she pulled into the parking lot. “She look like you?” He smiled.

      “She’s engaged.” Whitney smiled and began to walk out of the shop.

      “Engaged, but not married, right?” he called as she walked away.

      “They’re just about there.” Whitney laughed, giving Melvin a wave as she exited. She hopped into the passenger’s seat of Kenya’s sedan.

      Kenya lowered the volume on the Rihanna song she was blasting. “Who’s the nosy guy?”

      “Melvin.” Whitney wrapped the seat belt around her. “Lane’s friend.”

      “Oh, Lane.” Kenya grinned. “Now you’re on a first-name basis.”

      “What? His name is Lane. You want me to keep calling him the guy whose truck I plunged into?”

      “I guess not.” Kenya gave her a side-eye. “Now, where around here can we go for that drink? I don’t know anything about this neighborhood.”

      “Right,” said Whitney, pulling her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll just check Yelp.”

      “Okay.”

      “It says there’s a bar just around the corner. They have great reviews and even have a happy hour,” said Whitney. “Make a left here at the corner.”

      * * *

      They stepped into the quaint bar, snagged a small table in the corner of the dimly lit room. Soulful music played casually, and some people swayed to it, while others engaged in loud conversations. Whitney ordered her signature rum and pineapple juice, while Kenya sipped on a glass of Merlot.

      “Can we have an order of the hot wings, too?” Whitney asked the half-naked server.

      “Sure,” said the young woman. “You want mild or hot?”

      “What do you think?” she asked Kenya.

      “I’m not eating any hot wings. Girl, I’ve got to fit all of this into that wedding dress in a few weeks.”

      Kenya was always watching her weight. Always on some diet or taking a supplement for this or that. And since getting engaged, she’d been on a mission to maintain her weight at her current size because she was not buying another dress.

      “I’ll take the hot ones,” said Whitney, and as soon as the server walked away, she leaned toward Kenya to talk over the music. “A few hot wings never hurt anybody.”

      “I’m not like you, with your perfect figure that you never have to work for!”

      “Oh, I work for it. But I cheat sometimes,” said Whitney. “I hit the gym, too.”

      “When, Whit?” asked Kenya. “When was the last time you were committed to a workout?”

      “Last night.”

      “But before that, how long?”

      “It had been...” Whitney thought for a moment, took a sip of her drink. “Okay, it had been a while. But I’m back now. I’m sore right now, but I’m back.”

      “Why do you bother?” asked Kenya. “Look at you. You’ve got it in all the right places.”

      Whitney’s five-foot-four physique was coveted by many. Her 152 pounds seemed to fall in all the right places. In her mind, though, she needed work. She needed her butt lifted and her stomach flatter.

      “So do you. You just need to tone a bit,” said Whitney. She knew that weight had been a long-standing and touchy subject for Kenya, so she changed the subject. “I found the perfect shoes for my dress.”

      “Really? Where?”

      “DSW.” Whitney pulled her cell phone out, sorted through her photos and showed Kenya. “Look at these beauties.”

      “Oh, they are beautiful!” Kenya grabbed the phone. “I need to send this to all of the bridesmaids.”

      Whitney snatched her phone back. Her Bahamian accent was stronger at times. “No, honey. I’m the maid of honor. My dress and shoes will be different.”

      “You’re right,” Kenya resolved. “It’s just that these women