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We’d walked right past him. Adam still had tunnel-vision to the main doors, and the little boy, while excited, stopped. Every step we took closer to the door meant his shoulders dropped a little more.
If that was my nephew, and I were the woman standing next to him, would I let them keep walking?
No. I’d go out on a limb and see if I could do something.
I faltered in my step, reaching my hand onto Adam’s chest to stop him.
“What’s up?” he asked, dipping his head.
“There’s a little boy over there,” I said softly. “He knows who you are. He wants to meet you.”
He slowly turned his head in the direction of the little boy who’d commanded my attention. Now, he was shyly hiding behind his mom’s leg, as if meeting his hero was too much for him.
“Poppy—”
I said nothing. I wriggled free of his hold and walked to the little guy. My eyes met his mom’s, and with a smile, I kneeled down in front of him. “Hey, buddy. Are you here for Rosie’s wedding?”
Clutching his mom’s dress tighter, he nodded.
“Wanna know a secret?”
Another nod.
“I’m Rosie’s sister. And that guy? That’s Adam West.”
“From da Stowms?” he whispered.
I leaned right into him. “Yes. Don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ll bring him over here if you promise to keep it secret.”
He nodded so enthusiastically I thought his head might fly off.
“What’s your name, buddy?”
“Adam,” he whispered.
Oh. My heart.
“Okay, hold on.” I pressed a finger to my lips and stood. My flip-flops thundered against the tiled floor as I crossed back to Adam.
“What are you doing?” Adult Adam whispered.
I linked my fingers through his. “You’re his hero,” I whispered right back.
“We’ll be late for lunch with your mom,” he reminded me.
“I don’t care. He needs you.” I dragged him across the floor to where Little Adam was standing, starstruck.
I mean, I kinda got it. I’d be the same if a naked Channing Tatum showed up in my bedroom, you know?
“Adam, this is Adam,” I said, releasing Adult Adam’s hand. “He’s a big fan of yours.”
Adult Adam dropped to his knees. “Hi there, Adam. That’s a great name. Did you know that?”
Little Adam nodded. “My dad said he named me after your dad.”
Eh?
“He has good taste,” Adult Adam replied. “Are you here to see Rosie and Marcus get married?”
The little one nodded again. “I love Uncle Marcus,” he said.
Ah. Clarification. Wonderful.
“Marcus’ sister-in-law,” Little Adam’s mom said, touching my arm. “Jerica.”
“Poppy. Rosie’s sister,” I replied softly, touching her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Adam West is his Iron Man.”
Adam laughed at something her son had said. Little Adam threw back his head, clutching his stomach, laughing as though every single one of his dreams had come true.
I swallowed hard. “He’s amazing. I think he’s spent more time with guests than he has with me.” I rolled my eyes.
She laughed, touching my arm. “I’d say that’s a sign of a good man, but that’s probably debatable right now to you.”
I looked back at Adam giving her little boy a high five, and there was nothing debatable about it. “No. He is. He’s a good man.”
Jerica nudged me with her elbow. “You got a good one. Don’t let him go.”
I smiled, but I didn’t say anything. He was my fake boyfriend, after all. But I knew it—he was a good man, and that was all there was to it.
“Adam, baby, we need to go and check in,” Jerica said softly, approaching the two Adams. “I’m sure we’ll see Mr. Winters again this weekend.”
“Your mom is right,” Adam said. “I’ll see you at the wedding!”
Little Adam nodded, grinning widely. “Okay. You promise?”
My Adam nodded. “Sure. I promise.”
***
“That was cute,” I said, turning onto the sloping stairs that led to the beach.
“It was?” Adam reached over and cupped my elbow when I almost tripped on a little crack in one of the steps.
“Thanks.” I smiled at him. “Yes, it was cute. You made his day. How can that not be cute?”
“Is this like when I tell you that you’re cute or adorable and you don’t like it?”
“No. Because I’m neither cute or adorable, but you interacting with little Adam actually was cute. Like a line-up of fluffy kittens interspersed with ducklings cute.”
“Wouldn’t the kittens chase the ducklings and try to eat them?”
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to him. “Are you trying to hurt me?”
Laughing, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and hugged me against him. “I’m sorry. The kittens and the ducklings played with a little ball of wool and lived happily ever after.”
“Why would ducklings be playing with wool?”
“Why would you line up ducklings and kittens?”
“Because it’s my explanation and I can use whatever imagery I like,” I replied. “It’s like asking J.K. Rowling why Ron got annoyed at Dean for dating Ginny but didn’t bat an eyelid about Harry doing it. Personally, I think she needed to be more consistent in his emotions, but I wouldn’t question her on it. Why do you need to question my comparison for cuteness?”
